The Lives We Didn't Choose (AJS Roleplaying x Kita-san)

[AJS Roleplaying]

The Lives We Didn't Choose A Roleplay Brought to You By: ​

Adrian 'AJ' Carlson Jr. written by AJS Roleplaying ​

Verena "Rena" Bristol written by Kita-san ​

​

 

[Kita-san]

She met AJ's eyes, and for a beat too long, she simply studied him—the tousled edges of sleep still clinging to him, the way the morning light caught in the line of his collarbone and shadowed the hollows beneath. He was real in a way most things weren't. Not polished. Not performative. Just… here. Present. And her heart did that quiet little tumble it always did when something felt true.

A slow smile curved her lips, one that started soft but bloomed into something knowing as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and tilted her head. "I didn't expect you to be this poetic before coffee," she murmured, voice still husky with morning. "Makes me wonder what you're like after a proper breakfast." Verena tucked some loose stands of hair behind her right ear.

She closed the sketchbook gently, her fingers lingering on the cover. "I was trying to capture the morning," she said, eyes never quite leaving his. "But then you stood there, all golden and sleep-rumpled, and now I'm not sure if I'm sketching light or you." A small pause, just long enough to be deliberate. "Same thing, maybe."

The corner of her mouth lifted slightly as he sat across from her. The tension between them wasn't sharp—it was slow-burning, patient, the kind that didn't need to be rushed because it was already inevitable. She let his words settle around her, warmth blooming low in her chest at the quiet honesty of them.

"I know," she said softly. "I felt it. You didn't pull away, AJ. You stayed." Her gaze dipped for a second, not out of shyness, but reverence. "i understand what you mean. I really do.”

She set her mug down, shifting slightly, crossing her leg over the other. "I wanted you too," she said, voice low and steady, the kind of tone that slid beneath the surface. "Still do.” She could feel her cheeks warming up. All she could do was offer a small smile and lower her gaze back to her sketch book. There was no denying the chemistry she felt with AJ. It was just a matter of time that they deepened their bond. Verena knew that if AJ had pushed to go further last night she would have gave in and let it happen. Not once did she even consider James.

When he stood, she watched him move, eyes catching on the way his fingers ghosted along the chair like a secret only she got to know. She exhaled slowly, feeling her pulse hum like low music beneath her skin.

At his suggestion, she rose too, barefoot like him, walking to his side. "And what would we do here if we stayed?" she asked, arching a brow, her voice laced with intrigue but edged with a touch of genuine wonder. Her lips curled thoughtfully. "I mean, I could draw," she said, gesturing vaguely toward the sketchpad still resting on the armchair, "but I could always do that anytime.”

Her hand found his waist, sliding around him slowly, deliberately, as she turned to face the view beyond the window. The city unfolded in layers before them—hazy buildings, winding rooftops, morning traffic just beginning to murmur in the distance. "The market street sounds perfect," she murmured, her voice lower now, more intimate, as if they were the only two people in the whole sunlit world. "But…" her lips tilted into a sly little smile, "I'm open to suggestions."

Before he could answer, she slipped into the narrow space between him and the glass. There was barely room for breath, let alone hesitation. Her body brushed against his—warm, languid, confidently close—and she looked up at him with a look that could quiet storms. Verena tilted her chin up, her lips parting just enough to press the softest kiss to his. It wasn't urgent, but it wasn't empty either.

She lingered for a moment, just a heartbeat longer than necessary, then pulled back with a teasing glint in her eyes. "Good morning," she said playfully, fingers lifting to run gently through his tousled hair. Her touch was lazy, indulgent, like she was committing the shape of him to memory. And then her gaze swept across his face again, slower this time—studying the lines softened by sleep, the quiet intensity still lingering in his eyes, the way the golden light caught along the edge of his cheekbone and made him look almost unreal. She smiled—genuine, quiet.

Then she leaned into him just a little more, her hands flattening against his chest. "If we stayed," she said, letting the idea settle into the space between them, "maybe we'd just… slow down. Let the morning keep us. You'd make more coffee, and I'd steal one of your shirts, and we'd stay barefoot until noon.” She suggested but then the idea of walking around the market street intrigued her again.

With a grin she kissed the corner of his mouth—quick, playful. "But hey," she said lightly and paused just enough to let the moment breathe, "if the market comes with croissants and fresh strawberries, I guess I can be persuaded."

She gave his hand a gentle tug, grounding and coaxing all at once. "Come on," she said, eyes sparkling. "Let's go collect stories in the sunlight. We can always come back here… later."

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ smiled as her lips left his skin, a breath of warmth and mischief lingering in their wake. He took a moment - one heartbeat, maybe two - to commit it all to memory: the way she stood close enough to make the morning hum, the way her kiss had felt like both invitation and restraint, the way she teased and grounded him in equal measure. He brushed a thumb across her knuckles where her hand curled around his, his voice low, still hoarse with sleep but threaded with something steadier. "Croissants and fresh strawberries, huh?" he murmured. "You drive a hard bargain."

Still barefoot, he stepped back just enough to reach for his shirt draped over the chair, slipping it on as he watched her gather the essentials with quiet elegance. There was a rhythm to her now - unrushed, fluid. They didn't need to say much more. Not in this moment. Everything worth saying was already coiled gently between them.

Once dressed, AJ took up his wallet and phone from the dresser, slipping them into the inner pocket of his blazer. "I've got meetings this afternoon," he said, glancing at her over his shoulder. "Some client updates, and I promised our engineers a site review at two. But dinner's ours." He held her gaze, and something in his tone dipped lower.

Outside, the city pulsed with the rising tempo of the day, but AJ moved through it like it hadn't quite reached him yet. They walked slowly, hand in hand, their footsteps casual along the sidewalk as the streets began to thrum with the colour and scent of the market district. He could already smell the warm bread drifting from an open-air bakery, mingling with the tang of citrus, coffee, and street vendors hawking their wares in a symphony of chatter.

AJ watched her beside him, the way her gaze flicked from stall to stall, her lips parting slightly as she took in the crush of colour and life. And though the space around them grew louder - more vibrant, more alive - he never let go of her hand. If anything, he adjusted his grip slightly, anchoring them as they slipped into the current. They stopped at a stand that sold fresh honeycomb, amber shards glinting like jewels in the sun. AJ leaned in, his body brushing lightly against hers, the contact deliberate but subtle. "Used to have this as a kid," he said, eyes fixed on the sticky sweetness, "except I'd eat it straight from the comb, no bread, just pure sugar high and a scolding from my mum." He glanced sideways at her, his voice low enough to fall beneath the swell of morning bustle. "Bet you were the kind of kid who turned art projects into masterpieces and never coloured inside the lines."

They wandered next into a corner lined with blooms - peonies, roses, lavender bundles tied in twine. AJ paused as she admired a bouquet of soft ivory ranunculi, and without a word, he reached past her and bought a single stem. He handed it to her, eyes warm, voice quieter now. "Not to impress," he said. "Just… seemed to belong with you."

As they walked, AJ found himself learning the rhythm of her steps. The pauses she took when something caught her eye. The way her fingers brushed against textured pottery, trailing over worn book spines, how her eyes softened at the sight of a child laughing too loud or a dog chasing the scent of pastries. She absorbed the world in layers - and for the first time in a long time, AJ wasn't moving through it alone. He was with someone. Seeing through someone.

At a food stall draped in checkered cloth, they shared a paper tray of flaky croissants still warm from the oven. AJ watched as she tore hers carefully, fingertips dusted with powdered sugar. He brought a piece to his mouth, chewing thoughtfully, then broke off another bit and offered it to her wordlessly. The exchange was easy, unspoken. The kind of intimacy that didn't demand declaration.

They sat on the low stone edge of a nearby fountain, the sunlight warming their knees, and AJ took a moment to lean back on his elbows, tilting his face to the sky. "You know," he said after a while, "this city feels different today. Like it's… slowing down for us. Or maybe we're just finally moving at the right pace." He turned to look at her, the corner of his mouth curving. "You've got that effect on things."

His watch buzzed faintly - a reminder of the time - and he sighed softly, reluctant but accepting. "I should head back soon. Get my notes in order before the meeting." He sat up straighter, brushing pastry crumbs from his shirt. "But tonight - I let you pick the place". His tone was light, but his eyes held something steadier beneath the question. A promise, almost. That he'd show up. Again and again.

He let the moment stretch, his hand lifting to brush a loose strand of hair from her cheek. His knuckles grazed her skin, his touch light but lingering. Then he kissed her - slow, warm, full of the kind of affection that didn't need to press forward to be full.

"I'll see you tonight," he said, voice rougher now, quieter. Then, with one last glance, AJ stepped back, letting his fingers slip from hers like a ribbon undone - but not lost. Not this time.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena moved easily beside him, steps light but purposeful, one hip brushing his as they walked through the market haze. The day, loud and alive around them, seemed to bend away just enough to leave space for them to breathe in it. Her fingers never left his. When he adjusted his grip, she answered with a gentle squeeze—silent, certain.

"I did turn my art projects into messes," she admitted at the honeycomb stall, eyes catching his sidelong glance with a glint. "But I made them feel like masterpieces, so the teachers stopped correcting me."

She took the single stem of ranunculus with a hush that felt sacred. Not because she needed flowers, but because he saw something and thought of her.

The fountain felt like a pause in the score. Her dress skimmed her knees as she sat, sunlight tracing her collarbone, pastry crumbs nestled at the corners of her mouth. She watched him lean back, something boyish in the angle of his smile and the lazy sprawl of his limbs.
"You do move differently now," she said, eyes not leaving him. "Like you're letting the world catch up to you instead of the other way around."

When he kissed her, she stilled. Not because she was surprised—but because she wanted to feel it with all of her. Every slow, careful second. Her hand touched his chest briefly, fingertips resting over his heart. Not to keep him, but to remember the rhythm.

"I'll pick the place," she whispered.

Then, as his fingers slipped away, she didn't chase them. Just smiled, still, like something golden and quiet had just settled between them. And when he was gone, she sat a little longer in the sun, the ranunculus still tucked behind her ear, and the city still moving just a touch slower.

The market in San Francisco had a rhythm all its own—a symphony of clinking glasses, distant buskers tuning guitars, vendors calling out specials in lyrical bursts of English, Spanish, and Cantonese. Verena slipped back into the current like a stone skimming water, light and deliberate. Her sandals made the faintest sound against the warm pavement as she drifted from one stall to the next, never in a hurry.

At a ceramic stand run by a woman with silver curls and hennaed hands, Verena paused, fingers grazing the rim of a hand-thrown bowl glazed in seafoam and ochre. The older woman watched her with a kind of quiet recognition."Made that one during a storm," the vendor offered. "The glaze did something unexpected." Verena smiled, tilting her head.
"Like it wanted to say something different."
"Exactly." A pause. "You looking for something in particular, or just letting the day lead?"Verena turned the bowl over in her hands, the weight of it grounding. "Just letting it lead."

She didn't buy the bowl. Not yet. But she left a thumbprint of warmth on its rim and a note in her mind to come back later. A few stalls down, the scent of tamarind and grilled corn wafted from a food cart where a man in a wide-brimmed hat carved fresh mango roses, sprinkling them with chili and lime. Verena accepted a skewer without question and handed over her payment for the item. The mango dripped juice onto her fingers as she walked, sweet and sharp on her tongue, and she wiped her hand on a linen napkin tucked into her bag.

She wandered into a narrow alley just off the main path, quieter here, shaded by stretched canvas and ivy-strewn balconies. A record shop leaned into the corner like it had been there since the '60s—inside, dust and vinyl swirled in golden shafts of light. She lingered by the window, then slipped in, the bell overhead giving a gentle chime.

Inside, the cool drawl of Alex Turner drifted through the air—sleek, louche, laced with cigarette smoke and clever regret. Verena traced the spines of the records until she found Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino. She lifted it out slowly, reading the title like a secret. There was something about the way he played with words—how he could make longing sound like an inside joke and seduction feel like philosophy. She didn't need to buy it. She already knew the songs. But holding the vinyl felt like touching part of the architecture of her own inner world.

The shopkeeper looked up from his crossword. "That album messes people up in the best way." Verena nodded, gaze still on the cover. "Every track feels like a late-night conversation you weren't supposed to hear."

She slipped it under her arm, paid for the item, and left with a smile—not showy, just sharp at the edges. Like the song was still playing behind her eyes.

Slowly she curled back to ceramic stall. It was just as she'd left it—anchored by sunlight and the quiet presence of the silver-haired woman still seated behind the table, shaping clay with steady hands. Verena paused before stepping in, letting her gaze rest once more on the bowl she hadn't stopped thinking about. Seafoam and ochre, as if it had been scooped from a tide pool just before the sky turned. The brush of her thumb had marked it before—she wondered if the woman had noticed.

This time, she picked it up with no hesitation.

The woman looked up, eyes soft but sharp. "Back for the storm?” Verena smiled, small and sure. "It wouldn't leave me alone."
The woman wiped her hands on a cloth, stood slowly. "That's how the good ones work. They haunt a little. Ask to be carried." She tilted her head, studying Verena like a pot she was still spinning into shape. "It's not just the color, is it?"

"No," Verena said, tracing the slight asymmetry in the bowl's rim. "It's the flaw. The way it held when it shouldn't have." A beat. The woman smiled then—wide and unguarded. "Then you're its person."
She wrapped the bowl in brown paper and cloth, careful and practiced, her movements slow but certain, like she was giving something over that mattered. When she handed it to Verena, their fingers brushed, and it felt like something unspoken passed between them. Not gratitude, exactly—recognition. Verena nodded, accepting the package like a gift rather than a purchase.

She walked away with the wrapped bowl tucked carefully against her side, its weight just enough to be known. Around her, the market buzzed with music, language, scent—but the sound fell to a hush in her mind. Not silence. Stillness.

For once, she didn't need to be anywhere else. Not until tonight.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ stepped out into the sun-washed afternoon, one hand braced against the warehouse's rusted frame as if steadying himself between two worlds. Behind him, the old bones of the building - timber beams, steel joints, light-dappled concrete - still vibrated with the echoes of his conversation with the start-up founders. They were young, scrappy, full of ideas and caffeine. And for once, the chaotic energy didn't put him off. It pulled him in.

He had reviewed the building's plans dozens of times back in New York, poured over the structural reports, sketched reconfigurations - but it wasn't until now, standing inside the shell of the place, that the vision clicked into place. The warehouse was raw. Scarred with use. A little forgotten. But AJ could see it - how light would spill through the restored windows come morning, how the mezzanine could float like a ribbon of possibility overhead, how the exposed brick could be left honest and imperfect, textured by time rather than erased by modern gloss.

The founders had met him on-site, wide-eyed and brimming with conviction. They talked fast and overlapping, their ideas spilling out like a pitch in motion - flex spaces, sustainable materials, an open-floor plan with "soul." AJ listened more than he spoke at first, nodding occasionally, mapping their enthusiasm against the structural reality. Then he began to ask questions. Not challenges—cues. What did they want the space to feel like when people stepped in for the first time? What kind of work did they want to inspire? Where did people rest, collaborate, breathe?

They'd gone deeper than expected. Talked about the psychology of light. The necessity of quiet zones. A meditation nook above the server room. One of them laughed and said AJ didn't speak like an architect. He spoke like he was designing a feeling. AJ smiled. That was the point. The hours slipped. He hadn't even realized how much time had passed until the shadows stretched long across the raw floor and his phone vibrated in his pocket—subtle, insistent.

A glance at the time. Shit.

He turned to the founders, still in mid-discussion over the eco-friendly finishes.

"I've got to go," he said, voice calm but firm, pocketing his sketchbook. "Dinner plans."

They tried to coax him to stay - just one more idea, one more question - but AJ was already tucking the final pencil behind his ear and walking toward the exit, his stride long and unhurried but purposeful.

His thoughts began to rearrange the moment he stepped back onto the street. They moved from acoustics and load-bearing walls to sandalwood and linen. From ventilation flow to the way Verena's fingers had brushed the croissant flakes from his lips with a kind of casual reverence that had left him winded. She'd said she'd pick the place. He trusted her with that, just like he'd trusted her hand in his that morning, the weight of her gaze, the kiss she'd pressed to the corner of his mouth like a promise.

As the city swallowed him up again, AJ loosened the collar of his shirt and slid on his sunglasses. The sun was still high, but the heat had settled into something more golden than sharp. San Francisco had a rhythm he was only now learning to hear properly - half improvisation, half ritual.

He walked back toward the hotel, retracing steps they'd shared just hours earlier. Past the honeycomb vendor. Past the flower stand. Past a ceramic table he didn't linger at, though he noticed a bowl missing and smiled without knowing why. He thought of her standing barefoot by the window, sketchpad resting lightly against her thigh, and wondered how long it would take before his silhouette appeared on one of those pages - distorted and mythologized in graphite, maybe, but drawn with truth.

He thought of her voice - low, warm, the way she'd said still do - and it stirred something deeper than want.​

 

[Kita-san]

She stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in steam and stillness, her skin carrying the scent of rose water and something warmer—amber, maybe, with a touch of vanilla. Her hair was towel-dried and air-damp, already beginning to fall in loose waves. The city outside her window was shifting into something softer, more golden. A moment balanced perfectly between daylight and evening.

The outfit she'd laid across the bed earlier wasn't delicate. It was clean, sharp, with just enough recklessness. Black high-waisted jeans—fitted, with a subtle fray at the ankle—and a cropped silk camisole in deep bronze, the straps delicate but the shape unapologetically strong. She complimented the look with gold jewelry. Two bracelets, a couple rings and a simple dainty necklace. At the foot of the bed laid a pair of black leather heels, the kind that spoke in subtle lines rather than loud shine. They had a pointed toe, sleek and modern, with a 2.5-inch block heel—comfortable enough for city streets, stylish enough to anchor the silk and denim she would wear.

The design was minimal but clever: thin crisscrossing straps wrapped across the top of the foot and buckled just above the ankle with a small matte gold clasp. The straps weren't just functional—they would frame the arch of her foot like negative space in a sculpture. The leather was soft but structured, matte rather than glossy, giving the whole shoe an architectural feel—feminine, but never delicate.

Verena knew that AJ would be returning soon so she quickly began to finish getting ready.
Her makeup was less defiant tonight. She kept her skin luminous and clean, her lips a muted rose, eyes warm and subtly defined with copper and taupe—just enough to catch the light. A soft glow along her cheekbones, like she'd just stepped out of golden hour. Not made-up. Just seen.

After finishing her makeup—soft and deliberate, each stroke like the punctuation of a sentence she'd been thinking about all day—Verena leaned closer to the mirror and turned her attention to her hair. The waves had fallen into their usual pattern, a little unruly from the steam, a little too much like who she was when no one was looking. She brushed them out slowly, watching her reflection shift with each pass—familiar and unfamiliar, all at once.

She reached for the curl cream, working it through the lengths with careful fingers, scrunching and defining until the shape found its rhythm again. This wasn't vanity—it was preparation. A kind of ritual. The way dancers stretched before going on stage. The wild edges of her hair weren't unwelcome, but tonight she wanted control. Not perfection. Just clarity.

She stood for a moment in the soft hum of the bathroom light, wearing only her sleek black bra and matching seamless thong, the kind of underthings meant more for comfort but still could be used for seduction. Once she exited the bathroom she moved to the full-length mirror, adjusting her earrings watching her reflection not with critique but recognition. This was how she wanted to be seen tonight: composed, warm, sharp where it counted. Not chasing anything. Just showing up.

She thought of AJ again—how his hands had moved through the market that morning, thoughtful and tactile. The way he looked at the city like it was a blueprint unfolding just for him. And how he'd looked at her—like she was something real, not romanticized. She exhaled through her nose, slow, and turned to slip on her black jeans.

She picked Penny Roma for dinner—down in the Mission, tucked behind a quiet stretch of 20th Street. It wasn't showy, but it didn't need to be. The space was equal parts brick and candlelight, filled with the scent of garlic oil and fresh pasta, the buzz of conversation, the thrum of music you felt more than heard. The kind of place where people leaned in closer. Where time moved in half-steps. She had felt spoiled last night and didn’t feel the need to go anywhere fancy. She just wanted a fun atmosphere and good food.

Now, slipping on her silk camisole and catching her own reflection again, Verena thought of AJ's eyes when she'd said still do. Not startled. Not smug. Just still. Like he'd heard it with more than his ears. Like he understood exactly what she'd meant—and what she hadn't said out loud. She smiled to herself, soft and private. Still do, she thought again.

And tonight, she'd let the rest of that sentence finish itself. Tonight wasn't about declarations. It wasn't about proving anything.
It was about presence. About letting the moment be enough. And trusting that the right things would follow, one course at a time.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ entered the hotel suite just as the last rays of the sun slanted through the tall windows, casting amber streaks across the floor. The room smelled faintly of her - rosewater and something deeper, richer. He paused mid-step, the door closing softly behind him.

Then he saw her. And everything in him slowed.

There she stood by the mirror, fastening one last earring, unaware - or perhaps entirely aware - of the effect she had on him. Bronze silk kissed the line of her collarbone, the fabric catching the light in waves. Her high-waisted black jeans curved in all the right places, legs long and poised in heels that looked more like sculpture than footwear. The loose waves of her hair framed her face in a way that made her look half siren, half storybook secret, and all real.

AJ didn't speak right away. He couldn't. His eyes travelled the length of her, not hungrily, but reverently. He felt like someone standing at the edge of a painting that made silence sacred.

"Fuck," he breathed under his breath - too quiet to be performative, too honest to be anything but awe. Then his face broke into a grin, the kind that spread slowly across his features, warm and unguarded. "You look…" He let the sentence fall, as if anything more would only diminish the truth of it.

She turned then, and their eyes locked. That was enough.

AJ crossed the space between them in just a few steps, cupping her face gently in his hands as he leaned down and kissed her - not out of obligation or habit, but like he'd been waiting all day for just this exact moment. His lips moved slow over hers, savouring rather than claiming, lingering just long enough to let her know he'd felt every ounce of her absence in the hours they'd spent apart. When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against hers, his smile still intact.

"Give me ten minutes," he murmured. "Fifteen if I lose the battle with my collar."

Then he stepped away, reluctantly, grabbing his clean clothes from his bag - charcoal slacks and a pale blue button-down, fresh and pressed, the sleeves already folded at the cuffs for ease. He disappeared into the bathroom with the soft click of the door.

Steam filled the room within minutes, the hot spray of the shower easing away the ache in his shoulders. His mind, however, was not so easily scrubbed clean. It lingered on her - on the way she'd looked when he walked in, on the memory of her fingers in his hair that morning, on the way she kissed like it was her idea, not his. He dried off quickly and pulled on the clean clothes, threading each button slowly, trying to stay focused. But the anticipation was electric. The night felt like it held a promise - unspoken but present. Not pressure. Not performance. Just presence. Like she'd said without saying it: we don't have to be anything but exactly who we are. Still towelling his hair dry, he stepped back into the suite barefoot, shoes dangling from one hand. "Okay," he said, meeting her gaze again. "Ready. Unless you need five more minutes to critique my collar situation."

He slipped on his loafers, tucked in his shirt, then approached her again, reaching for her hand. He turned it over in his, brushing his thumb across her palm as if grounding himself. "Penny Roma?" he asked, catching the subtle satisfaction on her face as he said it. "You have excellent taste. And I'm not just talking about pasta."

They headed toward the elevator, her heels a soft staccato beside his longer strides. In the mirrored interior, AJ caught their reflection. They looked good together - clean lines, warm tones, a quiet kind of magnetism. He didn't stare. He didn't need to. Her presence next to him was already felt in every part of him. In the cab, the city unfolded around them like it had been waiting all day to be part of this night. AJ kept one hand resting on her knee - light, familiar, not demanding. Just there. Just enough.

He glanced over at her, unable to keep the grin from tugging at his mouth. "So, if I told you I missed you more than I expected today… would that sound casual or completely ridiculous?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He already knew the truth of it. As they pulled up to the restaurant, AJ reached for the door, then paused. "I think tonight's going to be good," he said simply. "Not because of the wine or the food or the playlist in the background - but because I'm sitting across from you. And that's more than enough."

Then he stepped out and offered her his hand. The street was alive with soft neon and city noise, but AJ's world narrowed to the brush of her fingers and the quiet certainty that, whatever this was - it was worth staying present for.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena didn't hear the door open.

She was too busy muttering to herself about the way her waves always decided to misbehave at the last minute. She stood by the full-length mirror gently messing with her waves. She was completely ready, heels and all.

"Just cooperate," she whispered to a wayward piece of hair near her temple, gently tucking it behind her ear before absolutely not liking it behind her ear. She ended up running her hands through her waves, bracing the natural way they fell. This was her. She gave herself a once-over, shifting her weight onto one leg, then the other. The bronze silk top shimmered under the honey-colored light from the windows, and the high-waisted black jeans—the ones she'd almost talked herself out of—hugged her like they were on her side tonight.

She leaned in to the mirror and scrunched her nose at her reflection. "Okay, you tried," she said with a soft little shrug, smoothing her top and reaching for her lip gloss again—not because she needed more, but because it gave her something to do while she waited.
What she didn't know was that AJ had already walked in. That he was standing there, completely still, looking at her like she was the quiet part of a song people stopped breathing to hear.

She turned only when she caught movement behind her in the reflection. The second her eyes landed on him, her expression lit up—soft and surprised, like he was a perfectly timed breeze. Before she could say anything he was already closing the distance between them. He kissed her, and her hands found his shirt automatically, fingertips curling against the fabric like they'd missed it. Like they'd missed him.

When he pulled back and said he needed ten minutes, maybe fifteen, she gave him a teasing smile and nodded her head. “Alright. No problem.” She couldn’t stop smiling.
Once the door clicked shut, Verena let herself laugh quietly and made her way over to shared lounge area. She sat on the couch and patiently waited for AJ to get ready. Easily her mind drifted to him and what he might be wearing.

She almost felt a bit nervous, like a middle schooler who had just gotten the right kind of attention. She told herself to chill. To act normal. Then promptly got up to re-check her her hair. Again.

When AJ finally emerged from the bathroom looking effortlessly handsome and slightly damp. Her eyes lingered on his collar—perfect—and the way his sleeves were rolled, and the clean scent of soap and something warm beneath it.

“Your collar is just fine.” She said as she approached him, adjusting it just a bit before leaving the suite with him.

"So you’re ok with the restaurant I picked? I’ve never been to it but it seemed pretty nice by the pictures and had great reviews.” Verena had tried her best to find a nice restaurant of course. She loved pasta so she was hoping this would be a good place for that.

In the elevator, she pretended not to notice the way his fingers brushed hers again and again, or the way their reflections caught the light together. But in the cab, when he placed his hand gently on her knee, she felt her entire nervous system nod in approval.

And when he said he missed her? She felt her heart become full, it raced a bit and there was undeniable excitement and understanding since she had felt the same way today.

The cab door clicked shut behind them as Verena and AJ stepped out into the golden hush of a San Francisco evening. The Mission's warmth had settled in—a soft, citrusy breeze weaving past the buildings, carrying the scent of fresh basil, baking sourdough, and something smoky from a food truck down the block. Penny Roma stood tucked just behind an iron gate, its entrance modest, almost secretive, like it had nothing to prove. Verena liked that about it immediately.

Twinkle lights looped above the courtyard like scattered constellations, their glow catching in the leaves of potted olive trees that framed the brick pathway. Inside, shadows and laughter danced together over glasses of Barbera and wide bowls of handmade pasta. It wasn't fancy. It was intentional—warm, earthy, and quietly full of magic.

AJ's hand slid to the small of her back as they moved toward the gate, a touch light but familiar, and she tilted her head slightly toward him, letting herself feel it. She didn't speak right away. She didn't need to. The closeness between them had settled into something that didn't require narration. It just was.

The hostess greeted them with an easy smile, confirming their reservation before leading them past the soft clatter of silverware and the murmur of voices layered like a favorite vinyl track—crackling, warm, alive. They were seated near the open window overlooking the courtyard, where vines curled like ink across the pane and the glow of outdoor heaters bathed the space in coppery warmth.

Verena eased into her chair. Her silk top shimmered briefly as she sat, catching the candlelight that flickered in its tiny glass on the table between them. She rested her hands on the edge of the table, fingers lightly interlaced, and let her eyes wander over AJ as he took his seat.

His sleeves were rolled, his jaw still slightly shadowed from the day. Verena felt it again then—that little shift in her chest. Not the nervous flutter she used to confuse with affection, but something steadier, deeper. She was used to noticing people. Framing them, studying them. But AJ made her feel noticed back, seen in ways that didn't demand performance. She liked that he didn't rush past the quiet moments. That his silences weren't empty but full of things he didn't say just to say them. She liked that when he touched her, it wasn't to take—it was to remind her: I'm here.

"You clean up well," she said, eyes flicking over him in that half-playful, half-curious way.
As the server poured water and handed over the menus, Verena stole another glance at him. The candle flickered between them, its reflection caught in his glass and the faint gleam of his cuff button. He looked relaxed now. Present. Like he didn't want to be anywhere else.

At Penny Roma, the menu read like a love letter to Italian comfort—with a modern, California twist. Verena let her fingers drift over the thick paper, eyes catching on ingredients that made her mouth water and her curiosity lean forward.

“These two sound amazing for an appetizer. The Crudo di Pesce.” She read from the menu. “ Thin slices of local halibut, dressed in lemon oil and a whisper of Calabrian chili, finished with shaved fennel and soft herbs. It shimmered on the plate like glass, delicate and bright. Or the Burrata: Creamy and cool, nestled on a bed of roasted Delicata squash and topped with pomegranate seeds and toasted hazelnuts. Sweet met savory, silk met crunch.” Verena eyes wondered to AJ. “Your opinion please?” She asked.

Her smile, soft and certain, said what she was still keeping to herself:

This isn't just dinner. It's you. And I'm exactly where I want to be.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ leaned back slightly in his chair, the leather creaking just a touch beneath him, eyes flicking between the menu and Verena's expectant gaze. But mostly her. He took a slow sip of water before answering, if only to give himself a moment to enjoy the view across the table. The candlelight played tricks - casting shadows that kissed her collarbone and shimmered over the bronze silk of her top. He couldn't help but grin.

"Well," he said, voice low but teasing, "the halibut sounds like it was written by someone halfway in love with food." He nodded thoughtfully, tapping the edge of the menu. "But I think the burrata has my vote. Something about that combination - creamy, sweet, a little crunch - it feels like... I don't know, balance. Layers."

His smile tilted, that half-smirk he didn't mean to wear but always did when something about her got to him. Which, lately, was most things. AJ set the menu down, fingers steepled lightly in front of him. "Also, if I'm being honest," he added, eyes narrowing playfully, "I think you just like saying 'whisper of Calabrian chili.' Sounded a little too sensual for a menu read."

The grin she gave him - subtle, knowing - only made it worse. He leaned forward just enough to drop his voice another note. "You're dangerous when you talk about food like that."

Their server returned to take the order, and AJ deferred the appetizer choice with a small motion of his hand toward Verena, trusting her judgment without hesitation. Once their mains were selected - he'd gone with the rigatoni with pork sugo, something rustic and rich - AJ relaxed into his seat, the tension of the day slowly peeling off him. His mind wandered briefly back to the warehouse, to the texture of old brick and the echo of possibility in that space. The startup founders had been passionate, maybe even brilliant, and AJ had gotten caught up in it - seeing what the building could become, what life it could hold. But even as he stood there among blueprints and exposed beams, he had felt her absence tugging at him. Like a note left hanging in the wrong key. Now, watching her trace her finger absently along the stem of her wine glass, he knew why.

"This is nice," he said after a long pause - not filling silence, just acknowledging it. "I think I forget sometimes how good it is to just… sit with someone like this. No rush. No pitch deck in my hand."

He glanced down, swirling the deep red of his Barbera before taking a sip. The wine was bold, but not showy - just enough warmth and grit to remind him why he liked Italian reds. He met her gaze again, softer now.

"You know," he said slowly, "I've been around a lot of people who talk too much and say too little. But with you…" His brow furrowed slightly, like he was trying to find the right words. "Even when we're not saying anything, it still feels like something's happening." His thumb brushed the base of his wine glass, thoughtful. "You're not trying to impress anyone. And maybe that's what's impressive." He reached across the table without thinking, fingers curling briefly around hers - no pressure, just contact. Just the affirmation that, yes, he was here. And not going anywhere.

When the appetizers arrived, AJ sat back and let her plate the portions, watching her movements with something more than casual interest. He liked how precise she was without being stiff, how she appreciated beauty but didn't perform it. Every gesture felt real. Every glance carried intention. He took a bite of the burrata, letting the contrast of textures settle on his tongue before nodding slowly, decisively. "You chose right." Then, glancing at her again with a flicker of amusement: "And not just the cheese."

The conversation drifted between bites - sometimes light and fast, sometimes slow and shaded with honesty. He told her a bit more about the project, about how rare it was to work with clients who weren't afraid to dream. "You'd like them," he said at one point. "Young, a little reckless, completely obsessed with getting it right." Then, more quietly: "Reminds me of someone."

When the mains arrived, he dug into his rigatoni with the kind of hunger that could only come from being too busy to eat all day. "Jesus," he muttered around the first bite. "I think this plate just fixed at least three of my life problems." The way she laughed - not big or loud, but deeply amused - made something settle in his chest. He watched her eat, watched the light shift over her face, and thought for a moment how easy it would be to make a habit out of this. Out of her.

The night lengthened, wine glasses refilled, the candle flickered lower. The conversation never faltered, not once. It moved like a river, sometimes fast, sometimes a slow curl, but always forward. When the check came, AJ reached for it instinctively, but didn't make a show of it. No bravado, no obligatory gestures. Just care. Consideration.

He stood, offering his hand to her again like they hadn't already touched a hundred times that day. But this was different. This was after. After the meal. After the sharing. After the quiet truths neither of them had to say aloud. As they stepped out into the night again, cooler now, he exhaled slowly. Not out of exhaustion - but contentment.​

 

[Kita-san]

As they stepped out of Penny Roma, the buzz of the restaurant dimming behind them, Verena let the night air curl around her like silk—cool, fragrant with eucalyptus and the faintest hint of garlic trailing from the kitchen door. Her heels clicked softly against the sidewalk, and beside her, AJ matched her pace without a word, his hand brushing close enough to feel like a question.

She glanced over, a soft smile playing at her lips. "That tortelloni might be the best decision I've made all week," she said, her voice humorous. The best decision she has made was to come on this trip with AJ. "Pumpkin, browned butter, sage, a little black garlic—just the right amount of sweetness without being too precious." She gave him a look, teasing but not sharp. "Which, you know… says a lot. I'm not usually a 'pumpkin pasta' kind of person." She paused a beat.

The meal had been quieter than their usual rhythm, but not lacking for substance. The kind of dinner where conversation flowed between longer silences, the comfortable kind—where no one felt the need to fill every gap. Verena had spent more time than she expected watching the way AJ listened, how he nodded when something landed, how he held space without trying to steer the evening.

"You know," she said as they turned onto a quieter street, "I forget how much I appreciate nights like this. No performance. No crowd to navigate. Just… good food, good company, and the freedom to breathe a little."

The fog was settling now in soft ribbons, curling low around parked cars and fire hydrants. "I'm glad you invited me," Verena said softly, her voice carrying just enough weight to let him know she meant it. She glanced sideways at AJ, her gaze holding his for a moment longer than casual. The space between them was quiet, but not empty—thick with everything that hadn't needed to be said over dinner, everything that had built in the pauses, and the shared glances.

They walked a few more steps down the fog-laced street, the city settling around them like a blanket. The kind of silence that wrapped around you without pressing down. Then, gently, she bumped her shoulder against his. A quiet nudge, but deliberate. Her way of saying I'm here, I see you, and I don't want to leave just yet.

Verena slowed, something in her chest catching up to the moment before her feet did. She came to a stop beneath a streetlamp, the gold light brushing soft edges along her face. AJ stopped a few steps ahead, sensing the shift. He turned, his eyes already searching hers, and she didn't hesitate. Not this time.

She closed the space between them, slowly but without question, and rose just enough to kiss him. It wasn't rushed. It wasn't showy. It was real—the kind of kiss that doesn't need permission because it's been building, quietly, all evening. Her hand lightly touched his arm, just to ground herself, as if anchoring the moment so it wouldn't drift away too soon.

And when she pulled back, it wasn't with distance—it was with intention. Her eyes found his again, steady and warm, the faintest smile curling at her lips like she was still holding something tender between them.

"I've been thinking about that since the second course," she said quietly, then let out a small, almost breathless laugh. "But the timing felt better now.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, a gesture more out of habit than anything else, then looked back toward the quiet street ahead.

"There's that gelato spot on Valencia," she said, her voice lighter now, like the kiss had untied a knot somewhere inside her. "If we're not totally committed to digesting in silence. I heard they've got a black sesame flavor that's worth walking for."

She glanced at him again, a little playful this time, but still open. Honest.

"Unless you've got a better idea," she added, nudging his hand with hers, not grabbing, just… offering. "I'm open."

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ didn't answer right away. Not because he didn't have one. But because the kiss had left something suspended in him - like a held note in a song that he didn't want to end just yet. He watched her, lit from behind by the hazy halo of the streetlamp, her lips still parted slightly in the wake of it all, her eyes not shy but steady. Real. It was the kind of moment that made everything else fall back. The city noise, the fog, even the fact that they had only known each other this way for such a short time. It didn't matter. AJ wasn't the kind of man who let things rush him - but he also wasn't one to ignore when a moment asked to be seen. He stepped closer, just enough so that the space between them disappeared again, his hand coming up to gently brush the backs of his fingers along her cheekbone. No urgency - just that slow, deliberate care that had threaded every one of his touches with her so far.

"I was hoping you'd kiss me first," he said, voice low and edged with warmth. "You beat me to it."

He let the silence breathe between them for a second, letting his hand fall from her face only to reach for her hand - this time without hesitation. Not a brush. Not a question. Just his fingers slipping into hers like he already knew the answer.

"I think gelato sounds like exactly the kind of terrible idea we're supposed to make tonight," AJ said, a crooked smile sliding onto his face. "But black sesame?" He raised a brow. "Bold move. I was going to say pistachio and call it adventurous."

They started walking again, and this time, AJ didn't just match her pace - he leaned into it. Their strides in sync, their bodies just close enough to keep bumping as they turned onto Valencia, where the air was thick with the smell of cardamom, espresso, and wet pavement. His thumb moved over the back of her hand in slow circles as they walked. Absent-minded, maybe, but steady. Anchoring.

"You know," he said after a stretch of quiet, "I used to think nights like this only happened in stories. Or ads for really expensive watches."

He glanced at her, smile softer now. "But then you're standing under a streetlamp, and suddenly I'm forgetting half the English language and reconsidering my entire dinner timeline."

They passed an open bookstore window, dimly lit with second-hand paperbacks stacked in the corners. A calico cat was curled on the sill, unmoved by the night's rhythm. AJ's eyes flicked toward it, then back to her. He didn't say anything about it - he didn't have to. This was the kind of evening that filled in the blanks all on its own.

"I meant what I said earlier," he added as they reached the gelato shop's corner, the neon sign buzzing quietly above them. "About being glad you came. It's not just that this trip's been better because of you."

He stopped at the door, hand still in hers, and looked down at her. The streetlight caught in his eyes, that sharp green made warmer by the city's glow. "It's that I've been better. With you."

The moment stretched - not in the awkward way, but the way that asks to be remembered. Then he smirked a little and nudged the door open with his shoulder. "Come on. Let's test your theory about sesame gelato."

Inside, the space was intimate and full of quiet energy - low hums of conversation, the whirr of the machine scooping creamy shapes into waiting cups, the smell of sugar and toasted nuts.

AJ scanned the chalkboard menu, amused. "They've got olive oil and fig. That feels illegal."

He watched her place her order first - something in the way she chose without hesitation made him smile again. Then he stepped forward. "One black sesame," he told the man behind the counter. "And, yeah… one fig and olive oil. I like a challenge."

Outside again, cups in hand, AJ took a slow bite of his fig and olive oil. He squinted into the night like he was solving a riddle. Then he gave a decisive nod. "Not terrible."

He took a second bite and glanced sideways at her. "Okay, actually? Kinda brilliant."

As they strolled, gelato in hand and shoulders brushing, AJ glanced over at her again - noticing how her hair had started to curl a little more in the fog, how the candlelit warmth of the restaurant still seemed to cling to her.

"So…" he said after a few quiet steps, the last of his gelato melting in the cup. "This was a good idea. Not just dinner. Not just tonight. This." He looked at her, meaning it. "Us."

His voice was quiet, not from shyness but from knowing the weight of his own words.

"I don't need to name it. Not yet," he said, his free hand brushing gently along her arm. "But I know I want more of it. Of you."

The street narrowed into a quieter stretch. The kind where the world stops performing for a bit.

AJ stepped in front of her, walking backward for a few steps, grinning. "And next time," he added, tossing the empty cup in a nearby bin with perfect aim, "I'm picking the dessert."

A beat.

"But you can keep picking the restaurants. Clearly, you're better at it."

And with that, he fell back into step beside her - hand brushing hers once again, no longer a question.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena looked down at their hands—how natural they felt already, how easy—and then back up at him, the glow from the gelato shop's window casting soft light over one half of his face. It was too much, almost. Too right. And still, she stayed.

The air around them buzzed with the electricity of people living their lives nearby—passing cars, distant laughter, the low rhythm of a bassline bleeding out from a bar somewhere on the next block. But inside this bubble they had made, the only sound that seemed to matter was the tiny shift of breath when she stepped just a fraction closer, her shoulder brushing his arm again.

"Us," she repeated, like she was testing the shape of the word in her mouth. "I like how that sounds. Whatever this is… I want it. I want more of you.”

She didn't need to say she meant it. Her whole body said it—the way she leaned into him, the way her laughter finally broke free when he mentioned dessert, the way her eyes softened even in the half-light.

"Okay, fine," she said, mock-dramatic as she finished her gelato. The black sesame flavor was much better than she expected but she definitely wouldn’t call it her favorite. "You can pick dessert next time.” She looked up at him with a smile. “You’re not bad at picking out restaurants. I was quite pleased with the first place we went to.” She added. When they passed by another trash bin she made sure to throat her empty gelato cup away.

A beat, then quieter, almost like a whisper meant only for the space between their steps:
"But I want there to be a next time."
She let that hang in the air, untangled and clean and true. And then she reached her hand back toward his again—not like she needed permission, not anymore. Just because it felt right. Because he felt right. Because this moment was already becoming a memory she knew she'd replay someday with a smile that knew exactly how it ended.

As they approached the hotel, the cool hush of the late night seemed to wrap around them like a silk scarf—soft, weightless, but impossible to ignore. Verena found herself wishing, not for the first time that evening, that the night wouldn't end just yet. Time always seemed to blur when she was with AJ—like the hours folded in on themselves, leaving behind only this kind of effortless ease, this low, golden current that hummed just beneath their every exchange.

It wasn't that she didn't notice the hour. She did. The city had quieted, and even the traffic felt like it was sleeping now. And though she didn't know exactly what kind of work schedule AJ had tomorrow, she was aware that keeping him out late probably wasn't the most considerate idea. But still… the thought of letting the evening slip away, of watching him disappear into sleep and silence, tugged at her chest in a way that was surprisingly tender.

She wanted more. Not just more time. More him.

The hotel lobby was quiet when they stepped through the doors—muted lighting, polished floors gleaming underfoot, and not a soul in sight except for the night concierge at the desk, nodding politely as they passed. The hush made it feel almost sacred, like they were walking through the kind of stillness you only get after something meaningful.

In the elevator, Verena pressed her shoulder lightly against AJ's, a small lean—intentional, but easy. Not for balance. Not for show. Just because being close to him felt good. Grounding, in a way she couldn't quite explain. Her fingers brushed the side seam of his jacket, not quite holding him, but lingering there like she was remembering something that hadn't happened yet.

When they reached their floor, neither of them rushed. Their pace slowed, quiet laughter and low conversation trailing between them like footprints. Every step toward their suite felt like another moment borrowed from the night—a kind of gentle defiance against reality waiting on the other side of morning.

Verena still couldn't quite believe how beautiful the suite was. It felt like a dream someone had folded open just for them—warm lighting spilling across hardwood floors, high windows offering a blurred view of the sleeping city, and the kind of elegance that whispered instead of shouted. She had gasped when they first arrived, and even now, a small part of her heart fluttered with that same mix of disbelief and gratitude.

AJ had taken care of everything. The reservations. The details. The subtle touches that made the whole thing feel effortless. Thoughtful, not flashy. And as they stepped inside, she turned to him with a smile that was both soft and full of something deeper—something that had been growing all evening.

"Home sweet home," she said lightly, her voice playful but laced with sincerity. There was something quietly vulnerable in the way she said it, as if she wasn't just referring to the room, but to this feeling between them. This warmth.

She slipped off her jacket, her movements slow and unhurried. She hung it neatly on the hook by the door, then ran her fingers through her hair—loosening the waves, releasing whatever tension still lingered in her shoulders. The gesture was casual, familiar, but there was something sensuous about it too, in the way she moved—free in her own skin. Comfortable.

And content.

She turned to face AJ, taking in the sight of him now with the soft suite light gilding the edges of his face. Her eyes traced the curve of his jaw, the way his posture seemed looser now, like he too had let the world fall away at the door. "This was…" She paused, letting her smile grow wider, more genuine. "Exactly what I needed. Now I can say I tried black sesame gelato.” She teased.

Verena crossed the suite with that unhurried grace she always seemed to carry, her movements fluid and soft, like the evening hadn't quite settled into night yet. She set her purse down gently on the dresser near her side of the bed, fingers lingering for a moment on the worn leather strap before she let go, her eyes drifting to the warm lighting and the city view beyond the windows.

"Is it just me," she began, her voice light and almost conversational, "or does it still feel like daytime?" She glanced over her shoulder at AJ, her smile faint but unmistakable—like she was sharing some quiet secret. "Exhaustion just hasn't hit me yet. I spent the day shopping, wandering around, just… having fun." She laughed softly, more to herself than to him, the sound easy and pleased. "Maybe that's why I'm still wired. All that good energy's still buzzing around.

Her heels clicked softly on the hardwood floor as she turned and walked toward him. There was no rush in her steps, no urgency—just that subtle intention she carried whenever she wanted to be near him. Her gaze held his steadily as she stopped in front of him, close enough for her perfume to reach him—something floral with a trace of spice, like jasmine and something darker underneath.

Verena reached up and gently took hold of the lapels of his jacket. Her fingers were warm and sure, and the touch was less about removing clothing and more about the simple intimacy of it—this small, domestic moment made tender by the quiet between them. She moved slowly, deliberately easing the jacket off his shoulders, her gaze tracing the line of his collarbone, the dip of his throat. Not obviously—but he would feel it. The way she took him in like he was a painting she wasn't done studying.

"You run warm," she murmured, mostly to herself, her voice a breath against the space between them.

Once the jacket slipped free of his arms, she folded it neatly and walked it over to the small coat stand by the entryway, hanging it beside her own. Her silhouette was framed in the soft golden light, her bare shoulders exposed now that her own jacket was gone, the curve of her neck catching the glow.

Then she turned back toward him, slower this time, arms loose at her sides, eyes softer.

“Tired?” she asked with a tilt of her head, her tone playful but edged with something curious.

Her eyes sparkled, teasing, but there was a hum of vulnerability just beneath the surface. Not fear—just the awareness of what this was becoming. And how deeply, instinctively right it was starting to feel.

There was a peace in her. Not the kind that comes from stillness, but the kind that blooms when something feels right. And tonight—he—felt more right than she'd let herself hope for.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ felt the quiet hum of the evening still vibrating in his veins as he guided Verena back toward the hotel suite. The night's intimacy lingered on his skin - the warmth of her against him, the taste of black sesame and fig lingering at the back of his throat. But beneath the comfortable ease, a new current had stirred. He sensed her vulnerability had shifted tonight, a soft opening in the guarded space she'd maintained for so long. He wondered how far she might let him go, how much trust she would give if he asked for more.

Inside the suite, the city lights spilled across the floor, painting abstract patterns on the walls. AJ paused at the threshold, looking at the empty living area between them - the same space where, hours earlier, they had shared quiet confidences. He turned to face the door, ensuring it was securely closed, then flicked off the overhead lights, leaving only the ambient glow from the windows and the subtle reflection of streetlamps. The subdued light felt intimate, protective.

He caught sight of Verena for a moment - her silhouette framed by the soft illumination. She was still dressed for the evening: the bronze camisole and black jeans hugging her form in a way that seemed both effortless and deliberately chosen. AJ's pulse quickened; he admired the way she inhabited her own skin, unselfconsciously. He stepped closer, closing the distance until there was only a breath between them.

Reaching out, he let his fingers brush lightly along her collarbone, tracing the line where silk met skin. The touch was gentle, exploratory - an invitation rather than a claim. "Is this alright?" he murmured, voice low. He needed her response in the slight shift of her posture, in the way her breath fluttered. He watched for hesitation, for consent. Her stillness in that moment told him she allowed it.

He leaned in, pressing a slow, measured kiss at the hollow of her neck - just enough to let her feel the heat of him near her skin. His hand slid down to rest lightly at the small of her back, fingertips grazing over the seam of her jeans. He paused, gauging her reaction. When she didn't pull away, he allowed his palm to press more firmly, guiding her gently to turn so he could see her face. His eyes searched hers: was there any discomfort? Only a softness, a quiet acceptance.

"Tell me if it's too much," he whispered, brushing a stray curl from her face, tucking it behind her ear with deliberate slowness. Each movement was measured - he wanted her to feel in control, even as she surrendered a measure of that control to him. He let his thumb trail along her jawline, the pad of his finger stroking lightly. The tension between them became electric but remained tender.

He lowered his mouth to her lips, kissing her deliberately, deepening the touch but maintaining a gentle rhythm. His other hand slid to her hip, fingers pressing into the curve just enough to anchor her. He felt her respond: a subtle parting of lips, a reciprocation that spoke of trust. Yet he held back from rushing further. Instead, he lingered, letting the kiss fade into a softer brush of lips. He wanted to test her boundaries without overwhelming her - explore how much closeness she craved.

He straightened slightly, his forehead resting against hers. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, voice thick with feeling. Then he let his hands drift, sliding down her sides, fingertips pressing against the waistband of her jeans as if contemplating the next boundary. But before any deeper action, he paused, watching her eyes: did she want him to continue? The flicker of warmth there told him yes, but also that she needed reassurance.

He slipped his hands beneath her camisole hem, resting them on her waist. The contact was warm and intimate; he felt the faint tremor under his palms. He kissed her again - this time slower, as if memorizing the shape of her lips. His desire was clear in the gentle way he deepened the kiss, but he remained attentive, sensitive to every nuance: the way she pressed back, the slight arch of her neck, the soft exhale she released.

Pulling back just enough to catch her gaze, he spoke between breaths. "I want to be with you, Verena. In every way you allow." His tone was earnest, soft. He placed a hand on her cheek, thumb brushing over her skin. "If you're comfortable, I'd like to explore more of you tonight, but only if you truly want this." The honesty in his voice was critical - he was testing boundaries, yes, but making sure it was mutual.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena's breath caught in her throat.

She hadn't expected how gentle AJ would be with her — or how much that gentleness would unravel something inside her. His touch was slow, careful, reverent. Like he didn't just want her body; he wanted her trust, her truth. And she hadn't let herself be wanted like that in a long, long time.

Her hands were still resting lightly against his chest when he whispered, "I want to be with you. In every way you allow."

She could feel the heat of his body, the steady rhythm of his heart under her fingertips. And for a moment — one fragile, breathless beat — she froze.

Not because she didn't want him.

God, she did. Her whole body ached with it now, every inch of skin hyperaware of how close he was. The feel of his mouth on her neck still tingled like a brand. She wanted more of it. She wanted to give herself over to this man who looked at her like she was something rare, not broken. Something worthy of slow hands and whispered words and restraint.

But somewhere deep inside, a familiar ghost stirred.

James.

That name still curled like smoke in the corners of her thoughts, bitter and sour. Her fiancé — a title that had become more like a weight around her neck than a promise. She'd spent months trying to convince herself that things could work. That if she just kept going, kept playing her role, the emptiness would stop echoing. But James never touched her like this. Not with tenderness. Not with awe. He didn't see her, not really. Only what he thought she should be.

And now, here she was — standing in the glow of citylight with a man who did. Who touched her like she was sacred. Who listened when she spoke and laughed at her jokes and walked at her pace. Who made her feel like she could be herself, not some polished version of the woman someone else expected her to be.

AJ's hands were on her waist, still motionless, warm and grounding. She realized her body had already answered for her — she hadn't pulled away. She had leaned in.

And now, slowly, she lifted her eyes to meet his.

Her voice was quieter than before, but sure. "It's not too much." She let out a slow, shaky breath, one hand coming up to rest lightly on the back of his neck. "I just needed a second. Not because I don't want this—" her fingers curled slightly in his hair, "—but because it's been… a long time since someone made me feel like this. Everything I could need is here. Trust, safety…all of it.”

Her thumb brushed gently across the edge of his jaw. "I want this. I want you."

Her heart was pounding now, the decision solidifying in her chest like the steady climb of a storm about to break. She leaned up and kissed him again, deeper this time, her hand sliding around to his chest, feeling the strength of him beneath her palm. The kiss wasn't desperate — it was hungry, yes, but purposeful. Like she was choosing him, not just tonight, but here, in this space she was finally reclaiming.

When they pulled apart, barely inches between them, her forehead rested gently against his. Can

"I want to be close to you," she whispered. "Tonight. Not because I'm trying to forget something… but because you feel like something I want to remember." Her fingers found the edge of his shirt, slipping beneath the hem just enough to feel skin.

"So yeah," she added, stepping in closer until there was no space between them, "I'm comfortable. And I'm ready. If you are."
She kissed him again — slower now, but full of promise — and this time, there was no hesitation.

AJ no longer needed to question her. There was no uncertainty in her touch, no flicker of doubt in the way she responded to him. Verena wanted this—him—not just in the heated way bodies call to one another, but in the quiet, unspoken way that said she was choosing everything that came with him. The shared mornings. The soft silences. The tangled histories and vulnerable hopes.

She didn't break the kiss. She deepened it.

A slow, deliberate parting of her lips against his—an unspoken invitation that shifted everything. The restraint they'd both held onto with shaking hands all evening melted like sugar on her tongue. The hunger between them, once leashed and careful, was now aching to be felt fully. Her kiss told him everything: not just yes, but finally.

Her hazel eyes fluttered closed as she leaned into him, one hand sliding up along his ribcage, the other gliding higher, fingers splaying across his chest. She could feel the heat of him through the thin fabric, the steady thrum of his heartbeat under her palm like a drum calling her closer. His tongue met hers, slow and searching at first, then bolder, deeper, until their mouths moved with the kind of rhythm that felt fated.

The kiss grew, pulse by pulse, into something rich and consuming. But not frantic. Never that. Verena matched his pace, allowing herself to sink into the moment without rushing it. There was time. Time to remember everything—the way his hands moved along her waist, careful but claiming; the rough warmth of his stubble when his jaw brushed hers; the way his breath hitched when her body pressed flush against him.

She tilted her head slightly, adjusting the angle so she could kiss him deeper still, savoring the taste of him, the way he responded to her, how his hands tightened just slightly when she moaned quietly into his mouth. Her nails grazed softly down the center of his chest, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin—he was holding back, still giving her space even as the desire between them burned brighter.

And that? That undid her even more.

Verena pulled back only slightly, her lips still brushing his, her breath warm and unsteady against his mouth. Her eyes opened slowly, dark with wanting but clear. Grounded. She stared at him for a moment, memorizing the way he looked at her—like she wasn't just beautiful, but important. Real.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

The words hit him like a thunderclap wrapped in silk: "I'm comfortable. And I'm ready. If you are."

For a moment, the world stilled. No sound, no movement - just those words ringing in his ears, unlocking something caged inside him. It wasn't just permission. It wasn't even just consent. It was liberation. That quiet sentence unshackled the storm he'd been holding back for what felt like forever. Every carefully restrained urge, every whispered thought he'd buried beneath the surface of his days, surged upward like a tide breaking through a dam. And God, the way she said it - so certain, so steady. There was no hesitation in her voice. No trembling vulnerability. Only a quiet power that met his own with equal force. It thrilled him.

Adrian moved before he could think. His body, long deprived of touch that meant something, closed the space between them, drawn to her like gravity. His hands slid to her waist as his mouth claimed hers, and from the very first press of their lips, he knew this kiss wasn't like anything that had come before. It wasn't polite. It wasn't measured. It wasn't performative. It was hunger - raw, aching, desperate. It was slow-burning need meeting its long-awaited match.

Every part of her seemed to answer him: the way her lips moved against his, the breath that caught in her throat when he deepened the kiss, the way her body molded to his without hesitation. He felt her fingers curl into his shirt, tugging him closer, and a soft groan escaped his throat—he couldn't help it. It was real. His heart hammered as his hands began to roam - hesitant at first, reverent, almost disbelieving that he was allowed to touch. They crept beneath the hem of her bronze camisole, fingers grazing the warmth of her bare skin. He took his time, savouring every inch he explored. Her sides, her ribs, the gentle curve of her lower back. He was cataloguing her like she was art, something to be appreciated before being consumed.

Only when he was sure - utterly sure - that the moment was still theirs, did he slide the fabric up. Their mouths parted for only a second as he lifted the camisole over her head and tossed it aside. Then, immediately, instinctively, their lips met again. This time it was more urgent. More intense. His kiss deepened, his grip on her tightening as if he feared she might vanish if he let go. His hands trailed up her back again, seeking and finding the clasp of her bra. It came undone with the ease of long experience, though this moment felt like the very first time. When it slipped from her shoulders and dropped to the floor, Adrian stepped back - not far, just enough to look. To see.

His breath caught in his throat. She was beautiful. Not just in the aesthetic, surface-level sense. But in a way that hit him - viscerally, undeniably. Her breasts rose and fell with her breath, full and perfectly shaped, crowned with nipples that had already responded to his touch. To him.

And something shifted in him again. He should have felt guilty. He should have felt shame. But there was none. Serena - her memory, her presence - it didn't vanish, but it stepped aside, out of reach, as if it belonged to another life entirely. All he could feel now was heat. A furious, living heat that started in his chest and coursed down through his limbs.

He moved like a man possessed. His lips left hers and trailed lower, down her neck, across her collarbone, until they found her breast. He took her nipple into his mouth, and the taste of her - the softness of her skin, the way her body trembled faintly beneath his touch - hit him harder than he expected. His tongue circled, slow and deliberate, teasing her, drinking in her response. His hand found her other breast, his thumb grazing her nipple before his fingers rolled it gently, coaxing more from her, more sound, more movement, more proof that this was happening.

Each second felt electric. Every touch deepened the gravity of the moment, pulled him further from the man he used to be and into something raw, something real. His body was awake in a way it hadn't been in years. Not just aroused, but alive. Everything tingled - his skin, his blood, his breath. Every nerve was on fire.

This wasn't some reckless mistake. This was clarity. This was need. This was freedom. And he wasn't going to stop. Not now. Not when he finally felt like himself again.​

 

[Kita-san]

As he lifted her camisole over her head, she felt a moment of vulnerability, but it was quickly replaced by a surge of empowerment. The way he looked at her, with such raw, unfiltered desire, made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. Her breasts rose and fell with her rapid breaths, her nipples already hardened in anticipation of his touch. When his lips trailed lower, down her neck, across her collarbone, she felt a throb of need between her legs, a ache that only he could satisfy.

His mouth on her breast sent shockwaves of pleasure through her body, her back arching instinctively, pressing her more firmly against him. His tongue, his teeth, his hands—every touch was a claim, a brand, a promise. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, matching the inferno raging within her own. Her hands roamed his back, his shoulders, his arms, memorizing the feel of him, the strength of him, the reality of him.

Every touch, every kiss, every whisper of his breath against her skin deepened the connection between them, pulling her further into the abyss of desire. She felt alive, every nerve ending tingling with sensation, every inch of her skin hyperaware of his presence. This wasn't just physical; it was a meeting of souls, a collision of needs, a liberation of desires long held at bay.

Verena's emotions were a tumultuous mix of joy, relief, and sheer, unadulterated lust. She felt free, unchained, unbound by the shackles of hesitation or doubt. This was what she wanted, what she needed, and AJ was giving it to her without reservation. Her body responded to his with equal fervor, meeting his urgency with her own, matching his intensity with a passion that left them both breathless and wanting more.

As AJ’s mouth and hand worked in tandem to tease her sensitive flesh, Verena's breath hitched, and soft, breathy moans escaped her lips, each one a testament to the pleasure he was drawing from her body. Her back arched involuntarily, pressing her breasts more firmly into his touch, as if begging for more. Her hands, driven by a primal need, gripped his shoulders, her fingers digging into the solid muscle beneath, squeezing and kneading in a silent plea for him to continue, to never stop.

The room around them faded into insignificance, every thought and sensation narrowed down to the points where their bodies met. James, her fiancé, was a distant memory, his existence barely a blip on her radar. She couldn't recall the last time they'd shared a genuine moment of intimacy, a real kiss that meant something, rather than the performative displays he so often insisted on for his own gratification. This was different—raw, honest, and utterly consuming.

Verena's body craved this connection, this physical affirmation of her desires. She was human, after all, and her relationship with James had long since withered into a hollow shell, devoid of any real intimacy. This need, this hunger, was something she couldn't ignore, something she couldn't deny herself any longer.

With a sense of urgency, her hands moved down his body, tracing the contours of his torso before reaching the hem of his shirt. She gripped the fabric, her knuckles turning white with the force of her grip, and slowly, deliberately, pulled it upwards, breaking the seal of their bodies for only a moment. His shirt was a barrier, a hindrance to the connection she so desperately sought, and she was determined to remove it.

As the shirt passed his head, she tossed it aside, her eyes never leaving his. The break in their contact was brief, a mere few seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Her body ached for his touch, her skin craving the heat of his, and as soon as the shirt was discarded, she was pressing against him once more, their bodies molded together as if they were two pieces of a puzzle, finally locked into place.

In that moment, Verena was not just a participant; she was a force, a partner, a woman claiming her own desires and needs with the same ferocity that AJ did. And it was liberating, exhilarating, and utterly intoxicating

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

There was no longer any room for doubt, no hesitation left to hide behind. They wanted each other - completely, urgently, and without pretence. Tonight wasn't about curiosity or casual indulgence. It was about hunger, need, and the magnetic pull that had grown stronger between them with every shared glance, every lingering touch. Their lips met again in a feverish kiss, all-consuming and breathless, the kind that silenced thought and drowned out everything but the pounding of blood and the ache of anticipation.

AJ's hands framed her face as they kissed, his fingers tangling in her hair, grounding himself in the reality of this moment. With a breathless murmur against her lips, he guided them both backward through the softly lit room, their steps uneven, their kisses unbroken. They stumbled toward one of the beds - he didn't care which, didn't even glance at it. All that mattered was her. The warmth of her mouth. The way her body moved with his like they'd done this a thousand times already in another life.

As they reached the edge of the mattress, AJ's hands slid down her sides with reverence and purpose. His fingers found the button of her jeans and, without breaking eye contact, he undid it. The rasp of the zipper was impossibly loud in the quiet room, a delicious kind of punctuation to their growing urgency. He crouched slightly, easing the denim down her hips, then over her thighs, until they pooled around her ankles. She stepped out of them with effortless grace, and his breath caught when he saw what she'd been hiding beneath.

A black thong, minimal and exquisite, hugged her hips in a way that made his mouth go dry. It was the kind of lingerie designed to drive someone mad - not because of what it covered, but because of what it hinted at. A deliberate choice. One made with confidence and wicked intention. AJ could barely suppress the growl that built in his chest. If her beauty had ever been in question - if there had been even the smallest doubt about how utterly intoxicating she was - it was obliterated now. The glow of her skin in the low light, the soft curves of her body, the unspoken invitation in her gaze… it left him shaken.

He encouraged her to lie back with a gentle nudge, his voice low and steady but laced with want. She reclined slowly, propped up on her elbows at first, watching him with something between amusement and hunger. AJ lowered himself to his knees in front of her like a man in prayer. From this vantage point, she was a vision. Her legs stretched out before him, relaxed but expectant. The faint tension in her thighs betrayed her anticipation, and he smiled at the thought that she wanted this - wanted him - just as badly. His hands glided up the outsides of her calves, and then he lifted one leg, bringing it to rest over his shoulder. His lips found her ankle first, brushing a kiss against the soft skin there. Then another, a little higher. And another still, as he began a slow, deliberate trail up her leg.

His mouth mapped a path of tenderness and heat, tasting every inch, savouring her. By the time he reached the smooth expanse of her inner thigh, he was nearly undone. The scent of her arousal was unmistakable, thick and heady and so maddeningly close. He exhaled against her skin, steadying himself with sheer willpower. He wanted to devour her, to bury his face between her thighs and make her cry out his name, but he wasn't rushing anything. Not yet.

Switching sides, he let her first leg slip from his shoulder and lifted the other. He gave it the same attention - slow, languid kisses, each one a promise. She shifted slightly on the bed, hips tilting just enough to betray her impatience. He grinned against her skin, then finally - finally - let his fingers drift upward to press softly against the soaked fabric of her thong. The heat of her was unmistakable. The dampness made his stomach clench and his cock twitch in his pants. He looked up again, needing to see her face. Her eyes met his, wide and dark with desire, her lips parted as if she were on the verge of saying something - then thinking better of it. The connection between them was electric, grounding and explosive all at once.

Wordlessly, reverently, his hands found the sides of her thong. He held his gaze with hers as he eased the delicate fabric down, inch by inch, watching her expression shift as more of her was revealed to him. There was vulnerability in the moment, yes, but not shame - never that. She was powerful like this, naked and unafraid, as if she knew exactly the effect she had on him. And she did. God, she did.

When the thong finally slipped free of her ankles, AJ simply knelt there for a beat, frozen by the sight of her. She was utterly bare, unguarded, stretched out in front of him like a dream brought to life. The woman who had haunted his thoughts for weeks, who had driven him to distraction with a single look or offhand comment, was now here - completely, gloriously his.

And he hadn't even touched her properly yet.​

 

[Kita-san]

The room seemed to pulse with an electric energy, a charged atmosphere where every breath was a spark, every movement a crackle of anticipation. Verena lay on the bed, her body a canvas of desire, each curve and line begging to be explored. AJ's eyes roamed over her, not just seeing but devouring, his gaze a physical touch that left trails of heat across her skin.

She could feel the weight of his attention, the intensity of his focus, and it made her heart race. Her breath hitched as his fingers traced the edge of her thong, a teasing promise of what was to come. The fabric was a barrier, a final layer of modesty that he was about to peel away, revealing her completely.

As he slowly pulled the thong down, Verena felt a rush of vulnerability and excitement. She was exposed, laid bare, not just physically but emotionally. Every inch of her skin was alive, tingling with anticipation. AJ's touch was gentle yet firm, his fingers leaving a trail of fire as they moved over her thighs, her hips, her stomach.

Her body arched slightly, a silent invitation, a wordless plea for more. She could feel the tension building, a coil of desire tightening within her. Each kiss he placed on her skin was a spark, igniting a fire that spread through her veins. Her legs trembled, her muscles clenched, and her breath came in short, sharp gasps.

AJ's lips moved upwards, tracing a path of pure ecstasy. Verena's mind was a blur, her thoughts scattered, replaced by a primal need. She could feel the heat of his breath against skin and it sent shivers down her spine. The room seemed to spin, the world narrowing down to just the two of them, their bodies entwined, their breaths mingling. Verena's eyes fluttered closed, her senses heightened, every touch, every kiss, every whisper amplified. She could feel the tension in AJ's body, the restraint in his movements, and it only served to heighten her own desire.

Her hips moved in sync with his, a dance of need and want. Each shift, each tilt, was a silent promise, a wordless declaration of her surrender. She was completely his, body and soul, lost in the storm of their passion. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them, adrift in a sea of desire.

And then, with a final, gentle tug, the thong was gone, and Verena was completely bare, completely open, completely his. The tension in the room was palpable, a live wire sparking, crackling, ready to explode. Verena was ready to surrender, to let the storm of their passion consume her, to lose herself in the intensity of their connection.

In that moment, time stood still, and the world outside ceased to exist. There was only Verena and AJ, their bodies entwined, their souls intertwined, lost in a dance of desire and need. The room spun with the intensity of their passion, and Verena knew, in that moment, that she was exactly where she was meant to be.

Verena's gaze locked onto AJ's, unwavering and bold. She didn't hide or shy away; instead, she invited him in, wanting him to see every part of her, to drink in the sight of her laid bare. This newfound confidence was a gift from him, a flame ignited by his adoring gaze and tender touches. He made her feel beautiful, truly seen, and deeply understood—in a way that James had forgotten or perhaps never known how to do.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Verena sat up fully, her body a landscape of curves and shadows. She leaned forward, her eyes never leaving his, and pressed her lips to his in a kiss that was a symphony of need and desire. Their lips met in a fiery embrace, tongues dancing and exploring, a silent promise of what was to come. The kiss was brief but intense, a spark that ignited a blazing inferno within them both. It was her way of telling him to continue, to keep peeling back the layers, to keep revealing the truth of their desire.

Verena eased back, her body melting into the mattress as she propped herself up on her elbows, her hazel eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and mischief. She took a moment to appreciate the sight of AJ, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath, his eyes dark with desire. She wanted to rush, to hurry through the foreplay and get to the main event, but she knew better. Patience, she told herself, savoring each moment would heighten every sensation, make every touch more intense, every kiss more electrifying.

She smirked at him, a slow, seductive curve of her lips that promised a night of pure, unadulterated pleasure. "Take your time," her eyes seemed to say, "I'm not going anywhere." Her body was a landscape of desire, every inch of her begging to be explored, to be worshipped. She could feel the heat of his gaze, the intensity of his focus, and it sent shivers down her spine, making her skin tingle with anticipation. She was ready, more than ready, but she wanted to savor, to draw out the sweet agony of anticipation.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ lingered for a moment, taking in the sight before him. Verena had fallen back against the bed, lips parted just slightly, chest rising and falling in shallow, breathless rhythm. Her body was relaxed but undeniably poised - like a coiled spring waiting to be released. The aftermath of their kiss still clung to the air between them, electric and heavy, charged with promise. Her legs had fallen open, just enough to reveal the glimmer of invitation in her posture. It was subtle, but unmistakable - a quiet surrender, a wordless beckoning. And AJ heard it loud and clear.

He didn't hesitate. Sliding down the bed, he placed his hands gently but deliberately on the insides of her thighs. She was warm beneath his palms, skin soft and smooth, with a tension that betrayed her anticipation. Slowly, he guided her legs farther apart, exposing her completely to him. The sight alone sent a bolt of desire through him. Her arousal glistened in the low light, a shimmering testament to how badly she wanted this - wanted him. But it was the scent that truly undid him. That intoxicating, unmistakably feminine fragrance, rich and primal, filled his senses and triggered something almost feral deep in his chest.

He didn't speak. Words would have been useless here. Instead, he leaned in, pressing a slow, reverent kiss to the soft skin of her inner thigh. She shifted slightly, a sharp inhale betraying her awareness of what was coming. AJ continued, his lips moving with purpose now - no more teasing, no more build-up. This wasn't about games or withholding. He wanted to taste her, to lose himself in her.

And so he did. His mouth moved between her thighs, tongue sliding against her folds as his hands held her firmly open for him. The heat of her was immediate, overwhelming, and perfect. He took his time, letting his tongue explore every inch of her—slow, deliberate strokes that made her hips twitch beneath him. Her taste was rich, sweet, salty, uniquely hers. It drove him mad.

AJ spread her lips with two fingers, watching for just a moment as her slickness caught the light. Then he dove in again, tongue circling her clit, teasing it with slow laps, before flattening against it with more pressure. Verena gasped, her hand flying to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair. She wasn't guiding him - she didn't need to. She simply held on, as if anchoring herself against the intensity of the pleasure building inside her.

He hummed against her, the vibration making her back arch. Her thighs quivered under his touch, muscles tensing with every flick of his tongue. He moved lower, teasing her entrance with the tip of his tongue, before sliding it inside. The way she clenched around even the smallest intrusion made him groan. She was so tight, so responsive, and it only fuelled him further. He alternated between licking and sucking, learning what made her hips buck, what made her breath hitch, what drew those soft, desperate moans from her lips. And when he found that perfect rhythm - tongue circling her clit while one finger slid slowly inside her - she cried out his name, sharp and breathless.

The sound of his name, broken and needy on her tongue, was almost enough to undo him.

He added a second finger, stretching her gently, curling them just right to find that spot deep inside that made her whole body jerk. He watched her reactions carefully, every moan, every twitch of her hips, every clench of her thighs, guiding him like music guides a dance. She was utterly beautiful like this - vulnerable, open, lost in pleasure and completely unguarded.

He didn't stop. Not when she gasped. Not when her legs trembled on either side of his head. Not even when her nails dug into his scalp and she let out a broken sob of pleasure. He wanted to push her over the edge, wanted to watch her unravel under the weight of his mouth, his fingers, his hunger.​

 

[Kita-san]

AJ's lips found their way to her inner thigh, a slow, reverent kiss that made Verena's heart skip a beat. She could feel the promise in his touch, the hunger in his movements. He was not teasing anymore; he was claiming, and she was more than willing to surrender.

As AJ's mouth found its way between her thighs, Verena lost herself in the sensation. His tongue was a master, exploring every inch of her with a skill that left her breathless. The heat of his breath, the wetness of his tongue, the pressure of his fingers—it was overwhelming, and she was drowning in it. She was drowning in him.

Verena could feel the pleasure building, a crescendo of sensation that threatened to consume her. The warmth of his breath and the wetness of his tongue mixed with her own moist excitement. AJ's tongue circled her clit, teasing and tantalizing, before flattening against it with more pressure. She gasped, her hand flying to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair. she needed something to grab in that moment.

When AJ hummed against her, the deep, resonant vibration sent shockwaves rippling through Verena's body, making her back arch off the bed and her thighs quiver with anticipation. She could feel every movement, every touch, every breath he took as if it were her own. His tongue was a relentless force, moving against her with a skill that left her breathless, teasing her clit with a precision that was almost cruel in its intensity. Before she could fully process the sensation, she felt the pressure of his finger at her entrance, a promise of more to come.

The intrusion was slow, deliberate, and exquisitely torturous. His finger slid inside her, stretching her gently, filling her in a way that made her clench around him, desperate for more. The dual sensation of his tongue and his finger working in tandem was overwhelming, a symphony of pleasure that left her gasping and writhing beneath him.

The affect AJ had on her was powerful, almost otherworldly, and she could feel her body responding in ways she never thought possible.

AJ found a rhythm, a perfect, torturous dance that had Verena crying out his name in a voice that was barely recognizable, broken, and needy. "AJ!" she pleaded, her body begging for more, for everything he could give her. The building pleasure was a tidal wave, crashing through her body, sending pleasurable sensations spiraling out from her core. Her legs spread wider, her hips moving in sync with his movements, unable to stay still under the onslaught of sensation.


She was teetering on the edge of ecstasy, and she knew he could feel it. Her body was a live wire, sparking and crackling with energy, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. AJ did not let up, even when her gasps turned to moans, even when her legs trembled and her nails dug into his scalp, urging him deeper, harder, faster.

Seconds turned into minutes, delicious, agonizing minutes where time seemed to stand still. Verena released his hair and fell back against the bed, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her with a ferocity that matched the storm raging within her. Her breathing was labored.

"AJ~ mm~ ahh~” Each utterance was a testament to the power he held over her, the pleasure he was drawing from her body.

The grip on the sheets grew tighter, her knuckles white with the effort of holding on, of anchoring herself against the storm. The balloon of pleasure inside her was growing, expanding, threatening to burst at any moment.

"AJ~" she moaned breathlessly, a warning, a plea, a promise. She was right there, on the precipice, and she wanted him to know it.
But AJ did not stop. If anything, he redoubled his efforts, his tongue and fingers moving with a renewed vigor that sent her spiraling out of control. The build-up of pleasure exploded in a sudden, intense wave that crashed through her body, leaving her shaking and gasping for air. The climax was unlike anything she had ever experienced, a raw, primal force that left her utterly undone.

Verena let out a satisfied moan of pleasure, a sound that was genuine, and attractive. AJ pushed her over the edge, and she unraveled under the weight of his mouth, his fingers, his hunger. She was completely undone, lost in the storm of her own pleasure.

In that moment, Verena was his, completely and utterly. She was a puppet to his touch, a slave to his will, and she wouldn't have it any other way. The room spun around her, the world narrowing down to just the two of them, their bodies entwined, their souls intertwined, lost in a dance of desire and need.

As her breathing slowed and the remnants of her earth-shattering orgasm began to recede, Verena opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling with a satisfied smirk. She ran a hand through her tousled waves, feeling the sweat and heat of their encounter still clinging to her skin. Propping herself up on her elbows, she let out a soft, playful chuckle. Her eyes sparkling with mischief as she turned her gaze to AJ.

When he stood before her, still fully clothed from the waist down, his chest heaving with exertion and desire. Verena's eyes roamed over him, taking in the sight of his taut muscles and flushed skin, and she felt a renewed surge of hunger. She wanted to return the favor, to make him feel as incredible as he had made her feel.

With a seductive smile, she moved to the edge of the bed, her body still glowing with the aftershocks of her pleasure. She stood up and reached out, her hand tracing a slow, deliberate path down his chest. Her touch was light, teasing, a promise of what was to come. Her hand moved lower, stopping just at the waistband of his pants.

Verena looked up at him, her hazel eyes sparkling with a mix of innocence and pure, unadulterated lust. She didn't waste any time, leaning in to capture his lips in a passionate kiss. Their mouths met in a clash of hunger and need, tongues dancing and exploring, a silent promise of more to come. As they kissed, Verena's fingers found the belt loops of his pants, hooking through them playfully. She pulled him closer, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she felt his body respond to her touch.

She took her time, savoring the moment, wanting to draw out the anticipation. Her hands moved to the button of his pants, deftly undoing it with a flick of her fingers. The sound of the zipper descending was like a symphony to her ears. She slipped one hand inside, gently palming and rubbing him through the fabric of his boxers. His arousal was evident, his length hard and ready, and it only served to fuel her own desire.

Verena took her time, her hand moving in slow, deliberate strokes, teasing and tantalizing. She wanted to see just how long he would let her draw it out, how much he could take before he begged for more. Her other hand moved up his chest, now exploring his firm upper body.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ didn't stop. Even as the tremors of her climax overtook her body - arching her back, curling her toes, dragging moans from deep within her chest - he kept his rhythm steady and focused, intent on drawing every last ripple of pleasure from her. His gaze was fixed on her face, watching each flicker of sensation cross her features, completely entranced by the sight of her falling apart under his touch. He wanted it to last for her - every wave, every breathless gasp, every twitch and flutter. If he could keep her hovering at the edge forever, he would've tried.

Only when he felt her hips start to still and her thighs begin to tremble in overstimulation did he finally ease his pace, letting his movements slow until he came to a gradual, deliberate stop. Her body sagged against the sheets, spent and flushed, the aftershocks still playing across her skin. He leaned back slightly, allowing her the space to breathe, to return from wherever he'd just sent her.

And then she laughed. That low, breathless, utterly satisfied chuckle as she pushed herself up onto her elbows. There was something wildly sexy about it - something unguarded and playful, like she was still riding the high but already plotting her next move. AJ's lips curled in response, admiration and arousal stirring in equal measure. She had that look - purposeful, daring, the kind that said your turn, whether he asked for it or not.

He didn't stop her when she moved. Didn't question the way her eyes locked onto his, or the deliberate way she slid across the bed toward him. He just watched, spellbound, his heartbeat thudding in his chest like it was suddenly too big for his body. The kiss she gave him was no different from the earlier ones - wild, messy, full of heat and hunger - but this time, it carried something more. Intent. Promise. Gratitude, maybe, but also something that felt a lot like challenge.

It was in the way her hands moved, too - confident, deft, like she knew exactly what she wanted and wasn't about to be shy about it. The look in her eyes said everything. Let me take care of you now. He wanted to tell her she didn't need to. That this wasn't some kind of trade, that her pleasure had been more than enough. But the look she gave him silenced the thought before it could leave his mouth - half-smirk, half-smolder, like she was daring him to resist her. As if he even could.

His breath caught sharply as she reached down, her fingers undoing the button of his jeans with a casual ease that made his pulse jump. Then came the zipper - agonizingly slow - and the subtle drag of denim over his hips. He lifted them for her, letting her pull them down and off without resistance. And then there was nothing between them but thin cotton, and her hand. Her fucking hand.

The first touch - through the fabric of his boxers - was enough to make his eyes flutter shut and his jaw clench. She palmed him gently at first, as if taking her time to appreciate just how hard he already was for her. And he was - aching, straining, completely at her mercy. Then her fingers curled around him, applying just the right amount of pressure, and he couldn't help the low groan that spilled from his throat.

Still, it was the look on her face that nearly undid him. She glanced up, her hair a mess around her face, eyes gleaming with mischief and heat, like she was enjoying every second of watching him come undone. There was power in her expression - playful, yes, but commanding too. She wanted to ruin him. And he was more than willing to let her.

AJ let out a breath that stuttered in his chest, a half-laugh escaping as he locked eyes with her. His lips quirked into a crooked, challenging grin. "Give me your best," it said without words. And judging by the way her smile deepened, she planned to do exactly that. AJ knew without a doubt - he was about to be thoroughly, gloriously wrecked.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena, her eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and dominance, leaned in so close to AJ that her breath tickles his ear. She placed a soft kiss to his earlobe and then right behind his ear, down his neck and to his collar bone. She continued to kiss and lightly tease his neck. She tightened her grip, her fingers expertly stroking him through the fabric of his boxers, feeling every inch of him.

Verena pulled back, her eyes locking onto AJ's. Her smile deepened, revealing her acceptance of the challenge his eyes gave her. She was ready to give it her all. With deliberate slowness, she begins to tug at the waistband of his boxers, her fingers tracing the elastic edge before hooking it and pulling it down. She wanted them off, needed them off, and the anticipation in her eyes is palpable. The fabric slide down his hips, catching on his erection for a moment before finally falling to the floor, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.

Verena didn’t glance down to fill take him in just yet. before she committed to showing the lewd acting she was coming to do she leaned into him, her lips brushing against the corner of his mouth, a teasing, tantalizing touch that leaves him craving more. She then sat back on the bed, her eyes never leaving his as she positions herself in front of him, her intent clear.

Verena leaned forward, her hair falling in a curtain around her face, hiding her eyes but but she quickly tucked the hair behind her ears. Nothing could to get in the way of this as far as she was concerned. She pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his hip, her hands already exploring, teasing. She works her way down, her lips and tongue leaving a trail of fire in their wake, each touch more intimate, more erotic than the last. She knew she didn’t have to do this, that AJ would be more than willing to pleasure her, but she craved this. She craved the opportunity to please him and to see the sheer pleasure of him unravel from her.

When she reached her goal, she gripped the base of his length, her fingers wrapping around him with a familiarity that spoke of things to come. She leaned in, her breath hot on his sensitive skin, and pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the tip of his cock. He pulsed in her hand, and she couldn’t help but stick out her tongue to give it a gently lick, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head.

Her hazel eyes flick up to meet his, a silent question in their depths. Does he want her to continue? Does he want her to take him deeper. She most definitely could. The answer is clear in his eyes, in the way his body tenses, his hips lifting slightly in a silent plea. With a soft 'mm~' of approval, she took him into her mouth, her lips stretching around him, her tongue already exploring, tasting, teasing.

The taste of him, the feel of him, the sheer power of having him at her mercy was everything. She took him deeper, her head bobbing as she sets a rhythm that is slow and deliberate, designed to drive him wild. Her hands joined in, one wrapping around the base of his cock, the other cupping his balls, rolling them gently in her palm. She can feel him pulse, can feel the tension building in his body, and she knew she had him right where she wanted him.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

The moment AJ felt the first brush of her tongue against the sensitive tip of his cock, a sharp breath escaped his lips, and his eyes fell closed as a low, guttural moan rumbled from deep within his chest. It wasn't just the physical sensation - it was the intimacy of it, the connection humming between them like a current. Her tongue moved slowly, deliberately, circling him with an unhurried grace that sent a shiver cascading down his spine.

She wasn't rushing. She wasn't trying to impress him with speed or showmanship. She was present, sensual, attentive in a way that made every stroke of her tongue feel like it was drawn straight from the heart. The heat of her breath, the wet softness of her mouth - every second was carefully measured, soaked in intention. His fingers clenched at his sides, fighting the urge to reach for her, to bury himself fully in the warmth she was offering.

When he felt the warmth of her lips close around him, his eyes snapped open. And what he saw nearly undid him. There she was - sat on the bed between his thighs, looking like something sculpted by the gods themselves. The woman who held his heart, his mind, his very breath, now had his cock in her mouth. And not just teasingly, not tentatively. No, she was owning it. Worshipping it. Loving it.

It was more than erotic - it was reverent. Her hands were planted firmly on his thighs, thumbs stroking slow circles into his skin as she moved on him with growing confidence. Every motion, every glance, seemed to say "I want you like this. Let me show you how much."

The visual alone was almost too much. Her lips stretched around him in a perfect seal, cheeks hollowing with every slow draw back, then pushing forward again with a hunger that made his thighs tense. The silken strands of her hair tumbled around her face, catching the dim light as her head moved in a slow, rhythmic motion. He watched as a single bead of saliva traced down her chin and caught on her collarbone, and the rawness of it - the beauty in her abandon - had his pulse pounding in his ears.

The way her eyes flicked up toward him, dark with desire and satisfaction, made his stomach clench. She wasn't just doing this for him - she was enjoying every second. Taking pleasure in his pleasure. And fuck, it showed. She moaned around him, the vibration deep and unexpected, and it shot straight through his core. His hands itched to touch her, to hold her head and guide her pace, to fuck her mouth until he couldn't form a coherent thought. The fantasy burned through him, sharp and tempting.

But he didn't. He restrained himself, forcing his hips to stay still despite every instinct in his body screaming for movement. He let her lead, let her dictate the pace, let himself be undone by her slow, exquisite control. He wanted this to be hers. He wanted to feel what she had planned, to lose himself in the experience she was creating for him—without interference, without pressure.

This wasn't just sex. This was her showing him how much she wanted him, how deeply she knew his body already, how unafraid she was to explore every inch of him. She was claiming him with every stroke, every swallow, every flick of her tongue. And that thought alone made his cock twitch against her tongue.

He bit his lip hard, struggling not to groan again. Every second in her mouth was a test of willpower, and he was losing. Blissfully, willingly losing. And it was only just beginning.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena continued her slow, deliberate exploration, her mouth and tongue working in perfect harmony to drive AJ to the brink of ecstasy. She could feel his body responding to her every move, his breath growing ragged and his muscles tensing beneath her touch. The power she held over him in this moment was intoxicating, and she relished it, wanting to draw out his pleasure for as long as possible.

Her hands moved up his thighs, feeling the coarse hair and the firm muscles beneath, before moving back down, teasing and tantalizing. One hand then moved back into position, wrapping around the base of his cock, squeezing and stroking in time with her mouth. The dual sensation of her hand and mouth working in unison had AJ's hips bucking slightly, a low groan escaping his lips as he fought to maintain control. Verena's mouth enveloped AJ's cock, her lips stretched wide to accommodate his girth as she took him deep. Her tongue swirled and teased, painting wet, hot trails along his sensitive flesh, exploring every vein and ridge.

Verena could feel his cock throbbing against her tongue, the veins pulsing with his heartbeat, a testament to his arousal. She took him deeper, relaxing her throat to invite him to take more, to give in to the urge to fuck her mouth. Her eyes met his, dark and inviting, a silent offer passing between them. "Take what you want," she thought, her gaze never wavering, daring him to cross the line and take control.

The thought of AJ taking control from her, of him fucking her mouth until he was satisfied, also turned Verena on. Her rhythm began to increase, the slow, sensual pace giving way to something more urgent, more desperate. Her head bobbed up and down, her lips creating a tight seal around him as she sucked him deeper with each pass. The room filled with the obscene sounds of her mouth working him, the wet suctions and soft moans driving them both wild with desire.

Her own arousal was building, she grew wet and sensitive with each passing second. She could feel the heat pooling between her legs with anticipation. The taste of him, the feel of him, the promise of what was to come—it all was intoxicating, fueling her own desire. She moaned softly around him, the vibrations adding another layer of sensation for AJ. She wondered if he could give in to what he really wanted, if he would take the reins and use her mouth for his pleasure.

Verena continued to please him with her mouth, her rhythm slowly increasing. The initial slow pace was replaced with a more urgent bobbing motion, her head moving faster and faster as she sucked his cock with increasing intensity. Her moans grew more frequent and insistent, matching the increased pace of her sucking. She could feel herself becoming more sensitive between her legs, her clit aching for release as she focused on driving AJ wild.

Verena's moans vibrated around his cock, the sounds escaping her throat raw and primal. She could feel his thighs tensing beneath her hands, his body coiling tight as he fought to hold back his orgasm. She wanted to push him over the edge, to feel him let go and give in to the pleasure, but still, he didn't give in, didn't reach for her, didn't take control. Verena, impressed by his restraint, continued to push him to the edge.

She took him deeper than before, her nose touching his pelvic bone as she relaxed her throat completely, inviting him to use her mouth as he pleased. One hand gripped his thigh for a moment. The room was filled with the sounds of their shared pleasure, the wet sucking noises and their combined moans creating a symphony of lust and desire.

Verena's own pleasure was building to a crescendo, her body aching for release as she continued to focus on AJ. She could feel his cock throbbing even more intensely now, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. She knew he was close, and she wanted nothing more than to feel him let go, to taste his release and know that she had brought him to the brink of ecstasy.

With a final, deep suck, Verena pulled back slightly, her lips creating a tight seal around the head of his cock as she looked up at him, her eyes filled with lust and invitation. she continued to tease and pleasure him, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head of his cock, tasting the pre-cum that leaked from the tip before taking him back not her mouth and down her throat.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

Verena was, without a doubt, a phenomenal lover. There was no point pretending otherwise. Every moment with her felt like it crackled with tension - like fire barely contained beneath the surface. By comparison, Serena - though sweet and competent in bed - had always felt more rehearsed, more gentle, as if the act was something to be done with care, not passion. Pleasant, yes. Comfortable even. But never like this. Never raw. Never urgent. Never this animalistic fusion of hunger and surrender that Verena brought out in him with little more than a look or the subtle twist of her lips when she smiled.

Now, with her on her knees before him, that difference had never been more stark. She looked up at him with his cock deep in her mouth, eyes gleaming with a look that was equal parts challenge and invitation. It wasn't submission, not exactly - it was something more nuanced. As if she dared him to take control, to push her, to find out just how far she was willing to go for his pleasure. That look sent a bolt of heat straight through his core. His chest tightened with anticipation, and the base of his spine buzzed with that familiar, inevitable ache.

She wanted him to use her. That much was clear. And God help him, he wanted that too.

He slipped his fingers into her hair, first tentatively, then with purpose. The silky strands coiled around his hands as he took a firm grip, tilting her face just enough to meet her eyes again. Even as he began to thrust, slow at first, he watched her. Watched how her eyes fluttered closed in ecstasy, how she didn't resist, didn't flinch. Instead, she opened herself to him fully - lips parted, mouth hot and slick around him, her hands resting obediently on her thighs.

Each stroke of his cock into her mouth sent waves of pleasure crashing through him, the tight heat and wetness combined with the erotic sight of her yielding form unravelling him second by second. He wasn't rough - there was no need to be. She met each thrust with a subtle, encouraging bob of her head, her throat relaxing around him. Her tongue curled perfectly beneath the length of him, a silent, practiced promise of devotion.

But it was the surrender that undid him. She hadn't just let him take control - she had given it to him. Willingly. Eagerly. And that act, more than anything, shattered whatever fragile control he'd been clinging to.

He groaned, a low, guttural sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep within his chest. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, his orgasm ripping through him with feral intensity. He barely registered the tight clutch of his fingers in her hair, or the tremble that raced through his thighs as pulse after pulse of his release spilled into her waiting mouth.

She didn't flinch. She took all of it. Every last drop. And when he was spent - utterly drained - he loosened his grip, breathing hard, heart hammering against his ribcage.

Carefully, he helped her to her feet, his hands moving to cradle her face with reverence. He wasn't rough anymore. The intensity had ebbed into something softer now, something grateful. He leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep, unhurried kiss, tasting himself on her tongue and not caring in the slightest.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to look at her, he saw it in her eyes again - that wicked gleam, that pride. She'd known exactly what she was doing.

"That was…" he began, his voice still hoarse, "incredible."

Verena smirked, and the way she looked at him - cool, amused, entirely in control again - made it clear: she'd let him have his moment. But only because she wanted to.​

 

[Kita-san]

The act of trust and submission ended up shattering AJ’s remaining control, sending him spiraling into a vortex of raw, primal need.
Verena took everything he gave her, her mouth hot and eager, swallowing every drop. Her hazel eyes closed for a moment, focused on the situation at hand. A slight blush coated her cheeks as she felt her tongue and entire mouth coated with the taste of him.

By the time Verena was on her feet, she barely had a second to catch her breath before AJ's mouth was on hers—warm, calm and tender in a way that made her knees threaten to buckle all over again. She met his kiss with a softness laced in heat, her lips parting instinctively, tasting him, answering him. There was something about the way he kissed that made her feel completely undone and entirely safe at the same time. Like she could fall into him and he'd catch her without question.

When he finally pulled away and used the word "Incredible" to describe their moment together a slow, satisfied smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth. That one word sent a spark through her. She wanted to please him—not out of insecurity or desperation—but because he meant something much deeper to her now. Because this wasn't casual. Not to her. She had wanted him to feel as shaken and wrecked and consumed as she did. And hearing that word, seeing the look in his eyes—God, it made her feel powerful. Desired. Seen.

This was no longer just attraction. Something deeper had shifted. And in Verena's mind, the line was crossed—permanently. There was no turning back, no pretending her relationship with James was anything but a memory now. A worn-out habit she should have left behind sooner. She wasn't ready to say it out loud, not yet. AJ was still married, even if that marriage was broken. The weight of that reality loomed at the edges of her thoughts, threatening to cloud this moment. But she shoved it back. They'd face that when they had to. Tonight was theirs.

She slid her arms around his torso and pressed herself against him, her cheek resting over his heart. The steady rhythm comforted her, calmed the low thrum of adrenaline still running through her body. She felt both completely raw and electrified. Everything between them had changed now—shifted into something more intimate, more consuming. Her body still ached in the best way, sensitive and warm and open.

Who would've thought that one local hiking event would've led to this? When she'd first laid eyes on AJ, she hadn't been looking for anything. She had gone to that trail to clear her head, to find herself again. What she found instead was someone who lit a fire inside her. Someone who peeled back all her carefully constructed walls with nothing but a look.

She leaned back just enough to look at him, her fingers absently brushing across his chest. "You know," she said, voice low and a little breathless, "you're becoming everything I didn't realize I needed." Her smirk curved wickedly now, playful and intimate all at once. "I don't think I've ever felt so… alive. So completely taken… and then so satisfied."

James had never made her feel like this. Their sex had been fine—good, even. But it always felt like something she had to work for. Like she had to prove her worth through performance, not presence. What she had with AJ was different. It was instinctual. Wild and emotional and freeing. The way his body responded to hers, the way his hands moved over her skin like he knew it already, like he craved it—it awakened something in her she didn't know she'd buried.

She had never felt more like herself than when she was wrapped around him.

Their bodies had quieted now, the blazing rush of need simmering into something slower, sweeter. She didn't know if AJ was done for the night, but she wasn't. Not quite. She could still feel the pulse of desire under her skin, slow and steady like embers refusing to burn out. But she'd wait. She wouldn't push. She wanted to be with him, not just use him to feed the heat still licking at her core.

Verena traced slow, lazy circles on his chest with her fingertips, eyes drifting up to meet his. His were so impossibly blue it almost hurt to look at them. Honest eyes. Eyes that didn't just look at her, but saw her.

"I'm glad we waited," she said softly, her smile curling into something vulnerable, something real. "You made the right choice yesterday." She chuckled.