#Idol x reader

[gotta-winwin]

Can I request a full oneshot on that dino when accepting an award like shouting out his wife and watching the internet explode and the members reaction to him I NEED THIS it got me kicking my feet and giggling just by thinking this 🛐🛐🛐 HAHHAHAHA

btw I LOVE YOUR WRITINGS!! 😘

hehehe omg ofc! i was kicking my feet and giggling while writing this dino has no business looking THAT fine and bias wreaking me( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡) thank you so much for both requesting and enjoying my work!

where's the trophy... he just comes running over to me <3

masterlist fic that prompted this oneshot

word count: 1.4k tw/cw: idol!dino x wife!reader, childhood friends to lovers, public shoutout, a whole lot of sap, seungkwan clowning dino a/n: writing this just makes me want to see svt with their s/o in real life (we know these boys aint single bro)

It's a quiet and unassuming day until you're reminded that today is the MAMA awards. It didn't help that the award show wasn't hosted in Korea this year, leading to you being stuck on your couch, hands quivering as the show began.

It had been a tough yet rewarding year for Chan and his group mates, and you had been lucky enough to see it all. You felt proud that even with the distance, you had always been the first person Chan would call for anything.

Headlining Glastonbury? He had shined brightly onstage and even brighter during your video call, where he took you through his day, making it feel like you had been with him every step of the way.

Tour? He was texting you in between songs, updating you on the tiniest things despite you scolding him that he needed to concentrate on the show. He just couldn't help it, his mind immediately drifting to you whenever something remotely interesting took place. Baby, DK's pants ripped onstage just now. He'd text you, shoulders still shaking from laughter. Coups hyung got barked at again. Whatever tidbit it was, Chan's name lighting up on your screen was a warm embrace compared to the lonely nights without him.

It'd all be worth it now, you thought, as you let out a gasp of joy when Seventeen's name was announced as Artist of the Year. Your hands were still shaking as you picked up your phone to record the moment.

Chan's face glowed on your tv screen as he walked up with his members to accept the award. You couldn't help but remember how he used to look - kidish, tiny, cute and juvenile. You recalled how drastic the change had been, as you both matured and grew together, leading you to realize how hot he looked - so built and handsome. Yet it was the bubbly glow that stayed with him despite aging that you loved the most.

"Thank you Carats!" Your husband raised the trophy proudly into the air. "You know...I was the only one who didn't get to speak when we won a daesang last year..."

You couldn't help but scoff endearingly at how sassy he could be while receiving an award you knew would make him sob to you later.

"Ever since our debut," He continued, staring at you through the tv screen. "My dream was to be an artist that would remain in history."

You could remember that, even now, years later.

"I'm going to make you a promise." 15 year old Chan had told you, on the rare chance he had gotten a break from training. He had taken the two of you to the park in between Pledis and your house.

"Promise me what?" You had replied, lips feinting a small smile as you watched his eager expression.

"That one day, I'm going to be an artist that will stay throughout history." His face was full of raw determination. "And that you'll be right there with me. On top of the world. One day, I'll be an artist you can be proud of."

Seems like he kept that promise.

"And those feelings..." He continued speaking into the mic. "Those feelings will continue as we go into the future with Carats." The crowed cheered at his words.

You could tell from his face that something was up. He had that mischievous look that would only come out whenever he was about to do something to tease you.

"And..." He took a pause, smiling at the dramatic effect it had caused. "Well..."

You half wanted to reach through the tv and smack him, as your heart raced in anticipation. You had ran through his speech with him on video call days ago. This wasn't part of it.

"I once made a promise to someone," He finally said aloud, and you knew immediately what he was doing, mouth dropping in both surprise and realization. "A long time ago, when we were both very young, I made a promise that I would become an artist she could be proud of." He smiled bashfully at the memory of both the moment and the person. "I also promised her that she would be there with me, on top of the world."

You had to sit down, your legs failing you.

"I kept my promise, didn't I?" He said into the mic, and you could tell he was speaking just to you. "I hope you're proud of everything I've done, my lovely, patient wife. Only you could've stuck by me for fourteen years." He added the last part teasingly. "I love you." He raised the trophy in his hands. "This- this is for you." Pausing, he corrected himself. "Well- for you and the members." He smiled sheepishly at the boys behind him. "It is our award."

Dino had gotten Seungcheol's approval minutes before the award show began, begging the leader to let him shout out his wife. "Please, please, please, hyung." He had pleaded, trying to convey that this was literally his lifelong dream. "I've always wanted to do that. Just drop a bomb into the world and walk off." Seungcheol could only sigh, staring at him with a mix of exasperation and amusement. He nodded, although he knew it would inevitably create a media frenzy for the company to clean up. "Go for it." He patted their maknae on the back. "Not my problem, not my mess."

Jeonghan had been kept blissfully in the dark until he was watching their acceptance speech live. The further Dino's speech went, the further his jaw dropped. He couldn't wrap his head around the fact that Dino was shouting out his wife on the stage at MAMA awards, accepting an AOTY award. Immediately after, he calls Dino up, scolding him for not telling him sooner and admitting it was a baller move.

Joshua had been busy trying to comfort a near-tears Seungcheol, Dino's speech barely registering in his ears. He's blissfully confused when the crowd goes bonkers, yelling into DK's ear to tell him what on earth happened. He's proud of Dino, acknowledging that their maknae has grown up to the point that the world now knows he has a whole wife.

All the way in China, Jun's watching the show live on his phone from his trailer on set. The connection is spotty, leaving his members in pixels and full of lag. Thankfully, the only clear part is Dino's speech, leaving Jun in deep shock and a little wounded. He wished he had been there for that.

Hoshi's loud ass gasp is the only thing fans can hear from the crowd other than their own screaming. It's clear on his face that he's flabbergasted - leading fans to speculate if he even knew Dino had a wife.

Wonwoo can't help but let out a hearty laugh once the weight of Dino's speech sinks into his bones. He knows the media and fans are going to have sooo much fun with this. He feels bad that you're now in the spotlight and hopes Dino got your permission beforehand...did he?

Very busy trying to will his tears away, Woozi's shocked out of his feels, tears evaporating at the sound of Dino's voice and the word wife. He's shocked, but happiness takes over when he realizes this will overshadow the fact that he's about to ball on global tv.

Minghao's just got that goofy shocked expression on his face as he registers the moment. He's smiling from ear to ear, basking in the joy that's radiating off of Dino. Who is he to stand in the way of Dino finally showing off his love?

Mingyu is over the moon. Having been your biggest supporter, he's elated you and Dino are finally going public. The fact that he's currently onstage accepting a daesang is completely thrown out of his mind, replaced with the joy of seeing Dino thrive.

Poor Woozi has DK's arms wrapped around him as if DK's trying to suffocate the man. He can't contain his excitement and joy at the reveal, accidentally using Woozi as a stress ball. He tackles Dino as they walk offstage, yelling about how CUTE that was and how lucky you are to have each other.

Seungkwan's stunned into complete silence. He's lowkey judging (just a little bit) at how insane Dino is acting right now - knowing this is bound to stir the pot online. He's the first one to tease Dino, going as far as clowning him during his own speech. "I once made a promise..." Seungkwan fails to keep a straight face as he clowned Dino's speech to his wife. "And I-" He's kicked off the mic by Dino before he can finish.

Vernon simply nods in approval as he watches Dino finish his speech. He respects the confidence and craziness to do such a thing, especially with how dating was basically a taboo for them as idols- and bros hard launching a whole ass wife!

[elryuse]

Hotel del Luna jang man wal x malereader who agrees to be her husband please

FINDING YOU, IN ANOTHER LIFE

JANG MAN WAL X MALE READER

The wind howled, mirroring the tempest raging within Jang Man-wol’s heart. News of Edo’s demise, a casualty of a senseless war, had shattered her world. The man who had painted her life with hues of love and joy was gone, leaving behind an eternal void.

Grief consumed her, a relentless tide that threatened to drown her soul. She retreated into the solitude of the Hotel del Luna, a sanctuary shrouded in mystery. The hotel, a timeless haven for lost souls, became her prison, a reflection of her own eternal sorrow.

Decades passed, each day a monotonous cycle of longing and despair. The hotel, once a place of vibrant life, now echoed with the silence of the departed. But one day, a disturbance broke the tranquility. A young man, Y/n, appeared at the hotel’s threshold, his presence as unexpected as it was intriguing.

Man-wol, drawn by an inexplicable curiosity, approached the newcomer. As she got closer, she couldn’t shake off the strange sense of familiarity. His features, his aura, reminded her of someone from the past.

"You... you remind me of someone," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

Y/n, with a gentle smile, replied, "Perhaps, we're connected in ways we don't yet understand."

As days turned into nights, Man-wol found herself drawn to Y/n. His kindness, his empathy, awakened a part of her that had long been dormant. She saw in him a reflection of Edo, a glimmer of hope in the darkness of her eternal existence.

"You remind me of him," she confessed, her voice trembling. "Someone I once loved, someone I lost."

Y/n listened intently, his heart aching for her. "Perhaps," he said, "our souls are intertwined, bound by a love that transcends time and space."

Man-wol, caught in a moment of romantic reverie, went a step further. "Perhaps we are lovers from another life, destined to find each other again, no matter the time or place," she mused.

Y/n, startled by her declaration, chuckled. "Well, that's quite a theory," he said, a playful glint in his eye. "But for now, I think I'll just settle for a room for the night."

Man-wol, a bit taken aback by his casual response, quickly composed herself. "Of course," she replied, "I'll prepare the best room for you."

Little did Y/n know, the room he was assigned to was Man-wol's personal suite, a place filled with memories, both joyful and sorrowful. As he stepped inside, he was greeted by a luxurious interior, adorned with exquisite furnishings and strange artifacts.

"This is... quite something," he muttered, his eyes wide with surprise.

Man-wol watched him with a knowing smile. "Rest well, young man," she said, her voice filled with a hint of mischief. "You've a long night ahead of you."

Y/n, exhausted from his travels, drifted off to sleep, the soft glow of the room lulling him into a peaceful slumber. However, his tranquility was shattered by a loud crash. Startled, he sat up, his heart pounding.

He heard a rustling sound, followed by a soft, almost ethereal voice. “You’re awake,” a familiar voice purred.

Y/n turned to see Man-wol, looking more enchanting than ever, standing by the window. The moonlit night cast an ethereal glow upon her, making her appear almost otherworldly.

“What was that noise?” Y/n asked, his voice filled with confusion.

Man-wol smiled mysteriously. “Oh, just a little late-night snack,” she replied, gesturing towards a shadowy corner of the room.

Y/n's eyes followed her gaze, and he saw a strange creature, half-human, half-beast, cowering in the corner. It was a gumiho, a legendary nine-tailed fox, and it was terrified of Man-wol.

“Don’t worry,” Man-wol assured the creature, her voice soothing. “He won’t hurt you.”

The gumiho let out a relieved sigh. “Thank you,” it whispered, its voice barely audible.

Y/n was stunned. He had just witnessed a creature from Korean folklore, a creature that was supposed to be myth and legend.

“What is going on here?” he asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

Man-wol smiled. “Welcome to the Hotel del Luna,” she replied. “A place where the extraordinary is ordinary.”

As the night wore on, Y/n learned more about the hotel and its mysterious inhabitants. He discovered that the hotel was not just a place to stay, but a sanctuary for lost souls. Man-wol, as the eternal mistress of the hotel, had the power to help these souls find peace.

Y/n was drawn into this strange, magical world, his heart filled with wonder and curiosity. He realized that his encounter with Man-wol was no mere coincidence. It was fate, a destiny that had been written in the stars.

As days turned into nights, Y/n found himself increasingly drawn to Man-wol and the enigmatic world of the Hotel del Luna. He was fascinated by the stories of the spirits who resided there, each with their own unique tale of love, loss, and longing.

Man-wol, in turn, found solace in Y/n's company. His empathy and understanding helped her to heal the wounds of her past. She began to open up to him, sharing her deepest secrets and fears.

One night, as they sat together on the rooftop of the hotel, watching the stars, Man-wol revealed a shocking truth. "You're not human, Y/n," she said, her voice filled with a mixture of sadness and understanding. "You're a spirit, trapped in this world, just like me."

Y/n was stunned. He had never considered such a possibility. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice filled with confusion.

Man-wol explained that he had been caught between worlds, a soul tethered to the mortal realm. He was neither living nor dead, a ghost in the machine of time.

Y/n was overwhelmed by this revelation. He had always felt like an outsider, a misfit. Now, he finally understood why. He was a spirit, a wanderer, forever searching for a place to belong.

"Why am I here?" he asked, his voice filled with despair.

Man-wol sighed. "Fate, destiny, call it what you will. You were meant to be here, to find me."

Y/n was silent, processing the information. The world as he knew it had been shattered. He was no longer human, but something else, something beyond his comprehension.

Despite the shock, Y/n found a strange sense of peace. He was no longer alone. He had found someone who understood him, someone who shared his burden. And as he looked into Man-wol's eyes, he knew that together, they would face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Y/n was stunned, his mind reeling from the revelation. He was a spirit, trapped in a timeless existence, bound to the Hotel del Luna. As he processed this newfound reality, a wave of emotions washed over him, a mix of confusion, fear, and a strange sense of peace.

Before he could fully comprehend the situation, Man-wol leaned in and kissed him. In that moment, a flood of memories washed over him, a glimpse into a life he had never lived. He saw himself as a young man, falling in love with a beautiful woman, a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Man-wol. He witnessed their love blossom, their laughter echoing through the ages. But then, the scene shifted, and he saw the woman, heartbroken, mourning the loss of her beloved.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he realized that he was living someone else's life, a life filled with love and loss. Man-wol pulled away, her gaze filled with both sorrow and hope. "I've missed you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Y/n was bewildered. He didn't understand the depth of his feelings for Man-wol, nor did he comprehend the strange connection between them. But one thing was certain: he was drawn to her, inexplicably and intensely.

As he looked into her eyes, he saw a love that transcended time and space, a love that had endured for centuries. And in that moment, he began to understand the true meaning of eternity.

The moon cast an ethereal glow upon the ancient cathedral, a place untouched by time. Man-wol, resplendent in a flowing white gown, stood at the altar, her beauty both timeless and ethereal. Beside her stood Y/n, a man caught in the whirlwind of a love story that transcended time and space.

She took his hand, her touch sending a shiver down his spine. "Will you marry me, Y/n?" she asked, her voice soft and gentle.

Y/n was stunned. The question, though unexpected, resonated with a strange familiarity. He thought back to the visions, the fragments of a life he had never lived. A life filled with love, loss, and eternal longing.

A tear rolled down his cheek as he nodded. "Yes," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Man-wol smiled, a serene expression on her face. She placed a delicate veil over his head, an heirloom from her past. As he donned the wedding suit, once worn by Edo, a sense of destiny washed over him.

The ceremony was a breathtaking spectacle, a fusion of the ethereal and the earthly. The hotel's resident spirits, each with their own unique story, gathered to witness the union of two souls bound by an ancient love.

As they exchanged vows, the air was filled with a palpable sense of love and longing. Man-wol's eyes, filled with a thousand years of sorrow and joy, met Y/n's, a mirror of her own emotions.

"I love you, Y/n," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Y/n, his heart overflowing with love, responded, "I love you too, Man-wol."

And then, they kissed. It was a kiss that transcended time, a kiss that sealed their eternal bond. As they embraced, the world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them, lost in the moment.

The moon shone brightly, illuminating the sacred space. The wind whispered through the ancient trees, carrying with it the echoes of their love story. And as the night deepened, the Hotel del Luna, bathed in a celestial glow, witnessed the birth of a love that would last for eternity.

- To Be Continued -

[hazyki]

aisheteru ♡

pairing : ni-ki x reader ! genre : fluffy fluff flufffffff ! cw : forehead and nose kisses ! wc : 431

syposis : ni-ki teaches you japanese 🥸

“okay, say it with me—… o-ya-su-mi," riki’s voice was soft as he looked up at you, lips curling into a smile. his hands rested on your waist as you sat comfortably on his lap, legs draped on either side of him.

you nodded, trying your best to follow along. “oya…sumi. did i get it right?”

he nodded gently, fingers lightly tapping against your side. "perfect. you’re a natural."

the dim light from the bedside lamp cast a warm glow over the room, prompting warmth to surround you. you could feel his steady and soothing heartbeat against you. the night was a calm and showed how hours had passed since you saw each other first, like the world had slowed down just for the two of you.

“okay okay, teach me another one,” you asked as you leaned forward slightly. his eyes seemed to have sparkle as he thought for a moment.

"okay, umm, how about... su-ki da yo. it means..." he hesitated, side-eyeing you with a knowing smirk on his face as his cheeks flushing slightly.

"what does it mean?" you asked, teasingly poking his chest, knowing full well what he was about to say. you didn’t do duolingo for nothing after all.

riki’s voice was a little quieter this time, but the playfulness never left his expression. “it means ‘i like you.’” he glanced up at you and you couldn’t help but smile at the way his eyes softened when he said it.

"well in that case….. i ‘suki da yo’ you too," you repeated slowly, enunciating each syllable, trying to make it as clear as possible.

his grin widened, adoration swelling in his chest at your stupid attempt at reciprocating his confess, though equally as proud of your pronunciation. without thinking, he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose.

hours have passed, and you’re completely sprawled against his chest, your body overlapping his as you nuzzle into his neck, your warm breath tickling his skin.

riki shifts slightly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before snorting when he notices the drool slipping from the corner of your mouth. without hesitation, he snaps a picture, already planning how he’ll tease you with it in the morning. but for now, he just smiles, soaking in your presence (and your drool) with a particular fondness floating in his eyes.

“aisteru,” he mumbles, his voice shaky and tired as he kisses your forehead again, setting his phone on the nightstand before finally wrapping his arms around your shoulders, pulling you even closer, and shutting his eyes.

note : i love him very very much 😞

[karinab00bs]

Vacation

Karina x named reader

tags: smut, first crush, swearing, pool sex, rough sex, blow jobs, teasing, flirting, dirty talks, dirty jokes, dirty thoughts, hair-pulling, biting, begging

Karina hadn’t anticipated the long journey to visit her parents, who lived quite a distance away from her current work and living situation. However, seizing the opportunity of a rare two-week break, she arrived at their doorstep, suitcase in hand, greeted by the warm sun above. The familiarity of her childhood home flooded back as she climbed out of the taxi.

Deciding against informing her parents of her arrival, Karina didn’t want to inconvenience them if her holiday plans fell through last minute.

Her father's joyful face upon opening the door made the trip instantly worth it, enveloping her in a bear hug and leading her inside.

"Why didn’t you tell us you were coming!?" he exclaimed happily, guiding her to the kitchen where her mother was busy cooking.

Their much-awaited reunion was interrupted by a knock at the door just as they settled down for dinner.

“I’ll get it,” her mother insisted, giving Karina a quick squeeze before heading to the door.

“So pumpkin,” her father started, looking a bit disappointed, unable to resist using the old nickname.

“Your mother and I had booked to go away tomorrow, for our anniversary. But if you want us to cancel, we will,” he offered, but Karina quickly stopped him, not wanting them to change their plans for her.

“Don’t you dare cancel that! We can celebrate when you guys get back. I do have two weeks off,” she reassured her dad, who visibly relaxed.

Before he could respond, her mother returned with a man Karina didn't recognize at first. Then it hit her, that is her childhood friend.

“Karina, honey, you remember Ethan,” her mother smiled, introducing Ethan as he stepped forward, all charm and green eyes.

Suppressing her smile, Karina shook his hand, noticing the size of his hands with a silent observation. “Ethan Lee, right?”

“Right,” he confirmed, maintaining his hold on her hand. She watched as his tongue swiped across his lips, unable to look away.

Finally releasing her hand, Ethan cleared his throat and turned his attention to her father. “I was just coming over to ask if you wouldn’t mind me doing the pool tomorrow, rather than next week,” he asked respectfully. As Karina’s mother handed him a drink, he thanked her before returning his gaze to her father.

“Of course. Is everything okay?” her father inquired, still engrossed in his meal as Karina resumed her seat, observing the exchange.

“Yes, sir. Just made some plans for Sammy’s birthday; he’s back in town for the next few months,” Ethan explained proudly, giving her a subtle wink as he caught her watching him.

“Yes, all fine with me, but we won’t be here so you’ll be dealing with Karina here,” her dad remarked with a roll of his eyes. Karina playfully slapped his arm when he chuckled, unable to suppress the nostalgic smile that crept onto her lips. His deep chuckle reminded her of her childhood.

“I’m sure I can handle her,” Ethan grinned directly at her, while her mother distracted her father.

“We’ll see, Lee,” Karina smirked, swiftly changing the subject to avoid losing her composure.

”So, how is Sam anyway?” Karina inquired, turning in her seat to look up at him where he stood.

“He’s good, not so little anymore. Got a fiance and he’s a lawyer,” Ethan informed her proudly as she stood by the kitchen counter, refilling her drink.

“Always thought the two of you would end up together,” Ethan revealed, completely confusing her.

Hearing her mother laugh, Karina's eyes widened. “Oh no, this one here had a thing for his b-” her mother stopped abruptly, noticing Karina's flushed face and the way she was looking at her.

Before her mother could say anything else that Karina would regret ever telling her, she led Ethan to the front door, he laughed, willingly following her. That is until they reached the door frame; he stopped, turning to look down at her.

“So best friend, or big brother?” he smirked, his green eyes practically sparkling. Karina thought to herself, cocky son of a bitch.

“See you tomorrow, pool boy.”

“Are you gonna come keep me company, while I do a favor for your parents?” he asked cheekily, throwing an arm above his head to lean against the door frame.

“I might,” Karina shrugged off her answer, wishing that he didn’t still have this insane effect on her after all of these years, but she tried not to let him get to her.

“Wait, you mean that’s not your only job?” Karina asked mockingly. Ethan smirked when she stepped closer, shaking his head at her.

“Nope,” he winked, popping the 'p'.

“My job, my real job, involves me getting a lot dirtier,” he revealed, licking his lips when he noticed her staring. She swallowed the lump in her throat, feeling the heat of his chest against hers.

“I’m a mechanic, sweetheart,” he added at her confused expression, and okay god, it got worse.

“R-Right, yeah. Makes sense,” she stuttered, and there were the nerves she remembered so well.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow then, sugar.”

“Yeah, sure,” Karina replied quietly, watching him walk away. He headed over to the car parked in the drive, the one that used to be his dad's.

Closing the door, Karina turned to find her mother behind her, quickly noticing just how sheepish she looked.

“I’m so sorry, baby! I completely forgot!” her mother rushed to explain, and all Karina could do was laugh it off.

“Stop it! I swear, it’s all fine! A little embarrassing admittedly, but still, it’s okay,” she assured her, pulling her into a hug. Her mother quickly relaxed against her, wrapping her in her arms.

She pulled back with a watery smile.

“I’m so glad you’re back, baby, we really missed you,” smiling, she cupped Karina's cheeks, like she was trying to memorize her face.

“I know, mom, let’s go eat.”

The night passed quickly, talk of the old days and how Karina was considering coming back home. Before she knew it, she was waving them away, watching the taxi disappear.

She looked at the time, swearing under her breath. Her dad had told her Ethan would be over in the next hour, and she really wanted a bath before he got here.

Taking a longer bath than she meant to, Karina left herself only ten minutes to slip into her new red bikini and shorts.

It was so hot outside, and she was determined to drive him crazy. He wanted to be all sexy; two could play at that game. She’d put up with it enough when she was younger, having a somewhat filthy crush on her best friend’s big brother was definitely not ideal.

She just about heard the knock at the door, which was quickly followed by the unmistakable noise of the doorbell. Heading downstairs after a quick glance in the mirror, taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

“Mornin’ Karina,” he winked, giving her an appreciative once over before walking past her into the house.

Closing the door behind him, Karina frowned.

“Really, Ethan, jeans? You are cleaning the pool, right? So why not wear shorts?” she questioned as she followed him into the back garden.

“I don’t do shorts, sweetheart. Why? Do you wanna see some more skin or somethin’?” he asked suggestively, unlocking the shed to get the things he needed. She didn’t see his face, but she was sure he was smirking to himself.

She scoffed at him, moving aside as he began pulling things out of the shed.

“No. I just wondered, it’s so damn hot today. Seems kinda odd weather for that,” she stated, nodding at his attire, brushing it off as easily as she could.

“Well, something is definitely hot” he grins, eyeing her shamelessly as he pulls off his shirt, hanging it on the back of the chair. “There, better?” he asks knowingly, a smug look on his face when Karina choke back a moan, almost swallowing her own tongue.

He doesn’t wait for an answer as he locks the shed door, leaving her to stare at his back.

The sunlight bounces off his tanned skin as he walks over to the pool with the equipment, and Karina realise that she never seen someone with so many muscles in their back. She can just imagine dragging your nails down it as he–

Karina manage to stop that train of thought before it gets out of hand. But she can’t stop herself from watching the very slight swing of his hips, how those jeans fit so snugly against his toned ass and legs, sitting perfectly on his hips.

All she can do is watch him walk away. Safe to say he gives as good as he gets.

Slightly bewildered, Karina follow him after a moment longer of staring, taking her seat on the sun lounger by the pool. She watch him work closely, seeing those muscles visibly rolling under his skin. He seems to be biting on his tongue as he concentrates on the job at hand. Something particularly stubborn makes his jaw tense.

Karina slip out of your shorts easily, letting them fall to the floor, she lay back, deciding to at least try and relax while Ethan works.

It wasn’t like she could stare at him all day, right?

A little while passes, the sun beating down on her is much needed. However, Karina’s sunbathing is interrupted by a large shadow, which completely blankets her body. Shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand you open them, quickly meeting Ethan’s.

“You should probably put this on sweetheart.” He instructs firmly, holding out the sun cream to her.

Karina can’t help but notice the sweat that coats his skin, glistening in the sun, she pause reaching for the bottle with an idea in mind.

“Is that an offer, Lee?” Karina question sweetly as possible, crossing her legs at the knees as she run her fingers from the top of her thigh to her knee, acutely aware of the way his eyes are taking in her body.

He shrugs with a smug look on his face, “Sure, we can’t have you burning can we,”

Karina hum in approval rolling onto her front, she rest her head on her folded arms. Turning her head to watch as Ethan's kneels beside you.

“Such a gentleman.” Karina reply sarcastically, smiling against her arm when he chuckles.

The second his cream covered warm hands touch her skin goosebumps cover her body, she bite back a moan, a little unsuccessfully when his thumbs press into the muscles of her shoulders and around her shoulder blades. Pushing under the strap of Karina’s bikini top, where he’s so close to brushing the sides of her breasts.

Ethan's hands are so big, as they rub the cream into Karina’s skin it doesn’t take him long to reach the bottom of her spine.

Karina arch back into his touch even more, when his thumbs push just under the top of her swimming bottoms, fingers curling around the front of her hips, digging in but not quite the same way. After a few minutes he continues down her body, his touch remaining firm as he quickly does just under Karina’s ass cheeks. Spreading her legs a little as his hands move down her thighs, the perfect amount of pressure against every muscle.

Karina knows that she’s wet, this is without doubt the best massage she’s ever had and very unexpected, god she hope he can’t see it.

“Fuck.” Karina hear him grit out quietly, as his hands move down her calves.

Gently he taps Karina's ankle and clears his throat.

“Turn over, I’ll do the front.” Ethan rasps out, voice breaking a little with each word.

Swallowing hard, Karina as nervous as hell, but there is no way she's backing out now. He’d started this, she's weren’t about to stop him if he wanted to finish it.

Closing her eyes she turn onto her back, shielding her eyes with her arm.

Ethan starts on Karina's legs, the higher his hands get, the more her muscles tense and her pussy starts to flutter. His hands run along the line of her swimming pants, right in the crease of her groin.

The moan that slips past Karina's lips couldn’t have been stopped if she'd tried, she feel the wood creak beneath her as Ethan climbs between her legs on the sun lounger. His calloused hands rubbing cream into Karina’s stomach, fingertips slipping beneath the cups of her bikini top, running along the underside of her breasts.

Ethan leans over her further, and Karina feel his hard cock brush against her thigh as he takes her arms, rubbing the cream in. Karina finally dare to blink open her eyes, the wild beating of her heart and the blood rushing in her ears are unbearable.

Biting into her lip when her eyes meet his again, Karina watch him squirt more cream onto his palms, before placing the bottle on the table.

Ethan's hands move over Karina's chest slowly, pushing the straps down her shoulders, she tilt her head back when he rubs the cream into her neck, his hand resting on her throat as he leans in closer.

“Ain’t even been swimmin’ yet and your panties are soaked.” Ethan groans, moving in closer still, but she stop him before he gets too close, resting her hand on his bare chest.

Pushing him back gently, watching the way he sits back on his feet, eyes completely focused on her as she sit up. Karina slip out from beneath him, smiling at the look on his face.

“Better make sure you’ve done your job properly.” Karina smile seductively, loving the way he watches her as she make her way over to the pool.

When Karina reach the steps she turn to find him standing from the sun lounger. Clearing his throat he rearranges himself in his jeans, but the thick line of his cock is still clearly visible, he quickly focuses those green eyes back on her.

“You coming, pool boy?” Karina ask cheekily, as she lower yourself into the cool water, watching the smirk that appears on his plump lips.

“You remember that I’m older than you, right? More like the pool man,” Ethan quips, undoing his belt and leather slaps against leather. Leaning against the pool’s edge as Karina's chin resting on her arms and she look up at him.

Just in time to watch him pop the button of his jeans and pull down the zipper.

“Guess you’ve got me there. So, since you don’t like shorts, are you wearing boxers?” Karina ask curiously, trying but failing to hide her smile.

Ethan laughs at that, dropping his jeans and pulling them off his legs, “Normally you would’ve been right, but on this occasion” he leaves the reply hanging in the air. Letting Karina's eyes drop with his jeans, she couldn’t even be disappointed that he was still wearing boxers. Not since the sizeable bulge was still very much present and accounted for, even more visible in the thin fabric.

Sitting down on the side of the pool Ethan's legs dangle in the water, his ass right on the very edge. Karina swimming over to him and stand between his open legs. Looking up at his face as she rest her hands on his thick thighs.

“So what’s the verdict sweetheart, did I do a good enough job?” Ethan questions leaning back on his hands, grunting in surprise when Karina’s breasts brush against the bulge in Ethan pants.

“Not too bad, for a part timer.” Karina giggle watching the comical eye roll he gives her. The image of him in overalls and covered in grease hits her. Karina almost certain he would look even better dirty than he does clean, which is saying something.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing just how good you are at your real job though, see how dirty you get.” Karina reveal, chewing on her bottom lip as her hands slip into the legs of Ethan boxers. Ethan hisses at the sting of the pain, when her nails sink into the tops of his thighs, his rock hard length laying untouched between them.

“You should come down the garage some time, I’ll show you just how dirty I get” Ethan grunts through gritted teeth.

Licking her lips, Karina hum appreciatively, “I’d really like that.” She admit, dragging her nails back down Ethan's thighs, feeling his muscles tense beneath her touch. Leaning up against the pool’s side on her elbows, Karina tuck her fingers into the sides of his boxer shorts.

Ethan seems to be nervous as he looks around the garden, like he’s expecting someone to pop out.

“Everything okay, Ethan? You look nervous.” Karina acknowledge cheekily, as he debates lifting his ass for literally a second, seeming to ignore any doubts he has he finally lets her tug the boxers down, over his ass and down those strong bow legs.

Karina watch Ethan's Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he glances around one more time. Then he focuses back on her, as her small hand wraps around his cock. That perfect green of his eyes has almost completely been swallowed by the black of his pupils when his eyes meet hers again.

Ethan shifts where he sits, trying to wiggle closer to Karina when she start to move her hand up and down his thick length. Karina other hand rests on his strong thigh, helping her keep her balance. Karina lean forward, licking her lips, hearing Ethan swear under his breath when her lips wrap around the swollen head of his cock. Running her tongue over his slit, moaning when the taste of his pre-come hits her tongue for the first time.

“Fuck, sweetheart that’s it,” Ethan groans, tossing his head back, hand fisting in Karina's hair as she take him further into her mouth, Karina's tongue pressing to the underside of his cock.

Karina love the way his hand tightens in her hair, short nails that dig into her scalp.

Karina's hands are now resting on both his thighs, as his cock bumps against the back of her throat. Ethan thrusts his hips, letting himself go a little, she watch him, almost positive there has never been a sexier sight in the world. The speed in which he snaps his hips causes her to gag a little. But even after his surprised gasp, Karina continue when his hips stop moving, letting her take the control back.

Karina continue to take him as deep as she can, saliva leaking from the corners of her lips. Nails sinking into his thighs when she swallow around his cock. Then it slips into her throat briefly and Ethan can’t stop the choked out whine that slips past his perfect lips at her actions.

Ethan's tugging on Karina's hair becomes more insistent, she finally relent, gasping for air when his cock is popped from between her lips, smacking back against his stomach.

Karina's pussy is still throbbing almost painfully, she look up at him and lick her lips, with her most seductive smile she step back, further into the pool, beckoning him towards her with a single finger.

Taking a moment to catch his breath he watches her, reminding her somewhat of a tiger ready to pounce on their meal.

Then all the air gets stuck in Karina's throat and she have to fight not to choke on it, when Ethan slips into the pool, skin still slick with sweat and he looks like a male model. He’s fucking stunning, slipping beneath the water briefly, he reemerges, running a hand through his now dripping wet hair as he walks towards her slowly, Karina suddenly not sure if she even remember how to speak.

The confidence from before is slipping and she sure that he can see it, which is made clearer when the corner of his mouth curves into a half smirk. Clearly someone catching the two of them was the last thing he was worried about now.

Crowding Karina back against the pool’s edge, Ethan presses himself close to her, resting a hand on the edge behind her, while his other hand tucks some wayward hair behind her ear.

Leaning in closer his nose nudges hers, hot breath fanning across Karina's lips, and she finally manage to swallow the lump in her throat.

“How’re you still so nervous about kissing me, sweetheart? With what this perfect little mouth just did, felt fuckin’ incredible wrapped around my cock”

Ethan pauses to let his thumb brush over Karina's parted lips, she lick her lips as his hand moves down slowly and he captures her chin. “I still remember that time at that end of year house party, the one which you and Sammy snuck into” he smirks, causing her to suck in a breath when his free hand grips her ass roughly, pulling her closer to him.

Karina blushed like crazy at the mention of that night, “You were drunk off your ass Ethan, I didn’t b-” Karina cut off by Ethan plump lips pressing against hers in a demanding kiss, his big hand cups her neck, thumb pressing into her jaw as he angles her head right were he wants it.

It takes her mind a moment to catch up with her body but she finally breathe, relaxing into the kiss. Ethan's free hand moves behind Karina's back, tugging the ties of her bikini top until it falls loose and Ethan tosses it away. Moving those big warm hands down Karina's body Ethan cups her breasts, pinching and rolling her nipples with his rough fingers and thumbs.

Karina's lips part at the same time as Ethan's, her tongues effortlessly moving together. As Ethan pulls back she capture his bottom lip between her teeth, delighting in the groan that bubbles up in his throat. He doesn’t stop there, kissing and nipping his way down her neck, sucking marks into her soft skin.

“You believe me now?” He all but growls against her ear, she nod quickly, tugging at the strings of her bikini bottoms, pulling them loose.

Ethan pulls away from Karina's neck, finally meeting her eyes again, his wet hair spiked up in all sorts of directions from the pair of her carding her hands through it. Water still clings to his eyelashes, dropping from the tip of his nose, water droplets rolling down his chest distracting her a little.

“Yes Ethan, I believe you.” Karina answer obediently, taking his hand and positioning it between her own thighs.

Ethan looks down the very small gap remaining between the two of them, sliding two fingers between Karina's folds, she grab at his shoulders when those fingers push inside her. Karina's walls stretch around his fingers, one of her hands falls from his shoulder, dropping beneath the water she wrap her small fingers around his thick cock.

Karina's forehead drops against his, panting breaths begin to mix together. Hitching a leg over his hip Karina rock against his fingers, feeling his cock pressing into her thigh.

“You want my cock in your pretty pussy baby? You wanna fuck the pool guy, like a dirty little girl?”

“Jesus Ethan,” Karina moan as his filthy words wash over her. No guy had ever spoken to Karina like this before and there was no denying that she were loving it, but she don’t have a clue about how to respond to him. “Not so worried about the neighbours seeing us now then?” Karina question breathlessly, as Ethan carefully pulls his fingers out with a final tap against her clit.

“Fuck it, let ‘em watch.” Ethan grits out when Karina release his cock. Karina running her hands up his chest then grip his broad shoulders, using them to balance when he roughly grabs her ass and squeezes, she jump a little, hooking her other leg over his free hip.

As Karina rocking her hips, Ethan’s thick cock easily slides against her slick pussy, nudging between her folds he repeatedly taps against her clit, she can’t help but whimper, clinging to his broad shoulders.

Pausing for a moment Ethan lifts Karina higher, “You ready sweetheart. C’mon talk to me? You want my cock baby?” Ethan questions huskily smirking when Karina bite her lip, his thighs shaking trying to resist the urge to just snap his hips forward.

Karina moan pushing her ass harder into his hands, hoping that he’ll give her what she need. Ethan lines up with her entrance, so that the head of his cock nudges teasingly against her opening and she meet his darkened green eyes.

“C’mon pool boy, show me what you’ve got.”

A long drawn out moan leaves Karina lips when Ethan finally breaks, slowly lowering her onto his hard cock. Clenching his jaw, veins becoming more visible in his neck as he enters her slowly inch by tortuous inch.

“So fuckin’ tight.” Ethn groans dropping his head forward, so that he can suck and bite marks into Karina's neck. Karina cling to him, curses and whimpered plea’s leaving her lips.

Tugging on Ethan’s hair harshly Karina force him to look up at her.

“Fuck! I need it Ethan, please!” Karina begging but she don’t care, because the words are barely out of her mouth before Ethan gives her what she need, snapping his hips forward, filling her in one blissfully hard thrust.

Ethan's fingers are digging into Karina's ass when he starts thrusting, the movements slow and rough but precise, hitting her g-spot on every movement. Karina's feet dig into his ass, water splashing around them with every powerful movement.

“You feel so good baby, shit.” Ethan pants breathlessly, pulling his head away from Karina's neck and his gorgeous green eyes lock onto hers. Karina pushing her hands into the back of his hair as she kiss him, tongue meeting his and messy uncontrolled kiss, angling her hips just right she start to rise and fall on his cock.

Breaking apart only when she feel her pussy beginning to clamp down around his thick length.

“Ethan.. please I’m g-gonna come..” Karina gasp out as she begin to lose her rhythm.

“Fuck, C’mon baby give it to me. Come all over my fucking cock!” Ethan practically snarls low in his chest.

Karina hooking legs over his arms a squeak of surprise leaving her lips when Ethan starts fucking up into her more faster. He’s so deep, it’s like a fire is building in her stomach.

Karina cling to him, his rough movements cause the water to create waves around her. Ethan feels so fucking good that Karina barely notice, she drop her face into the crook of his neck, hot breath fanning against his skin. Sucking and biting marks everywhere she can reach, then out of nowhere Karina orgasm hits her full force, causing her eyes to roll almost painfully, she have to sink her teeth into his shoulder to stop herself from screaming his name.

Ethan hisses as the pain throbs against his skin, carefully he lowers her legs letting her feet touch the floor again. Feeling a little dazed, Karina run her fingers along the bite mark on Ethan's skin, she can’t help but wince a little.

“I’m sorry pool boy, got you all marked up.” Karina giggle lightly, biting into her bottom lip when those eyes turn on her again.

A growl bubbles up in Ethan's throat, he spins her in his hold; roughly pressing Karina into the side of the pool, his chest pressed tightly against her back. Karina spread her legs as his lips press against her ear.

“Oh you wanna see marked up sweetheart, I’ll show you.” Ethan snaps harshly, causing Karina skin to practically buzz as he drags his teeth over her earlobe, those big hands spread her ass cheeks and his cock nudges at her slick entrance again.

“I’ll give you fuckin’ pool boy.” Ethan grunts as he pushes inside Karina in one thrust and bottoms out, muffling her screaming moan with his hand.

Karina fall over the side of the pool with a whimper when Ethan releases her mouth, grip tight and unyielding on her hips. His thrusts are nothing like they’d been before and she can’t get enough, the water sloshes over the edge of the pool as Ethan’s hips bounce off her ass with every brutal thrust he delivers.

“You’re so deep.. Fuck! Feels so good Ethan,” Karina cry out loudly, completely giving up on keeping her voice down, Karina push her ass back meeting his thrusts the best that she can.

“Shit, Karina! I’m gonna come.” Ethan grits out as his hips begin to stutter. His big hands move further over the curves of Karina body, wrapping those talented fingers around her ribs, and she sure that bruises will form there the same way they were beginning to on her hips.

Ethan shifts so that his knees are resting on the ledge between Karina legs, leaning over her so his body is almost draped on top of hers.

“Give it to me Ethan! Please, I need it! Don’t stop.” The words leave Karina lips without her really thinking, nobody has ever had her this wound up and ready to snap, not this fast and definitely not for a second time.

Pushing a hand between her legs Ethan rubs rough circles around Karina clit, forcing her orgasm forward, It’s practically bubbling in the pit of her stomach. Squeezing her eyes shut Karina feel her thighs start to shake. Ethan stills behind her, a broken moan leaving his plump lips when he finally comes, her pussy clamps down on his cock as he spills inside her.

His fingers and hips keep moving, his hands feel like they’re everywhere. Karina can’t take it anymore, she gasp his name and with a final rough thrust of his hips pushing her into the side of the pool, she fall apart around him all over again.

Karina shivering as her body collapses against the cold stone in front of her, Ethan's sweaty forehead drops to the bottom of her back, his soft lips pressing kisses into her skin waiting for her to come down.

Karina breathing finally slows down and Ethan helps you down, back into the water, he turns Karina in his arms. “Fuck that was the sexiest thing that’s ever happened.” Ethan grins happily, pulling her body against his as he kisses her, she melt against his lips.

Smiling when she pull away, she push the wet hair from his forehead.

“Think we’ll be remembering this for a few weeks.” Karina giggle, running her fingers gently over the marks on his skin, as his fingers skim across the bruises he’d left behind on her body.

Biting his lip his eyes move across Karina body, still standing so close to his own.

“Oh yeah sweetheart, I’d say so.”

“Trouble is Mr pool man, you’ve definitely got more work to do.”

Ethan rolls his eyes, but she can see the smile that’s curling at the corners of his lips, when he dangles her bikini bottoms from his finger, right in front of her face.

“Oh you ain’t gettin’ out of this one young lady.”

Karina squeal as he tosses the bottoms aside and throws her backwards, she land in the water with a splash. Karina re-emerge from the water, gasping for breath and glare right at Ethan.

“Oh you’re so fucking dead, Lee!”

[honeytbz]

bf!niki who surprises you on set of studio choom aotm

today you are on the set of studio choom, filming for artist of the month (aotm). the director yells “cut” and you sit down to monitor the scene.

unbeknownst to you, your boyfriend stands behind you ready to surprise you. he was the first to know of your aotm performance as you excitedly shared ideas with him and continuously gave him updates.

you had asked him previously if he was able to visit but unfortunately his group’s schedules interrupted, at least that is what he told you. although you were bummed, the food truck he sent filled with your favorites made up for his lack of presence and energized you for this powerful performance.

now, he stands behind you placing his hands on your shoulders. you jump in surprise and turn around to see your handsome boyfriend who was supposed to be shooting for vogue korea. “what are you doing here?” you question as you stand up and hug him. “i thought you were shootin–” before you can finish your sentence your boyfriend kisses you. “surprise” he rushes out. you hit him lightly on the shoulder happy that he is here to watch you perform. “thank you, baby” you smile.

after filming was complete and the performance was aired, the bts was uploaded. everyone was bubbling about the cute interaction between their favorite couple.

[twice-inamillion]

OC’s Birthday Part 1

Smut (Birthday sex, Anal, Creampie, Deep Penetration, Fingering, Teasing, Squirting, Slight Scissoring, Ahegao)

Chapter 239

Words: 3,680

(The members reward you with a special birthday present after being away for so long. Some rewarding you earlier than others.) 

You’re deep asleep after caring for the children most of the day. Suddenly you sense something climbing up onto your bed. You slowly open your eyes, see a silhouette, and say, “Jihyo?”

 A hand covers your mouth as the silhouette approaches towards you, “It’s midnight, Happy Birthday, babe.”

You move your hand, “hey, what’s going on?”

“Came here to give you an early birthday present,” as she removes her night blouse, revealing her large breasts. “I know how pent up you’ve been, and you've been a really good boy” as she starts to unbutton your sleeping shorts.

“Wow, just a few touches, and it's already leaking? You must have had a hard time while we were gone, but don't worry, I will fix you right up.”

Jihyo doesn't need to grab your cock as it stands hard and ready to go. She licks the side of your shaft, going around it until it's completely covered with her saliva.

She sees your cock twitch, releasing a bit of precum, “Baby, don't worry, I'm going to make sure you have a chance to explode inside of me,” and continues to play with your cock using her mouth. 

“Jihyo, please let me put it in…”

“Aww, baby, it's cute seeing you whine.” Jihyo enjoys seeing you this vulnerable and thinks to herself before saying, “If you hold on for this one round, I'll let you put it in my ass.”

Really?”

“Yes, really.” Jihyo enjoys seeing your reaction. She typically doesn't do anal but wants to do something special for your birthday. 

Jihyo positions herself better and presses her breasts together, “Are you ready for your Birthday Boobjob?”

Like a hungry idiot, you drool at the sight of your cock in between Jihyo's massive tits. She uses the milk from her tits as lube and covers your length with it. 

“Hmm, I taste good. No wonder you like sucking on my tits, babe.”

You try your best to hold on as you watch Jihyo chokes your cock with her tits. Her brown areolas leak her precious white substance every time she pushes them together. 

“Fuck, I want to cum so bad…”

“You like my tits that much? Or are you that backed up?”

“Both. I miss playing and sucking on your tits. I miss how they would bounce as you would ride me.” 

Jihyo enjoys hearing you compliment her body, and increases the pace of her boobjob. She wants to see you cum, see you in your weakest state.

“Fuck… I feel like I’m going to cum…”

Jihyo grins at the idea of making you cum. “Aww, that’s too bad. You could of had fucked me in my ass.” 

You see her increase the pace when more, wanting to make you cum and cover her breast with your baby batter. Instead, you hold on as much as you can, “No, I can make it!”

After a minute of pure hell, Jihyo finally stops. Her tits are completely red from rubbing against your cock and her tits against each other. 

She gives you an annoyed look of not making you cum with her tits. Jihyo was sure that she could make you cum after abstaining from sex. She knows she can’t make an excuse after promising the use of her ass and musters up the courage, “Alright, a deal is a deal.” 

You can’t help but smile as Jihyo climbs on top of you. She grabs a bottle of lube and pours a good amount on your cock. “Good thing I brought some.” 

With a couple of strokes on your cock she makes sure to cover it full of lube. Jihyo lifts herself, only a few inches away from your cock, “Ready for my ass?”

“Yes… I want it…”

Jihyo grabs your length and aligns it towards her pucker hole. She slowly presses the tip against her entrance and takes a deep breath. 

Both your hearts pound rapidly at the sight and feeling of Jihyo's ass. Jihyo still groans while her ass gets stretched, “Ahh fuck…” 

“Fuck Jihyo, you're so tight.”

She pulls your cock out and pours some lube to make it easier for her. She inserts your cock back in, her walls clench onto your cock as it moves. 

“Fuck… so tight! 

You grab one of her breasts and take it into your mouth. 

“You really like my tits, huh.”

There's no need for an answer as you begin to suckle, milk running down your throat. 

Jihyo slowly begins to ride you, focusing on you sucking her tit rather than the weird sensation of your cock in her ass. 

After some adjustment, Jihyo increases the pace, “Babe, you're so big… you're scraping my insides real good.” 

You grab her hips and hold her still, letting her feel your cock throb inside of her. “You like that? Feeling my throbbing cock inside of your tight ass?”

Yes… you're stretching me up so much…” 

You feel her walls clench tightly onto your cock and decide to have a bit of fun. 

“Let's switch positions; I want to get a better view.”

Jihyo slowly lifts her body and tries to pull herself off your length. You hear a loud pop as she pulls herself out. 

“Get on all fours, I'm going to fuck you from the back.”

With Jihyo's semi-gaped asshole, you spread her ass even further, “Fuck, your ass looks so good. I'm going to fuck you real rough.”

“It's your birthday, do whatever you want…”

With Jihyo's green light, you smack her ass with your cock, smearing it with your precum. You spread her ass cheeks and give it a nice slap, causing Jihyo to yelp.

“I'm going to put my weight on you and start right away so try to relax.”

“Okay, I'm ready.”

You pour some lube and, press your mushroom tip against her pucker hole and slowly insert. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“I'm going to go in.”

Jihyo grabs tightly onto the bed sheets, ready for you to slam yourself inside of her. She closes her eyes and yelps when you press your whole body onto her, “Oh fuck!! Your cock is reaching so deep inside of me! Fuck fuck fuck!!” her ass clenching your cock.

With your body on top of Jihyo, you begin to thrust in a slow but rough manner. The only noises you hear are the heavy breathing from Jihyo and the sound of flesh hitting against each other.

The sounds of Jihyo’s moans fill the air, the smell of her sweet scent and her burning skin on yours. “Lift your head up; I want to see your face.”

Jihyo nods her face against the pillow. 

“Come on, I want to look at you.” Jihyo slowly turns her head, and you see her in a complete mess. Her eyes were completely red, with tears running down and drool dripping from her mouth. 

“You said you didn’t like anal, but from your reaction, you’ve been lying, huh. Look at you, looking like a cock hungry slut.” 

She nods her head in agreement, “cum… cum inside of me please…”

“Get up, I want you to see your own reaction as I pump you full of cum.” 

With the both of you still attached, you make your way down the bed and in front of the large mirror by the bathroom. Jihyo tries to stand upright but stumbles, forcing you to make sure she does not fall. You place your camera against the mirror and say, “Look at yourself, a complete mess. You act all tough, but in reality, you’re just a cock hungry slut. I remember you always begging me to cum inside of you, even to the point of getting you pregnant. What are people going to think if they saw you like this?”

Jihyo looks at the camera in a euphoric state and says, “You’re right, I’m a cock hungry slut. I can’t stop thinking of your cock, not after our first time. I don’t care what people think, fuck them. I only want your cock and that baby batter of yours.” 

“Like a true slut… What about making one more?”

Jihyo’s eyes shine, and she looks at the camera, “Breed me, get me pregnant through all my holes.” In a tender voice, she apologizes, “I’m sorry, baby, but Daddy and I decided to give you another brother or sister, so do your best and be a good older sister.”

Jihyo raises both hands and does a set of peace signs as she clenches her walls around your cock. With Jihyo acting like a cock hungry slut you pull out your cock and, in one go, slam it back inside in full force. Jihyo’s eyes roll back, her tongue completely out as you shoot thick ropes of hot cum inside her ass.

 “Fuck!!!” 

Jihyo’s legs go numb, all her energy gone in one go. You hear a loud pop as you easily pull out your cock from Jihyo’s ass. 

You see Jihyo completely gaped, your cum pouring out and onto the bathroom floor. 

“Fuck, look at that gaped ass,” giving her ass a slap.

“Happy Birthday, babe.” 

—————

Momo wakes up early in the morning and walks towards Sana's room to wake her up. 

“Sana, wake up.”

Sana turns over, “Momo, what time is it?”

“I don’t know but just before sunrise. You ready?”

Rubbing her eyes, she says, “Is it time already?”

“Yeah, let’s wake up, Mina.” 

“Okay.” 

The two of them head to Mina’s room and slowly enter. They gently nudge Mina’s shoulder, “Mina, wake up, it’s time.” 

She slowly opens one eye and looks at her older members who are standing in front of her. “The girls had a hard time sleeping; I’m tired. Just do it without me.” She turns back and covers herself with the bedsheet.

Momo looks at Sana, “I guess it’s just us two.” 

“I guess so. Let's change in my room.”

With the both of them in Sana’s room, Momo hands her a pair of lingerie she bought a few weeks back, “What do you think?”

“Looks cute.”

“Put it on. I want to see how it looks on you.”

Sana, excited, starts to undress and puts on the sexy lingerie, “Momo-ya, you’re naughty,” pointing out at the slits in between the lingerie. 

“Looks good on you.” 

“You think?”

“Yeah, you have an amazing body.”

This causes Sana to blush, “Haha, you have a sexy body too. Try yours on.” 

Momo drops her skimpy shorts and takes off her oversized shirt, revealing her toned body. She puts on the lingerie, “what do you think?”

Sana grins, “You’re so sexy, Momo-ya, I would totally fuck you if I was a guy.” Sana talks up to Momo and inserts her fingers in between the slit, and grabs Momo’s nipple, pulling it. 

“Sana, save it for later…” causing Momo to moan slightly.

“Okay.”

The two of them go over their plan and decide to surprise you now before any of the other members wake up. They head towards your room and slowly turn the door knob. They see you sleeping alone, semi-naked, and only with your boxers on.

Both Momo and Sana look at each other, nodding at their plan. They stand in front of you, Sana inserting her hand between the slit of your boxers and pulling out your limp cock. She grins at Momo and strokes your cock gently, pulling your foreskin to reveal your mushroom tip. 

“Good morning, little guy. We’re going to have fun with you.”

——

You’re tired from the session with Jihyo, so try to catch some sleep before your busy morning. You have errands to run with Dahyun for most of the day so any chance to rest is welcomed.

You are sleeping comfortably when you suddenly feel pressure on both your chest and lower area. You slowly open your eyes and see a dark figure on top of you and ask, “who is it?”

“It's me, silly.”

With your hand, you turn on the light next to your bed and see Sana sitting on your midsection. “What are you doing here?”

With a gentle smile she replies, “We came to give you a surprise.”

“We?”

“Momo and I.”

Sana tilts to the side, allowing you to see Momo on the end of the bed. 

“Hello there, birthday boy. Ready for your gift?”

“Wait… gift…” You are cut off mid-sentence as Momo grabs your cock and inserts most of it down her throat. 

Sana works her way up to your chest, just below your neck, and says, “Make sure to enjoy your meal,�� before placing her cunt on your face. 

With her folds against your nose and face you get a sweet but faint whiff of her lower mouth. She grinds her cunt and says, “Make sure to drink all my honey,” as you feel her thick liquid running towards your mouth.

There’s no chance to think as her nectar oozes from your lips and onto your mouth. With just a drop of her sweet nectar you’re hooked and decide to go straight for the source. 

“Ahh, ahh… don’t be so impatient, there’s always more from where that came from,” as she feels your tongue penetrates her honeypot. 

On the other end of the bed, Momo is busy bobbing her head. She switches from having your cock down her throat to licking your balls and shaft.

“Your cock is nice and hard, it's ready for the main event.” 

Just like Sana, she mounts you, smacking your cock against her stomach. Momo holds it firmly and lifts herself, tracing the tip of your cock against her wet folds.

Momo's love nectar drips onto the tip of your cock, showing how hungry her cunt is to eat you whole. 

Having no more patience, Momo presses her lower lips against your cock before falling onto your cock. 

“Ahh fuck!!!”

You hit the end of Momo's womb, her walls clenching onto your cock tightly. You feel Momo's body tremble from the sudden shock of getting internally stabbed by your massive length. 

“I love the feeling of getting my pussy ruined by your cock. I'm going to enjoy it and milk you for all you're worth.”

— — —

You feel like you're in heaven as you get pleasured from both sides. With the constant supply of sweet nectar running down your throat and the internal massage from Momo's womb, you feel like you're getting spoiled really well on your birthday.

“You two know how to pleasure a guy.”

“It's your birthday; of course, we'll spoil you rotten, baby.”

“Yeah, like Sana said. Plus, I'm returning the favor from when you gave me my gift,” grins Momo.

You spend yourself in heaven for who knows how long. It wasn't until you found yourself getting soaked by Sana's love juices that you came back to reality. 

“Baby, I'm cumming!! Ahh… make sure to drink all my love juice.”

A heavy stream of love juice splashes over your face. You try to drink all of it when you feel a sudden tightening of Momo’s walls on your cock. “Momo, you’re going to make me cum!”

”That’s the plan. Dump all your cum inside me.” She places her hands on your midsection and lifts herself just enough for the tip of your cock to remain inside. ”Come on, oppa, fill my cum hungry cunt with your yummy cum” and slams herself once more.

”Fuck, if you want it so much, here, take all of it!” 

Momo immediately feels your cock throbbing as it releases a hot stream of cum into her fertile womb. She places her hand on her belly, feeling your cum pumping into her deepest parts.

”Ahh yes… that’s it. I love this feeling.”

The three of you rest and try to catch your breath. The two members look at each other and nod, mounting themselves off of you. 

“Wow, oppa, you came so much.”

”Unnie, let me see.”

Momo slowly spread her legs up, showing both of you the large amount of cum oozing out of her. 

Sana slowly creeps towards Momo and says, “Aww, I’m jealous. I want some, too.” She traces her finger against Momo’s leaking lips, collecting the cum that’s oozing out of her, “Yum…”

Sana moves in close with her head right next to Momo’s cunt. She looks at Momo, who's biting her lip at how close Sana is to her leaking pussy.

Momo makes eye contact with Sana before she dives in and licks the cum that's running out of her. 

“Ahh… Sana, what are you doing?”

“The honey between your legs looks so good, I couldn't help but want a taste.”

You couldn't believe your eyes, you knew they wanted to spoil you, but this might be one of their best presents. 

You watch as Momo uses her fingers to spread her folds, letting Sana get a better view of your baby batter coming out of her. Sana doesn't wait and goes in for Momo, putting her mouth on Momo's cunt and makes out with it. 

Seeing both of them enjoying themselves makes you both jealous and hard. With Sana's ass sticking up, you decide to join them. 

Momo watches up and smiles as you get behind Sana. 

“I want to join the both of you,” you say as you align your length against Sana's folds. 

“Of course, join us,” replies Momo.

Sana is too busy collecting your baby batter with her mouth to answer, so you decide to get her attention. With your cock alongside her entrance, you place your hand on her back and insert the tip. 

“Oppa, wait, I'm not ready,” whines Sana, but it's too late. By the time she responds, she feels your cock hit the end of her womb. 

She coughs as you thrust rapidly, trying to catch her breath from the sudden shock. 

“Ahh… ahh… you're so big, you're stretching me so much!”

Excited by the sight in front of her, Momo decides to hold Sana’s head, preventing her from moving. With her head against Momo's oozing cunt she continues to eat her out. 

You give Sana a firm ass slap and thrust slowly inside of her. Momo plays with her tits, enjoying the view. 

With stimulation from both sides, she can feel her womb dropping, signaling its desire to get fertilized. 

“Babe, cum inside me too. I don't want to be left out.” She shakes her cute bottom, begging for you to shoot your baby batter inside her. 

“Do you want it that bad?”

”Yes! I need it. Please…”

You pull your cock out and slap it against her ass cheek before inserting it again. With your cock in an angle, you scrape her walls with the tip, causing Sana to tremble. “Ahh… yes. Just like that!”

You grab both of Sana’s arms, leaving her upper body hovering in the air, and begin to thrust rapidly. 

“Ahh… ahhh…”

Momo inserts her fingers back inside her cunt, biting her lip as she watches her younger member getting fucked rapidly in front of her. 

“Fuck her harder, oppa.”

You watch Momo fingering herself while looking at the two of you, making you get turned on even more. You get a better grip on Sana and switch to a slow but rough thrusting. 

“How do you like that Sana?”

”I…I love it,” says Sana. She tries to keep her composure but can’t, as she drools from the pleasure. 

Suddenly, you feel Sana’s body tremble, “Ahh, oppa… I’m cumming!”

You let your left hand go and wrap your arm across her chest and release your right hand, moving towards her cunt. 

“Ahh, what are you doing?” asks Sana as she feels your fingers playing with her clit. She stiffens up when she feels her orgasm arriving and shouts, “Oppa, fuck!!!” 

Sana gets embarrassed knowing that Momo is watching her having an orgasm and is masturbating to it. She spasms, her breathing becoming heavy as she hovers in the air.

As her orgasm ends, her body becomes heavy, barely able to keep her head up from running out of energy. Instead, you bring her closer to you, her back against your chest, and whisper, “You did a great job. Now, for your reward.” 

Sana’s eyes go wide when she feels you pull out and slam yourself back inside with no warning. “Here’s your reward!”

A wave of cum rushes from my balls toward the tip of my cock and, like a fire hydrant, gushes out and fills Sana’s womb. You feel her walls tightening, remembering the familiar taste of the strong and healthy baby batter. 

With a large amount of cum which makes Sana look like she has a swollen belly, she falls onto the bed. Momo makes her way towards her, teasing her on her bulging belly. 

“Alight, I need to get ready, so I’m going to head into the shower.” 

“Okay, we’re tired, so we’ll just stay here for a bit,” replies Momo.

You head to the bathroom and take a quick shower, knowing that your time with Momo and Sana might have made you late. You quickly get out of the shower and stumble on the two of them in a scissoring position, collecting the runway cum and shoving it back inside their cunts. 

“That’s hot. Should I join?”

”Come and …” 

*Knock knock*

”Oppa, it's me, Dahyun. Are you ready?”

The two members cover their mouths, trying to avoid getting caught by Dahyun. 

“I just finished taking a shower. Give me five more minutes, and I’ll be out.”

”Kay.”

You rush and get dressed, and the other two just watch and laugh at you, panicking. “Oppa, don’t forget your pants.”

”Unless you want to go out like that, haha.”

With you gone, the two pull out their phones and take a selfie while wearing one of your shirts. 

[braaan]

Sunday Best (w/ Eunseo)

male reader & wjsn eunseo

fluff & smut, 3k words

As far as you’ve rationalized, it doesn’t make any sense.

For starters, you and Eunseo have been together since high school, and this is far from the first time she’s been in your apartment.

The first time, hours after a mutual friend’s birthday party gets cut short, Eunseo’s throwing up in your bathroom. It’s a tale as old as time: the Friday night of a long weekend, way too many groupchats, high school bravado kneecapped by Fireball shooters — it’s messy, and senior year. You get you’re her boyfriend’d into nursing her back to life, and one grueling night shift later, she’s under your covers while you’re trying to get comfy on your small-for-sitting futon. And despite how early she’s up the next morning, between the still warm almond croissants on your countertop, the deep hug she pulls you into before you can drum up anything sarcastic, and how much better your basketball shorts sit on her waistline — drawstring double-knotted, waistband rolled all the way up — it’s hard to stay mad.

Another time, you’re coming back from date night, and before the front door even closes in on you two, she’s walking your apartment’s perimeter, pulling out supplies from a backpack. You’re trailing her, trying to simultaneously close the distance she covers and read the tiny labels on household items she leaves in her wake. Before long, there’s not a countertop unmarked by these tiny rubber characters (“They’re called SMISKIs”), all of your spaces start to predominantly smell like daisies, and you don’t recognize half of the brands in your bathroom. Any other time: you’d say something. Any other time: you’d stand up for yourself; puff your chest into the slight height difference. Any other time Eunseo wasn’t reappearing from your bedroom in a tiny cotton shirt and all eight inches of these plaid blue pajama shorts: yeah, you’d draw your boundaries.

Sometime after that, in the lull of quiet comfort and work from home, her legs are in your lap as you both bat away questions on individual video calls. Difference couldn’t be any more stark. Twelve minutes into your morning meeting, in between unmutes of your desktop microphone, you’ve tallied up a total of twenty words, and have entertained a serious-and-three-quarters imagination about where else you could call into this — your camera’s off, after all. Eunseo’s your in-office foil: her chocolate hair freshly straightened, her baby blue button up perm pressed, her small talk status quo. Eunseo’s full of shit. Just off camera, unobvious in her digital four walls, she hasn’t changed out of your heather gray boxer shorts she wore to bed.

So, really:

It’s not the first time you’ve seen Eunseo wake up in a pair of shorts.

It doesn’t make any rational sense how much it still gets a reaction out of you.

--

Granted, it’s an unreal view.

The sun hurries through your curtains to pool around her feet, daybreak serving as stepping stones as she pads to your en suite. Golden yellow melts into her milk chocolate hair, spinning already light browns into shades of almond and sand between sunlit highlights. A breeze picks up through the fabric, and the light breaks. One moment she’s haloed, cast in sunlight, all of her curves etched in radiance; the next, momentarily obscured, a dream in soft-focus, half-glimpsed and inviting whole-yearning. From where you’re propped up on your elbows, she flickers in and out of reality and reverie, real-deal and daydream. She’s a light show in slow motion, superposition between technicolor and transfiguration; sunkiss and shadow in perfect ballet, catching an everyday angel between the light that loves her and pockets of beautiful mystery that make her all the more alluring.

All of this to Eunseo: her morning routine.

She walks without hesitation. Even when it’s mundane, there’s a tangible confidence in the way she sprays sea salt into her hair, carding her fingers through her roots.

It’s the one thing that threw you for a loop about her, really: for a long time, you were waiting for the character to drop. Blended between candor and how you’d be able to read anything just off of her facial expression, Eunseo was headstrong, and always heart first. Early into your relationship, it was unnerving. Younger yous bounced between bouts of ‘wow, that’s frank’ and ‘what are you compensating for?’. You got where you were in life — to you: where most people didn’t — by never playing all your cards, and here Eunseo was all the same, hand face up on the table.

Though it doesn’t take you too long to eventually admit that forward is sexy.

It’s in the way she asks for what she wants, unbothered by the answer, discarding pretense and step-by-step; it’s in the way she’ll take the lead without warning, showing up after work at your lobby to take you on a night she’s pre-planned; it’s in the way that — because on the weekend, you wake up on her time — she’s six feet away from you, tip-toed, peeling at the curtains: all the way stretched out.

And outlined in daylight, you don’t miss a detail.

For starters, her shirt’s way too small. It’s this light material: cheap white cotton that curls in on itself at the hem. And as she reaches out at the Roman shades, revealing more and more skin, you can explore all the small of her back, run imaginary hands along where her shirt stops, down the soft line where skin kisses spine. You can trace your thumbs at the space just above her hips, skirting shapes at her waistline, dancing just above the navy soccer shorts Eunseo wore in tenth grade, faded far from school colors, and tiny as hell.

You could sit there for hours — you’d find new angles to obsess over.

You get half a beat.

“It’s rude to stare, you know?”

And in one motion, Eunseo closes the distance between where she was and where you sit, quickly cross-legged on your comforter.

“And even ruder to have fun,” she starts, patting the blankets grouped around your waist, “all by yourself.”

“Fuck off,” you spit, batting away at her forearm. The blood runs to your cheeks, and your ears are hot. “You might as well be wearing nothing — what am I supposed to do?”

Looking at you through her fringes, the edges of her lips pulling into the start of a smile, she doesn’t need any words — it’s a brutally honest admission.

“You’re saying,” she whispers, “it’s these you like?” Both of your eyes flick to where her hands find the trim of her shorts, tracing the stitching at her thigh, following a runaway stripe with a fingernail — matte white, all insidious, and teasingly slow.

“Eunseo,” you try again flatly. “Fuck,” and there’s a pause here, implicit now anything but, “off.” 

Which would be half convincing if you could take your eyes off of her legs.

You’re tracing her thigh in your head, filling the toned crease with your gaze, painting Eunseo’s legs with attention.

She leans into you, and makes it hard to think. Your thoughts are cloudy; in the moment. Nothing becomes more top of mind than the smell of daisies.

There’s a half beat.

Then a whisper against your lips: “Tell me what you like.”

Forward is so fucking sexy.

Kissing Eunseo is like fire: hot, and all at once. She’s running her hands under your shirt, snaking her legs under your stomach; she’s whimpering against your bottom lip, redirecting your hands onto her chest; she’s running her tongue against your teeth, wedging herself square in all of your focus — you’re trying to keep up.

You’re kneading at her chest through cotton, creating new creases, feeling the bud of her nipple get hard in your hands.

You’re tugging at her t-shirt, stretching fabric out of form.

You’re molding Aphrodite — palming, gripping, shaping. Sculpting divinity on earth called for hours of sanctification, and you were here to worship.

Eunseo’s like putty to it all — so sensitive, and pliant at your fingertips. She’s moaning at your mouth, then whispering praises. Hushed against your lips: more, more, more, more, more.

You blink life back into your eyes, and magnetically, inherent like gravity, they fall onto hers. Filled with the night sky — wine-dark, galaxy-wide, abyssal, fully oblivion — even now: hooded, sultry, and all shades of dangerous, they felt inevitable, like they were where yours belonged. They beckoned — like they were written in all of your universes, like all the right roads led back to them.

And it’s like Eunseo reads your mind, because all of a sudden: she’s scarlet, a very red blush dancing across her cheeks.

“Okay, pretty boy,” she starts, catching her breath. Then, gathering her hair into a ponytail: “I’m going to blow your mind.”

And without hesitation, because you’re still stuck in ten seconds ago: “You look so cute.”

And because now she has to: “I’m already going to put you in my mouth, you don’t have to flatter me anymore.”

--

Eunseo’s flipped over, her cunt inches from your lips, drawing lines along your length with her tongue. And you’d return the favor quicker, if not for how mesmerizingly methodical she was. You’re catching glimpses of bits and pieces in the negative space between your bodies. Through her t-shirt: a flash of the flat of her tongue as she reaches the tip of your cockhead, her white nails replacing her mouth around your shaft at the top of her dips, her pretty pink pout — how they all disappear as she takes your cock down her throat. She knows all your soft spots — what you like; where you like it — and always gave you what you loved.

It feels like it all makes sense -

Your hips bucking into her mouth on her downbeats, the saccharine song she starts humming mid-bob, the precum-stained kisses she’s leaving along your length in legato, the half-notes they send across your nervous system -

- all of you feels like it rhythmically belongs together.

“Eunseo,” you manage to grit out, and you feel her smirk against your cock.

You can narrate it in your head. Hm? she’s goading, minxy moxie maxed out. This is all it takes to make you cum? There’s a half-choke — a rough buck of your hips. Fingers curl around your shaft — the hum she has in the back of her throat picks up. A little bit of your cock in my mouth? You’re like a tuning fork to it all. You’re dizzy.

And you’d probably die then and there, if not for the last resort of your tongue on Eunseo’s cunt.

It’s one of the only things that levels her, really.

All the build up is cut in half, tempo slowed down to a grind as you swipe long, breathy flicks of your tongue on Eunseo’s pretty pussy. You’re pacing yourself against a water droplet–rhythm in your head. Arms hooked around her thighs, thumbs tracing circles counterclockwise on her skin -

Down.

Build.

Up.

Down.

Swell.

Up.

It’s unholy the noise she makes next.

Too adorable to just leave hanging.

“Look at you, Eunseo,” you taunt, where the start of a stanza would go, and then drop back into cadence — no air for her to respond — tongue back on her slit. 

And against against your mouth, it’s almost like all of the candor is causal — all the forwardness just carefully-crafted camouflage to get you on her cunt — because reduced down to a mewling mess, white-knuckle around your bedsheets, spine arching to get even closer to the flat of your tongue, there is no back talk. Eunseo was yours, her cunt was all yours, and she was so willing to follow.

Doubling your efforts on her heat, lapping against her little pussy, tracing a thumb around her clit -

“Baby,” she whines.

- Eunseo knows she’s coming undone.

And in this full-on, two-part second that you’re completely lucid to -

- she does.

At first, it’s like time’s frozen. You can feel her tense up under your breath, cheat one last gulp of air, tighten her thighs against your forearms.

Then, everything’s in fast forward. Eunseo unravels. She’s scrambling on polyester, looking for a hold, any grip to support her through how hard she’s cumming on your tongue. The words caught in her throat catch up to her, and all the way through her high, she’s conjoining cuss words, peaking into falsetto as you line kisses along her cunt. Son Eunseo melts against you, onto you, unwound and fully fucked.

But never enough to return the favor.

Gracefully sensual, she straddles you, catching herself on your chest, sitting square on your hips, parking up against your length — you’re caught off guard by the sharks.

Plastered against Eunseo’s shirt: an elementary guide to enough shark species to line anyone’s trivia back pocket — Whale, Great White, Mako, Tiger, Basking -

And because now she has to: “My eyes are up here, perv.”

And without hesitation, because this time that’s genuinely low: “Oh, fuck you.”

And not a beat after that, right against your lips, and riding further up your cock: “You only wish.”

Eunseo’s mouth is on yours, and then so’s her tongue. And as she’s exploring your chest with her palms, thumbing at your nipples, you can only smile. You don’t know why you doubted yourself: with Eunseo, there’s no way anything’s a character.

There’s a beat that you both take, and in the next, there’s a shirt over your face.

You’re blinded, covered in SHEIN sheer, and — instincts taking over — you reach your hands out to grab at anything.

You find Eunseo’s waist as she takes you in her pussy.

It’s hot, it’s tight, it’s needy. She’s getting you both back on beat, picking up the pace, up-and-down on your cock, side-to-side on your hips — you’re trying to keep up.

Your grip tightens, and it’s downright unholy: your thumbs touch at her belly button.

She’s so small, so tight, so in your hands, and so fucked, so fucked, so fucked -

“Cum in me,” Eunseo exhales, then suffixes: “in me, in me, in me.”

Your head goes into overdrive — it’s a time bomb: pulsing, racing, tensing; it’s a million miles a second, and so fucking dangerous. You’re gritting your teeth, crushing her waist in your grip -

And because now you have to, and in lossless lucidity: “Eunseo, fuck off.”

She’s so fucked.

And you know in the moment that follows -

How quickly she finds her place under you, picking up where her fingers were last on your cock — kissing, twisting, sucking, her matte white fingernails hypnotic up and down your shaft -

How guttural the moan you let out feels, like it comes from your tailbone -

How hushed the holy shit is on your lips as Eunseo swallows load after milky load -

- how fucked you are, too.

(You always will be.)

--

There’s a little song and dance you play after Eunseo pops back out of the bathroom.

Again: it’s not either of your first times with each other, but like routine — still and forever — you’re falling into characters you know and love.

Eunseo’s laying it on thick, walking like a textbook taught her how to: drummed-up and exaggerated, heel-toe, heel-toe. Hands folded behind her back, she’s in this half-bend, lips pursed, eyes wandering: suddenly fascinated in the brushwork on your walls or how light catches random trinkets, bending over to the left, the right, and just under to make sure their shadows are still there. It’s all but complete, just missing a laid back whistle; it’s all comically stupid, just always the most adorable thing.

Of course — and only after two full minutes of the charade, drawn out and profusely slow-burned; only after you’ve rolled your eyes so hard they might stick, tension just under boiling point — her little exploration leads her to your bed.

And with that kind of setup: anything she said would’ve landed.

So “... you don’t want to put a kid in me …” absolutely does.

Her head’s in your lap now, face cracked in this darling half-giggle.

Outwitting Eunseo is a losing game. You never win. Not against the air that lingers around her, peppered sweet and spicy, intoxicating even when you were both sober. Not against her expert balance of prickly and precious, cutesy-cocky carefully-crafted. Not against the crescents in her eyes when you’re this deep into a bit. You don’t really have to.

She kisses you, and it tastes like the promise of time: that you’ll always have more.

It’s pre-teen sweet, spiked with hands brushing soft spots: it’s goofy, it’s whole, and you’re both giggling — trading tender breaths, sharing secrets in the exhales, melting smiles into each others’.

Here — in between the playful banter, nose-to-nose with Son Eunseo — you’re complete.

“Want a coffee?”

(And it’s probably the only thing you’ve done once and only once. You should make the coffee.)

“I’ll make us two.”

--

:')

feel like everything's been fast paced recently, so hope not cringe to say that this has been a serious refuge for me. domestic... interplay (?) is so fun to explore, and i could probably tease out established relationship footsies switchy blurry lines forever — hope you enjoyed!

thank you @majorblinks for the beta (my twin flame and no one is ever going to do it like us), @chunksworld for giving me the push to write eunseo (guys girl enjoyers!), and @passingnotions for everything in between (u next.)

[iznsfw]

Lucid Dream

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 7 - Kim Minju

IZ*ONE's Kim Minju x Male Reader Smut

8,525 words

Categories | married man!You, wife!Wonyoung, daddy kink, degradation, rough sex, OC is not a good person

Content warning | cheating, humiliation, Wonyoung slander (it hurt to write but I read "Gone Girl" by Gillian Flynn recently so I guess that went into the whole wife-hating thing)

Skipping again a bit (still will do Chaeyeon and Chaewon and everyone because IZ*ONE best girls). Expect a commission and an IZ Days of Xmas fics this month again <3 I love you all, you make me happy. And as always, sorry for the inconsistency!

Wonyoung is beautiful.

You stare at her as she undresses in front of the full-length mirror. She’s the kind of woman whose vanity seldom rolls eyes because her adoration for herself—smoothing down her dark hair, strictly adhering herself to that keto diet, doing her skincare with the dedication of one who prays nightly to god (pick any)—is wholly justifiable. Look at her. Anyone would understand.

The dress she wore for her hosting show slips off her body. Her abs reflect in the mirror, the result of hard work in the gym. Wonyoung’s waist is impeccable. Magazines have written over and over tips to attain it but it seems that the signature Bratz doll feature can only belong to Wonyoung. The makeup was cleaned up by her stylist but her eyes still shine, her lashes are still long, and her lips are still plump.

Wonyoung is standing there in nothing but her underwear, an attractive set of lace. 

Wonyoung is the perfect female form, a goddess from above choosing a man from below.

Wonyoung is beautiful, a feat that no matter how amazing besides true, she remains the same old fucking bore.

“Did you like my MCing, babe?” she asks.

“Uh-huh.”

Her legs, long and thin, move in planned strides down the room. To the bed. You know where this is going.

Your feet are killing you. Recline, welcoming yourself into the softness of the expensive mattress and pillows your wife paid for all in all. “Wonyoung, I’m tired.” 

She’s a celebrity. Of course, endless days filled to the edge with schedules chase after her. She ought to understand. The nights are her only rest hours, yet with this energy, it’s like Jang Wonyoung never gets exhausted. Always bubbly, always sweet, always so seductive. 

All these are positive traits that any other man would adore and own had you not married her. 

Wonyoung makes an adorable sigh. “But you say that everytime,” she replies sullenly.

She’s pushing her lips out into this cute pout while her brown puppy eyes beg you to give in like you used to. Once upon a time, you were putty around Wonyoung. Never could give an answer without your voice shaking. Never could come near her without blushing. 

She’s the prettiest woman in the world.

You’re the most awful, undeserving man in the world, for all you could think, as you look at her, is: Fucking bitch. 

“Well, maybe it’s because I’m always tired.”

“How about,” she puts a finger on her chin, “I do the job for you?”

Her knees are bruised. You notice this when she drops to them so she could pull your pants to the ground. So she’s been doing this for so long? Lowering herself for you? Sucking you off? You thought that she’d get the hint by now: you don’t want to have sex with her.

So instead, she uses her mouth. Better than her pussy anyway. What are you saying? She’s a tight woman. But it’s the same thing everyday: she gets on your cock and you hear her annoying voice straining as she rides you. Her cunt, soaked and useless, makes you want to call her its name. She’s always needy. It isn’t flattering when you don’t reciprocate it.

It’s a goddamned chore. Wonyoung’s throat welcomes you. The other way around, actually: your cock welcomes a claustrophobically closed passageway and has to deal with it until you cum. It’s an unwanted visitor. She rang the bell, said hi, and you let her in. Doesn’t mean you like her there.

“Doing so good, baby,” you say. Oh, yeah, doesn’t mean you mean it either—although you do feel Wonyoung smile happily. She’s happy when she makes you happy. When she makes you give her the illusion that you have any happiness in this worn-out marriage.

Her lips seal around you. You can feel them suckling. Your knees are tense. The moans are forced, though. Hearing them come out from your own mouth makes you want to place a pillow over your face and press it down as hard as you can.

She slides you down her throat. Admittedly, you love the way she chokes. Her eyes get all watery, like she’s crying from pain. That sounds appealing. 

You’re a critically messed up man, you know. But they’re what make the world go ‘round. Why do you think they write romance books about them—the bad boy, the mafia boss, the killer? Plus, one of those “terrible” people inspires the biggest Korean celebrity to continue hosting, dancing, and singing. So who’s so terrible now?

To conclude, if anything, you’re the one responsible for Wonyoung’s success.

To conclude, you groan as desperately as you can then release in her mouth. Wonyoung gags. Another pretty sound. Her eyes look up while she attempts to swallow. Saliva sticks to her chin. Semen floods up to the roof of her mouth. It reminds you of how it ends up there more often than in her womb.

You would’ve made beautiful children with Wonyoung in another world where she wasn’t famous and you actually loved her. You would have been a softer, kinder man. She would have been a person who’s easier to love and make love with.

“Wonyoung, Wonyoung, that… was incredible.”

If you weren’t a director, you’d be the one on camera. You’re a great actor when it comes to your wife. Your incompetence in the house is masked by husbandly exhaustion; an artificial gaze of attentiveness hides your indifference to conversation. 

She smiles coquettishly. “I try.”

The wide closet parts. She chooses a pair of silk pajamas that hang around her thin frame. She climbs onto the bed and wraps an arm around you. Her skin is always cold to the touch. Like she’s dead or something. How interesting.

You stroke her hair. “I’d return the favor but… I’m actually gonna pass out. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She kisses your forehead. Wonyoung’s a sweet girl. “Good night.”

You smile. Say it back. Her eyelids flutter closed. Her palms are flat against each other and are placed under her cheek. Cute, you guess. She sleeps. 

You don’t. 

You should have—nothing good ever happens after midnight.

-

2:05 a.m., more specifically.

-

Amazing how time slips through your grasp like air. You reach and reach, desperate for a return, desperate for a flash to the past. As always, your efforts aren’t fruitful. The seconds pour through the pinched waist of the hourglass and you can’t stand it on its other head. You’re unable to revert back to the moment you took your arm from underneath your wife’s skull. The moment you opened your phone. If you hadn’t, maybe things would have been different.

But it’s past two, and you’re resting your back on the pillowy headboard with your phone in your hands. The circumstances just play right into danger: Wonyoung’s asleep, the night is eerily quiet, and the screen is there, awaiting the secret routine. Which girls would you cum for today? Why aren’t your thumbs clicking over censored sites?

Your feed shows a naked woman, her eyes staring up and her mouth wide. Scroll past that—you prefer the amateur videos, where the expressions balance between exaggerated and naturally provoked. A ton of videos could help in the bathroom where you take your nightly “shower,” and it’s not one of those.

Maybe you need the real thing.

Look at Wonyoung. Perhaps you should have let her ride you just so you could cum in a warm pussy again. After all, it’s the least you could do when you were once a fan of her. That’s how everyone starts: puppy-like adoration. But she doesn’t have the star quality she once did onstage; the coy thoughtful princess you envisioned her as. That’s why you haven’t fucked her in weeks. 

You’re about to wrap your hand around your cock and ready yourself for another night of conflicted pleasure. This video is perfect for that already. You could jerk yourself off then get a good night’s sleep. Simple. This is the safest option for a dangerous want. By just watching, you’re not cheating on your wife. It’s just porn. Jerk off, cum, cum again probably, then sleep. Nobody gets hurt.

“Fuck me… please,” whimpers the woman in the video. Her legs are spread open. Her partner’s swiping his cock at her lips while she looks at him with equal hunger, equal desire. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Then, a text message notifies you, peeking from the top of your screen. It dares you to click it.

And it says the exact same thing.

fuck me please, i cant take it anymore. 

i miss you 

You look around, like you’re afraid someone might see it. There’s only the dimness of your bedroom that greets you. It’s safe, but this message isn’t. 

The number is familiar. Has one of your friends gone crazy? Or did they send a text to the wrong person? Take it for spam, a perfectly coincidental one, or a scam, a typical, preying-on-the-married, pwning message.

But why would a contact spam you at a time so strangely perfect?

Don’t bother. Your fist works on your dick as you watch the video. The woman’s so wet that although she isn’t squirting, her juices start to stick to the man’s thighs. Her mouth is wide open as he finally pounds her. 

What you’d give to have good sex like that again. 

XXX-XXX-XXX sent a video message.

Fine. Click it, you’re curious.

Oh, so apparently, the answer is your marriage.

The video shows a face that’s more intimate than familiar. The ebony-black hair already tells you who she is, as does her body. Her form is encased in a floral tank top and nothing else. Although her chest is covered, she’s still a little daring with how her nipples stamp the fabric. She turns herself around to let you admire the curve of her wide hips and her round butt.

There’s only one woman with a body so perfect. And she’s the one and only Kim Minju.

There are reasons for everything. This is yours for why you didn’t give this number a name: 

No one needs to know just from a text that you cheated on Jang Wonyoung.

That was so long ago, back when you were still boyfriend and girlfriend. You were drunk and missed Wonyoung’s old self. Why did she have to be such a bitch? Why did she dedicate herself to work and leave you dry? It’s not like the industry would go bankrupt without her. Minju came over, listened to your complaints—every little whine about Wonyoung being busy, every little jab at her workaholic character—then said something along the lines of, why don’t you have a little fun while she’s away. 

And you thought… yeah, that was a really great idea. 

That was the beginning of the end. After multiple secret meet-ups and raunchy sex in alleyways, you didn’t contact Minju again. You forgot her. You thought she did, too. She should have understood that your infidelity, albeit alluring, would be a thing of the past. 

But here she is, in your messages, with a pornographic clip of herself in a round-cornered bubble. She’s waiting for a reply. 

Although you’ve long lost your aspirations to be a better husband, you type what a good man should. This man is proper, faithful, and loving. He loves his wife only and the only other people he loves with this deep of a bond is his family. 

Stop texting me or I’ll block you. 

It’s not enough. You’re not a good man. You aren’t proper or faithful or loving or any of that shit. You were about to masturbate to an internet celebrity after turning down sex with your wife. What about that makes you a good person?

:( you miss me sooooo bad it’s pathetic, Minju replies.

You look at her again. You may not be able to turn back time with your metaphorical hourglass, but you can turn this hourglass body into any position you want. You could push her against a window for all to see, perhaps fuck her to the floor, or slam her on a desk like a teacher would to a test paper. Minju would let you do anything to her.

Stop it.

She really has to. As much as you dislike Wonyoung, she’s your wife, and you vowed on your wedding day to only have eyes for her. 

But you’re only one man against a body like Minju’s that curves in every right place.

Three circles float up and down in a contained bubble before she texts you back:

alright…what a pity :( i’m already outside!! i guess ill have to go back…

You’ve never bolted out of bed so fast. 

You look back at Wonyoung as you stand in the doorway. She’s still in deep slumber. Now, are the curtains closed? The entrances locked? Scan the house thoroughly, until you inch your way to the front door. 

Hesitate. You didn’t know you had a conscience but here it is. It tells you to wonder if Minju really is behind it, like she said. She knows how to use the privilege of being Wonyoung’s close friend. That’s how she came to your house like she used to with no worry for paparazzi or suspicion. Best friends don’t fuck their best friends’ husbands, right?

Open the door. This one did.

Minju grew more beautiful in her absence. Her hair is silkier this time and her shy smile is brighter. The long coat is smoothed by her fingers, and you wish you could be the brown piece of fabric her pale hands run down. What makes you guilty for thinking it, even when you’ve done it, is the fact that she looks so innocent. It’s like it would be a crime to even buy her a drink. 

How could she be innocent with that photo she sent? The time you spent together: you folding her over a table and promising to fill her up? Fucking her while Wonyoung is busy and counting on you to welcome her home? Sending nudes like there’s no tomorrow? Nothing about Minju is pure, yet she acts like she could do no wrong.

“Minju,” you say. Your voice sounds fragile. She has a way of breaking you befote you’re breaking her into breaking another bed. 

She blinks theatrically. Everything she does is angelic. “Glad you opened the door.”

The knob is cold in your fist. It chills your animalistic brain and urges you to consider the consequences. Right, it says, here’s what a human—a good one—would think. If Wonyoung wakes and sees you with Minju, she’d have a lot of questions. If paparazzi are somehow hiding in the forest that extends to acres before your house, everyone would know you’re cheating on her. Most of all, you’re married, monogamy and everything. 

So what will it be? This is your last and only chance to send her away.

You know what you have to do. Take a few breaths. “You have to leave. I’m not joking, it isn’t right.”

In response, Minju unravels the ribbon of the layers sealed around her waist. It falls apart. You do, too.

She’s a real danger. As it turns out, the girl isn’t wearing anything underneath that trench coat. She’s an artist’s naked muse—bare long legs, wide hips, and a sizable bust that has sculptors carving something else.

The cold hardens her pink nipples. You notice how her breasts are much bigger than your wife’s. How her hips are more tempting to grab, so you do. How her body is meatier, a lot more enticing that you wouldn’t refuse a day without touching it.

Minju fuels your infidelity, and you won’t stop for it if it kills you.

She simpers, fingers curling into your work shirt. “Still wanna make me leave,” she asks, “when you can breed me all night long?”

You laugh, huffing it out as you pull her inside and close the door behind her. Minju looks gorgeous pressed to it. She looks gorgeous in whatever situation, actually. Her thighs squish against the carved design and look thicker as a result. More reasons to dive into that shaven cunt and abuse it.

“You’re not leaving until we make a fucking mess, Minju.” You take your shirt off. Throw it on the ground. “And we better make it quick.”

“Of course.” She nods. She’s slyer than a fox, but she submits to you without a second thought.

You lean in to kiss her. The heat is unbearable. You can feel it from Minju’s body transferring to yours. It’s the effect of her natural skills as your personal slut: trying to fit her tongue deeper in your mouth while you pull her close like she’d dare to run away. 

You haven’t gotten this hard for anyone else. It’s always been Minju you fall for. You miss the way she kisses, the way she roams her hands all over your torso, the way she’s goddamned insatiable. Feeling it all now in one, heated moment makes you dizzy. You’re taking in too much of her, but without her, you’d go thirsty again. 

Your fingers are in her hair; hers are on your waist. Your teeth are clamped down on Minju’s bottom lip; hers are apart and allow soft moans to pass through—one, two, three. You fit each other in so many wicked ways. They did say misery loves company.

Open your eyes. The dream doesn’t stop. Minju’s still pushing her mouth in your face and you’re letting her. You don’t know if you ought to be relieved or downright horrified. You’re cheating on Wonyoung again with a woman whose body is just a bit nicer. You should be furious at yourself. You aren’t.

You’ve made out with each other on the way to the dining room. You and your wife worked hard for its designed walls and sturdy, well-furnished ornaments. A lot of money was raked out to make this house the best place to call home. So, why do you want to ruin it?

Well, because of her.

Minju leans on the dining table with a funny smile on her face. “She really doesn’t do it for you, huh?” she asks.

It makes you wince how you know who she’s talking about. Who else is she referring to other than poor Wonyoung? Poor, skinny, ugly Wonyoung?

Nibble at her earlobe. Hear little gasps come out of her. “Don’t talk about her,” you say.

You don’t want to have any afterthoughts about fucking Minju. Besides, being reminded that you’re disloyal to a woman who loves you very much is painful, even to a man like you.

Wonyoung is an angel. Minju isn’t—but you run after her to darkness.

“Ohh, come on, I know I’m better than her.” Minju squirms with erotic moans. Your kisses are going south, and she loves their little detour. “You don’t fuck her like you fuck me.”

When was the last time you worshiped Wonyoung? Like what you’re doing to Minju now? Your lips haven’t passed over it in ages that you probably wouldn’t know where the bigs and smalls of her body are. Like there’s anything to know. 

“Actually,” you snort, “I don’t fuck her at all.”

You stop chuckling. That was the wrong thing to say. That was the wrongest thing to say out of the millions of other cocky phrases you could’ve thrown to Minju. The look on her face, the one that’s of pride and submission and dangerous knowledge united, tells you to watch your mouth. 

You’re five seconds minimum too late to listen. 

Minju grins. There’s the answer she wanted. “That’s how it is? Just looking at a girl and thinking you wanna stamp a divorce approval on her forehead? Jesus. This is why I never got married.”

“First off, nobody put a ring on you because you’re a slut, Minju.”

“That’s only the third reason.” Her fingers drape the sides of your face and tugs you in. You’re invited to the sight of her infallible tits. “These are the first two.”

The girl isn’t as busty as that woman Wonyoung likes to call her industry mom, but you bet they’re better. No, it’s a matter of truth. Minju’s boobs aren’t too big or too small; just the perfect, filling size to hold onto when you’re railing her from behind.

You choose to suck on them for now. It’s like a trip down memory lane when you kiss down her neck and collarbone. You remember how good her smooth, soft skin feels beneath you, how her moans are a favorite tune. Minju bites her lip while you do so to her shoulder.

It’s crazy to think that she just so happened to be born with this. She was born to be a pretty face with a sex-defined body that you pull and push and pry apart. Best thing is, she’ll lay back down and beg for more. It’s like she knows her purpose, which would’ve shot down her dignity and humanity.

Her nipple pops in your mouth. Your sucking guarantees its hardness, and Minju starts whining. She arcs her body, wanting something rougher. Thus, you seize the span of her hip to rub her pearl with fierce speed.

“Oh, fuck, god—” What others might take for blasphemy, you take for praise. Minju’s already soaking wet. She would have had embarrassing laundry to do if she wore panties. Maybe it’s a good thing she arrived wearing nothing.

She’s still so sensitive. You caress her clit after a few kisses down her midriff. She fidgets needily like you aren’t already touching her. You’re nearly right—this touch is nothing when she needs something harsher. That something involves you treating her less than a human being, putting her down and tearing at her hair. 

“Please just fuck me,” she whispers. “Breed me, breed me, breed me—”

Yeah, that’s what she wants.

You don’t need further motivation, not when you’re presented with the prettiest pussy you’ve ever seen. Her fat lips are soaked. They frame the clitoris you’ve been stimulating that shines with slick. Then there’s the tiniest hole below it that begs to be used.

Your digits shove past all tightness. Her wetness allows a deeper exploration, so you curl your digits like you’re beckoning the orgasm forward. You know how easily you can get it out of her. All it needs to get Minju cumming around you is a slap, roughness, and giving her what she wants anyway. You know your methods, she knows hers. It’s a recognizable cycle that despite this, you can’t break.

Part your fingers widely to spread her. She’s so wet that she soaks your knuckles. There’s an ocean inside her waiting to be waved to shore. A storm, too, brews from the base of her throat as Minju whimpers. Her body lifts off the table but you force her down on it. She isn’t going anywhere, not without a fight.

Oh, and fight she does. She was an idol before an actress, so her muscles still memorize the circling motions that repeat on your fingers rather than move onstage. She sang once. That was a long time ago yet her voice sounds perfect as it strains her moans. Every little thing she does is a reflection of her past. 

That’s why when she leans back, pupils dilating north, and says “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” you get deja vu.

Your palm hits her clit, adding impact to your strokes. “There you go, little slut,” you snarl. “Are you happy now? Maybe even a little grateful?”

If Minju’s ass isn’t pressed down on the glass mantling your dining table, it hovers so her pink little hole receives you better. It’s not without the help of her weak hands clinging to the table for dear life, but she seems to be losing her balance. Her hips are shuddering. Her beautiful face is squeezed up into a blissful wince. Her breaths are becoming blunt little gasps that say none of the gratitude you want to hear.

You slap her boob. Red blooms from her pale skin that deepens when another impacts her bosom. The recoil dizzies you. If anyone’s getting the impression that you’ll slap her bouncy tits until you hear a proper word of thanks, they’d be right. First impressions are right just for once.

“T-thank you—” Her voice cracks, breaking like her. “Fuck, shit, thank you, thank you.”

Squeeze her cruelly and pull on the perky nipple. Your thrusts become mindlessly paced. Your hand returns to your cock while the other ruins her pussy. The pleasure is telepathic. It’s connecting you; her screams and squirms make you do the same. The electricity firing up in your veins is a shared network. When you point your fingers to her spot, she arcs her back in the same direction. How beautifully fucked up is that? 

“That’s not enough. You didn’t come here for nothing. What do you want, Minju?”

Minju babbles. You got your gratitude but not a proper answer. To be fair, she can’t speak when you’re fucking her like it’s your dick inside her, and when your lips are all over her collarbone. 

“And you better keep quiet,” you add, curling your thrusts, “or Wonyoung‘s gonna hear. Do you really want her to know her precious friend is a big slut?”

However, despite the rumors she starts, Minju could be a very good girl when needed. 

“Need you to make me cum,” she whispers. Her midriff is fluid as water with the way it rolls, showing off the hourglass shape of her waist and a soft tummy. “Do everything to me you can’t with Wonyoung. P-please, I can’t take it.”

Even if she can’t (wrong by the way), you’ll make her. She asked for it. She walked up to your house with a purpose: to be used, to be treated like less of a human being. So it’s understandable that you slam her down the table and seal a hand around her neck. 

She’s so light that the forceful push doesn’t break the fragile glass. But there’s something of hers instead that’s going to be broken.

“Oh fuck! It’s so–” Minju’s eyes roll back. “Ohh… oh!”

Little sparks of wetness shoot in the air. Your pace turns merciless. With just three fingers, you puppet her body. Strings are pulled—her arms raise and her long legs strain to pull you in. You push and she keens, you pull and she yells. You’re making her desecrate the place with her water.

“C-can’t breathe.” A squeeze of her beautiful features—eyelids wrinkling, mouth parting, cheeks filling with scarlet—occurs before she squirts again. She whimpers pathetically, sounding so pitiful you want to laugh. “Ah, fuck, daddy—”

Something stirs inside you. When men hear that name, it ought to feel purely platonic and familial. They’d hear it from their daughter and feel compelled to protect them from men who’d do to them what you do to Minju. But you much prefer hearing that two-syllable word when it comes from a naked woman squirting all over the floor, from whom once you register it, you’re urged to pin her down, tie her down, hold her down.

Ironically, you release her. That isn’t because it’s over though. “On your knees. Follow me.”

Minju releases a gasp, grateful for the oxygen. The color returns to her face yet she barely has the energy to get off the table. You’re a generous man, and hey, it still counts as helping. So you yank her hair and force her on the ground. She fucking moans, a feat deserving of a healthy spank to her ass.

You walk to the living room. She follows you withher hands and knees bearing the cold tiles. You lead her to the place where you spend your time watching movies, rehearsing, and hanging out with Wonyoung if she’s ever home.

Speaking of, glance at the door of your bedroom. It’s still closed. It’ll stay that way.

Look down after wondering why Minju’s noisier. She’s playing with herself on the floor with no care for the cold chill of the tiles or the little dirt wedged between them. She lightly rubs her abused clit, quivering at the contact. You expect that from her—she’s corrupted, an irredeemable cause. She’ll get herself off anytime anywhere.

But what’s unexpected is what those watery eyes are focused on: you, in a framed picture on the wall. You look younger, happier. You’re in formal garments standing next to Wonyoung in a church.

It was you on your wedding day.

You spit on Minju. “Filthy cumslut.”

The drool slides down her cheek like a tear. She darts her tongue out and licks it. One could’ve thought it was candy considering the lift of a smile. 

“I’m sorry, daddy,” she says resolutely. Her fingers still toy with her entrance. They won’t serve her well when there’s a bigger, better thing behind your pants to do it for her.

Your pants are already off. “Get up. Get the fuck up,” you command, but you do it for her. 

You grab her neck and force her up. The look on her face is addicting, the way the shock turns into carnal need, the way she bites her lip. You press her to the wall, right under the framed wedding pictures, and finally plunge yourself inside her.

“Oh, oh, oh!” 

What did Minju do to get this tight? Her walls are squeezed closer around you than you remember. They’re still wet from her squirting, easing your burden of fighting against the tautness of her core.

Her groans are pitched just like how you pitch yourself in her and make her fight for it. She tries everything: gathering the strength she has to push her ass into your crotch, rolling her body, looking back to watch your cock disappear between her lips. 

“So big, daddy!” she cries. With a lick of her lips, she turns to face you. “Mmm, d-do you ever get this massive when you’re fucking Wonyoung?”

That seals it. There’s no restraint in using her body. Her plump ass leading to her toned back is a temptation by itself. You’d burst all over it (maybe in it) if you weren’t already firm in breeding her. But dear god—it rises and descends into your angled pumps so effortlessly that you aren’t afraid to spank it like you’re angry at her. 

“Keep your whore mouth shut.”

Spank after spank you bestow and you realize, oh, you and Minju are really made for each other. The more her ass reddens, the more hot pain sparks on your palm. She throws herself back hard, you piston her harder. 

Your puzzle pieces stick together so perfectly that it’s a shame you didn’t meet under different circumstances. She could’ve been an adorable girl next door and you could have been a guy looking to slip her a love letter. She would’ve been your loving girlfriend, a beautiful wife, someone you’d actually enjoy touching, so different from the woman asleep in the bed upstairs.

But that’s never happening. Minju’s a slut through and through, and she’ll forever be a sin you won’t go to confessions for. She was made to be fucked then discarded of when she’s no longer of use. You see it in the way she’s in a mantra of craziness, the way she yells, the way she looks back at you like she’s daring you to hurt her.

You choose the dare rather than to tell her the truth. You curl her hair into a fist and pull her into you. 

“God, I’m so close.” Minju’s trembling body grows warmer in your touch. “I’m gonna cum all over your big gorgeous cock. I can’t hold out longer, daddy.”

Your teeth dig into her earlobe. You could make her bleed and she’d still find a way to make the pain heavenly. “I thought I told you to be quiet. Is Wonyoung waking up and ending your life worth it for this?”

“What if I say yes?” 

“Fuck.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice, making her see you’d give her away to get a night with me? You’ll give up all this stupid shit t-to be my daddy. Because Wonyoung’s just sooo worthless, isn’t she?”

Savage her cunt and shove your fingers down her mouth just so she could shut up. You love this. Minju’s always so ready for you. 

No, actually—now that you think about it, you hate it. You hate how she’s curvier than your wife, how she’s more alluring than she could ever be, how she moans despite the blockage in her throat. Everything about her is so sexy that the sound of her choking up spit makes you throb. 

This is the wrong time to have a conscience. You’ve already split her apart. You’ve already got your fingers in her hair that pull hard to the point that damage is highly likely. You’ve already—

—got Minju screaming, biting down on your skin as her legs spread. What a strange thing to have as a natural reflex. That’s all she knows to do: spread her legs, hope her innocent face attracts a guy into her home and his dick into her pussy. Her skin, white as snow, has become impure with red blemishes. You see her purple-bruised neck flex when she yells into your hand. 

“Daddy! Daddy!” Minju yells. Her fingernails leave fine scratches on the wall. “Fuck, I’m squirting so much I don’t know what to do—oh fuck!”

You bump the manic girl up on your knee before spreading her legs. A godless squirt of her juices hits Wonyoung’s face, the savior being the glass protecting the picture. Others bless their homes with water blessed by esteemed priests; you like to stand out. Choose to have Minju’s unholy juice flood the photo you once held dear. 

Did something possess you? An evil spirit, a god of fertility? All are clichés but you can’t help but think so when you notice how fast you’re pumping Minju. It’s like greed’s finally reigned you. It’s difficult to resist. Minju just wrings your cock perfectly dry with her tight cunt, keeps you speedy with her desperate moans. You’re vandalizing her with your climax and she doesn’t want to be clean ever again.

“You think you’re special, Minju?” You press her to the ruined picture. Her side profile mashes on the glass. “You’re nothing, only a useless hole, just like that bitch. Now clean it up.”

Her eyes light up in shock. Excitement? “What?”

You pull her head back in order to have her full lips pressed against Wonyoung’s face. The clear squirt is still dripping from it. Minju’s face is red, and although your cock left her moments ago, she insists on tensing like it’s there. Is that how she lives? Her way of bonding is riding on the high she got the night before and the night before that. She always has sex in her mind that thoughts of it occur to her as they would to an animal. 

That’s right; she’s an animal. Perhaps even a dog would have more self-control than her, ironically. 

“Lick your mess,” you command. “Now.”

Minju whimpers. You bury your fingernails in her scalp until she loses her fake hesitance. Her tongue glides on Wonyoung’s face and relieves her of the mess. Her lips part and close, taking in her own taste. 

She looks like she’s making out with your wife. Her pretty face smudges the other pretty face in the picture and it’s so much hotter than it’s got the permit to be. Wonder how it’ll look if she’s actually kissing the real Wonyoung—picture them with their legs locked together and tongues coming out to play—and you’re hard enough for another round.

“That’s right. You want to be Wonyoung so bad? You want to be the one I drive into the bed everyday? So fucking make out with her.”

“Y-yes, daddy. Oh.” Minju’s moans fog the glass. “I taste delicious.”

 It’s probably a hygienically reprehensible thing to do. But her mouth is dirtier than the picture anyway. You force her lips deeper into it until you pull her away, satisfied.

Not quite.

Rub her clit a few more times. Hose her squirt all over the floor. You’ll have a mess to clean up. Oh, there’s all the evidence: her squirt on the floor, her lipstick in the shape of a languid kiss on the picture frame, the mess she made in the dining table where you ate her rather than your food. 

But it’s all worth it. An evil idea plants and sprouts in your mind. “Bedroom.”

Minju pants. Her hands are flat on the wall. She turns to you, saliva and lipstick smeared on her chin, and asks, “W-which one?” 

“You know exactly where.”

Her wide eyes tell you wordlessly that she got the point. She’s well aware of what room you want to use her body next. It’s not even supposed to be a question given the ways and moments you fucked her there.

“But daddy—if, if she hears us?”

You grin. “Then you’ll have to be pretty fucking quiet.”

The best thing about Minju besides her body is her passiveness. She may act up sometimes but she still needs your cock, and she’ll do anything to get it. So when she hangs her head to hide her smile, you spank her. It speeds her steps to the staircase. Continue doing so all the way.

It’s funny how she struggles to even lift a foot. Streams of your cum and hers slide down her legs, staining the carpet. You’ll have to wash that out, too. If you have the maid do it, she’s likely to put two and two together. 

Even from the back, Minju’s body is beautiful. Her reddened ass twists from side to side and brings attention to her wide hips. The deep line on her spine is a path you trace your fingertips on. She quivers. 

“Daddy,” she whines.

Hit her butt. Let it fill your palm. “Keep on walking.”

It’s borderline dehumanizing. You’re treating her with a ferociousness a woman like her should never have to go through. The eyes of the painted men and women on your walls lock on her. It’s like their hard stares are real. Minju bears the blows to her cheeks during her walk of humiliation up the stairs. Tiny yelps are caused by each one. It’s in her to be quiet now that Wonyoung is quite near, although not as close as she is to another heavy orgasm.

You slap her pussy, making her shake, then lead the juices mingling in it up to her asshole. She chews on the inside of her cheek to hide her moan. She reaches the last step with a huge sigh of relief. 

The finality of the torture doesn’t last long. Fuck, it doesn’t even exist. You collect the semen and wetness from her legs, then drag it right back to her pussy.

You shove your fingers deep in her cave. There. Now your cum stays inside her. After that, it’ll drip all the way to her womb. She screams through pursed lips. 

Push her hard against your bedroom door. Her stomach’s flatness goes up to the point that it’s the only thing engendered into the wood. Minju’s tiny gasp is already loud for you. Her beautiful side profile is mashed deep into the solid barrier between the two women.

Minju whimpers. Is she scared or heavily turned on? The thing with her is she likes both. So, yeah—she’s wet at the thought of being caught with you, being fucked within a distance of your wife wherein she could finally pin down your infidelity. 

The little angel closes her eyes when your words hover near her prone ear. “Shut up,” you warn, “unless you want to lose your career. Or this dick.”

You slip your shaft between Minju’s shapely thighs. A friction is nurtured and grown into rough, pant-accompanied humping that leaves both of you breathless. Her pussy lips splay warmly on you and you’re allowed to rub yourself on her clit. 

Minju tenses up. Her breaths are kept to a hummed volume yet their huskiness gets you to fuck her legs faster. The core between them is so warm and you haven’t even welcomed yourself in it again. 

You carefully open the door. You don’t know what you’re expecting: Wonyoung crying with her face in her knees? An anger you never knew she could have? But what shows calms you. There’s your wife who remains asleep on the bed. From the soft snores, it’s easy to tell she’s deep in a dream.

“Wonyoung’s so pretty, daddy,” whispers Minju. You push her to the footboard where she holds on tight. “Do you think she’ll want to join if she wakes up? Or she’ll leave you for me?”

“Are you sure you want to act like that?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Depends on what you’re gonna do to me.”

Everything. You’re planning on doing everything to her. 

Push her to the small pole of the wood. You’re forced to shove your fingers in her mouth again to keep her from yelling. The contact it makes to her clit is already overwhelming. But she’s all for overwhelming—she wants the kind of sex that leaves her beaten and bruised, the kind that leaves her sore and not knowing if she should tell you to keep going or halt. 

You know what she’d choose.

Minju grinds on the pole. She’s dancing her hips again. Somehow, things of the past don’t leave her. Her idol days still leave an impact on her. The guy she made cheat on his wife a long time ago returned to her life to cheat again. 

No, you’ve never been one for sentimentality, but things have somehow stayed the same. The slut that is Minju today was a slut all those years ago, too. 

Grab her hips and force her to hump the ball of the pole. She soaks it instantly. Minju is corrupted to no hope of return. There’s your cum, leaking from her pussy and to the bedsheets. Her juices wet the pole and increase the creaking noises that would wake Wonyoung up if not for whatever dream she’s having.

“Oh, daddy! Oh, daaaddy—” she stammers, words bitten and broken in the major need to be quiet.  “Just… fuck me. Please?”

“As long as you—”

“Be a good quiet girl, yes. I’ll do anything, daddy. Anything for this cock.” 

She kneels down. Her tender mouth seals around your left testicle. You nearly shout right there and then. Minju’s running her lips on the underside of your swelling dick. She feels so good, and she is so good. She has all the tips and tricks to keep you hard memorized, if her brain wasn’t too full of other dirty thoughts.

The rasp in your throat materializes and makes her squirm her legs together. She puckers her lips then slips your cock through their joined entrance. Her almond eyes look wider tonight. Your tip pokes the back of her throat. She lets it rub there for now. You find pleasure in the texture that makes you leak. No, you can’t cum. Not yet.

Take a last look at Wonyoung before diving your rod to the depths of Minju’s throat.

It’s funny that the girl still has a gag reflex. Sucking dick is second nature to her. So is getting throatfucked. The walls of her oral hole flex to keep you in. She makes sharp inhalations only to take in the musky scent you thrust on her. In her?

Choking comes after. The orifice grows tighter which makes you fuck it harder. Saliva’s slick liquid state sheens your erection. Minju’s lost her breath a long time ago but she’s lost more than that now. The regular beat of her heart is gone. You can’t search her face for any color other than the palest white. 

“You have to stop gagging, Minju,” you say. Don’t help her though; keep ruining that throat. “Maybe you really do wanna get caught. Makes you really wet, doesn’t it?”

She nods. Your hard tip bobs in her mouth as she does. Her pretty eyes, with their long lashes and big pupils that always seem to gleam with innocence, fill with watery tears. 

“How cute.” You’re surprised that her hair is intact to her scalp after you pull it back. “But I make the rules around here. And I need you to seal that mouth shut and use it for good.”

There’s a possibility that, like Minju, you’re a dancer as well. But the upward grind of your body has no grace in it. It’s a rough, punked up beat that renders the girl humming and screaming.  This roughness is nowhere close to natural.

You dip your cock in her just to see how far you could go, how far is needed to keep her quiet. Feed her more than she could suck. Every sensitive spot of yours is on fire thanks to Minju’s dutiful tongue and hard sucking. Your sack slaps her chin so hard it’s surprising it doesn’t hurt. 

But, like you iterated, Minju isn’t normal. She takes the pain for pleasure and doesn’t give a damn if she gets wounded because of it. 

The tears finally fall from her eyes. 

The lines blur. Who is she—the woman asleep on your bed or the woman you fucked to be disloyal to her? Minju’s beautiful; so is Wonyoung. Jang Wonyoung is beautiful but there’s a category of beauty wherein the girl you’re destroying right now falls in. That’s the section for women who look pretty when they cry, who’ve accepted they’re as fucked up as whoever finds them and takes them in for who they are.

Your wife is pretty. You guess. But Minju is a beauty who lets you do everything to her, and that makes her a little bit more important.

Defile, defile, defile. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you get cum in her hair—(”I have a photoshoot, babe, you can’t!”). Semen sticks to Minju’s locks right now. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you be this rough with her—(“And what if they see? I shouldn’t look dirty to the fans.”) Minju is sitting there taking it like she’s just a cum dump. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you tear off her clothes because “they’re couture so it’s not really mine.” The coat Minju wore coming here lies discarded on the first floor.

Wonyoung doesn’t let anyone defile her. It’s her most fatal flaw. It’s the flaw that makes her husband see all the tiny imperfections she doesn’t allow the camera to see and chase highs in another woman’s throat.

So when Minju cries, gags, chokes—you realize it’s all so simple.

Slip out of her. The delusions clouding your head make you steal a look at the bed. Oh, now it’s unbelievable. Wonyoung is still asleep.

Not that it’s any inconvenience to you.

You prop Minju up to the vanity table. The counter carries the heave of her small chest. She can barely lift her head up. It makes her carry a look of humiliation that’s not at all true. She’s the most shameless woman you’ve ever met.

“Daddy… daddy…” 

Twist her chin so she can look at herself in the mirror. Her body is amazing despite the handprints and bruises peppered on her stomach, butt, and neck. She flusters but your finger presses on her lips before she can look away.

“Not a single sound,” you remind her. 

She nods. Good girl.

Minju’s a capable girl. Well, mostly. She offers those amazing dicksucking lips, shapely curves, and sometimes, her ass for ruining its own tightness. But nothing beats the feeling of her cunt. It’s all the right things: wet, tight, and perfectly quivering as they wrap around your shaft.

Minju closes her eyes. Bites down on her lip. She fights to be true to her promise of silence. Being a good girl and bad girl simultaneously is one of her versatile traits. The table creaks louder than expected. You would’ve shot another look at your spouse again, but Minju’s pretty face is in the way. Her cheeks are scarlet and her brows bead with sweat. She really is a beauty.

Your strokes are ceaseless. The thing that shocks you the least is the fact that her legs look as if they spread wider and wider. She splits while you split her apart. Place a hand on her tummy to muffle the sounds of skin colliding and wood creaking, and reach a better end: your cock is hitting her guts, making a bobbing print on her flat stomach.

“Look how deep I am, Minju.” You grin wickedly at her reflection. “You call me daddy anywhere, don’t you? How about I become a real one?”

Minju bounces herself on you. That’s a yes. A definite, enthusiastic yes. 

Your penetration is rougher, gliding on places she can’t even imagine. If you cum right now, and this far in, you’ll live up to your name of “daddy.” Minju isn’t the only one who has to keep promises.

Corner a pulse point on her neck. Her core squeezes and although its resistance is tough, your pumps are more so.

“You’ll be my secret good girl. Daddy’s gonna put a fucking baby in your stomach, and no one has to know it’s mine. No one has to know you’re mine.”

Minju pouts, not out of sadness but of the orgasm that’s creeping from her feet to her center. It’s so close she could reach for it, taste it like a strong wind. You allow the tiny breaths and pants that leave her to be exemptions from your bedroom law.

“Wonyoung would be so happy for you.” You lick the sensitive spot behind her ear. “‘That’s so great, unnie! Come on, tell us who’s the lucky guy.’ And you’ll have to stop yourself from telling her that I did it. Can you do that?”

Minju emphasizes each repetition with a responding throb and push of her cunt. “Yes, yes, yes—”

Allow that, too. Burst inside Minju. Flood her insides with cum that shall infiltrate her fertile womb. Soon, that tummy would be round rather than flat. It’ll be your baby. 

Minju got what she wanted in the end.

-

The next day, Wonyoung will wake up crying. 

It’ll happen early in the morning, when the moon is still up and sheets still wrap your exhausted form. But she’s sobbing so loud that it’ll rouse you. 

“What’s wrong?” you’ll say. 

She’ll tell you about a dream she had. Wonyoung’s going to narrate a complex dream of Minju, her beloved former member and best friend, seducing you. It happened right in the house and in front of her. You dared to do it to her while she was sleeping and thought she didn’t know.

And you?

You’ll take her in your arms, kiss the inside of her trembling wrist, and say, “Oh, honey—it’s okay. I’m here, baby. I’m here. I’m here.”

[majorblinks]

DOWNRIGHT ICONIC (aespa karina)

(smut, male reader, screenwriter you, stranger karina, public sex, rough sex [choking/slapping/biting/spanking/hair-pulling etc], oral, anal, facefucking, titfucking, facial, bondage, degradation, name-calling, other weird stuff, 26k words, it's been 1 million years..., BUT WE'RE SO BACK BABY <3)

Hey, turns out the critics really are onto something:

You’re going to win an Oscar for this.

You aren’t surprised when the nominations are announced. It’s all anyone’s been talking about. You’re this up-and-coming screenwriter, this newly-minted visionary, and - cue the applause - you’ve just made the movie of the year. Clips go viral everywhere; the reviews are calling it extraordinary. They all want to know how you - a relative nobody - managed to pull it off. What’s your secret? What’s your inspiration? Where’d you get this billion-dollar box office idea? 

And here’s one version of the truth:

“Well,” you’re quoted saying in every single interview: “honestly, it’s about a girl.”

Everyone eats this up, of course. It’s so fucking romantic.

You’ll tell an abridged version of this story for the rest of your life. A blip in time in early January - a certified slow-motion movie moment. You’ll say things like she was the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen. You’ll say things like, I know it sounds lame, but that’s how it went. She took my breath away. She fascinated me. I saw her and I don’t think my life has ever been the same. 

You’ll never once say her name. 

“It’s weird, actually,” you’ll say in an interview after the news of the nominations drops. “Making this movie about her. She’ll last forever there, you know? She’ll always exist in this film, in this one moment in time. She’s in all of it, basically - every scene, every line. It’s all her.”

“You make it sound like she’s dead,” the interviewer will say, all open-mouthed melodrama.

You’ll laugh. “Oh, God, no,” you’ll say. “She’s alive and well.” As if it hasn’t been years since you last saw her face, watching you from down the corridor, looking lost and torn apart and very, very small. “She’s okay. I mean - I think - yeah, she’s okay.”

As if you’d know. 

Because here’s another version of the truth:

You’re going to win an Oscar for this. You’re going to stand up on that stage and thank your family and your friends. You’re going to stare at all those faces until they swim together into one golden, glittering blur, and then all you’ll see is her - her dark eyes, her glossy hair, her wrist in your grip, her throat between your fingers - her in your sheets, her smiling in your doorway, her shivering in your shower, her sobbing into her hands, her bleeding in your bed, her walking away. Her, her, her. Immortalized forever in this perfect thing you made, winning awards off the reconstruction of a memory. Art imitating life; reality warped into something magnificent, and beautiful, and better. 

And the only thing you’ll feel like doing is throwing up. 

Sure, you’ll bask for decades in the thrill of it: the fame, the fortune, the glory; the adoration, the worship, the attention; the eternal, endless love. You’ll be able to look back on your life when you’re decrepit on your deathbed and know that you - brilliant you, utterly superior you - were divinely blessed with earth-shattering success, and no one will ever be able to take that away from you. You made your mark. You meant something. You were the best, for fuck’s sake, and you have the accolades to prove it - you really, really were. 

So here’s the full truth - the final bottom line:

You’re going to win an Oscar for this. You’ll live the kind of life people beg God for. You’ll get everything you ever wanted. 

It won’t be worth it at all. 

-

First, though, there’s this. 

-

Disturbingly enough, you’re in the romance section of a bookstore when everything starts. 

This is really not your genre - that’s the funniest part. Historically, you’re bored to death by the cartoonish pastel covers; you don’t get your kicks from seeing the same delightfully quirky heroines fall for brooding bad boys, or whatever the fuck goes on in those books. You have your standards. You prefer your art a little gritty, a little fucked up, a little more interesting - the kind of thing that can leave you shellshocked in a movie theater, overcome with the sort of full-body, lightning-struck epiphany only truly good work can manage. It’s not a judgment call - you’re not trying to be pretentious. It’s just that you prefer something with some fucking bite.

The second funniest part is this: 

You’re pressed against the shelves, surrounded by the cutest, chastest love stories ever told-

“Are you serious?” 

-and Karina’s on her knees, about to take your cock down her throat. 

Maybe this is what your contemporaries call cinematic irony.

That’s gotta be the only phrase for it, really. The scene itself dripping with classless, crude, erotic filth - the way she ducks her chin to spit on her hand, the slow pump of her fist around you, the rough hum in her mouth at how achingly hard you are - nasty and irredeemable, too fast and too loud. The gross lack of subtlety in her sex appeal: all pale thighs and porn-star tits, the wet pink flash of tongue. Seductive in a way that screams at you. It’d be so easy to write this off as some deliberately controversial opening scene, gory shock value, horror-film suspense - starring you and the slut you’re about to ravage and ruin and potentially leave for dead. 

“Baby - are you sure?” 

It’d be so easy, if Karina didn’t look like an angel incarnate.

“I mean, you-” You’re stammering. You’ve got both hands in her hair, fingers sliding through the glossy black in petting, soothing motions - your clumsy attempt at reassurance. “You don’t have to, if you don’t - we’re in public - I’m not expecting you to - I don’t need it-” 

Karina’s fine, sculpted eyebrows twitch upwards. Her lips are a twist of scarlet, distinct and amused. She doesn’t quite smirk, doesn’t give a voice to the sarcasm, but the sentiment is the same - yeah, right. 

And then she lowers her mouth to lick. 

“Jesus fucking Christ-” 

Scratch that, then. This is the funniest part. The most inhumanly beautiful girl you’ve ever seen, debasing herself in public like some sort of desperate common whore - come on, bring in the laugh track. 

Not that anyone’s laughing now. 

You’re no poet - they’re a few sections over, Plath and Yeats and Dickinson - but Karina’s the kind of thing that makes you understand the motivation completely: only capable of being captured in metaphor, without context, painstakingly interpreted hundreds of years from now by people who will never get this right. All carved-out cheekbones, fluttering lashes; tight fuckable body clad in a little low-cut dress, feet tucked neatly behind her like she’s simulating worship. Dirty and religiously devoted in how she stretches her full glossed lips around your cock and lets your grip tangle in her hair and- 

“Karina,” you get out, but her only response is to blink sweetly up at you and suck. 

Well, who gives a shit about the poets, anyway? You doubt any of them ever got to fuck a mouth like this. 

There’s an unfamiliar caution to the rut of your hips, a wincing fascination every time she gags - and she gags loud, choking and heaving, saliva dripping slick around you and down her chin - that seems to both entertain and confuse Karina. A skeptical crease in her forehead, saying everything she can’t: you don’t wanna fuck me up? Ruin me? Cloudy spit falling in strands to her tits, seeping into the crimson fabric of her dress; she’s wearing a worn black sweatshirt that’s slipping off one shoulder, exposing the clean line of her collarbone. The hollow of her cheeks, the obscene painful sound of your cock clogging her throat - it’s subtext, explicit suggestion. A preternatural understanding. I know what this is. I know what you want from me. 

Which - she couldn’t possibly. 

“Baby.” You sound so wretched that it’s humiliating. Karina’s sharply lined eyes seem to flash with humor, smug and lazily self-satisfied. “You’re gonna make me fucking cum.” 

The thick, sloppy, choked noise she makes is the closest she’s gonna get to a laugh. 

Oh, sure, whatever, it’s not like you’re not thinking about it: digging your fingertips into her scalp and really fucking her face, relishing in the way those eyes would go wide and glassy with unshed tears; refusing to let her have control, to let her lick and lap and breathe. You’re scripting it in your head already. You’d strip her bare and make her sob. You’d wreck her throat and cum all over her face and force her to walk out like that: coated in the sticky, filthy evidence of everything you’ve made her - look at this, you’d say, look at what I have. Look at what I did - all this, all me. 

“God.” Your thumb braces against Karina’s temple, like the gentle stroke of a brush, like you’re painting her right into existence. “You’re just-” A harsh gag; a fall of dirty, drooling spit. “You’re really enjoying this, huh? Getting on your knees in public for a fucking stranger?” 

That’s why the fantasy of fucking her into brutal submission is actually so understandable. You don’t know her. You don’t owe her shit. You could destroy her and it’s not like she could do anything to fight back - not when she’s already below you, looking up. When she asked for this. 

Except-

“Karina.” You can’t stop saying her name. “You’re - fucking perfect.” 

And it’s true.

So you cum. 

Karina swallows it all with the same amount of sultry grace she seems to do everything - how she laughs and walks and talks and takes your cock like a fucking professional - languishing in the practiced bob of her throat, the preening flicker of her eyelids, her face shiny and pale. It tugs the same feeling out of you as a flawless shot in a film, a well-timed bit of dialogue: watching an expert at work, pulling out all their stops. One hand through her hair. Her nails the same rich color as her mouth and her dress. Nasty, slutty, impressive attention to detail - Christ, get this girl in front of a camera, get the moon to be her limelight - you’re breathless, you’re enthralled, you’re so fucking far gone. 

Then: the sticky retreating glide of her pouty mouth, lipstick smeared badly down her chin, stark and arresting as blood. 

“In my experience,” Karina says, finally, “being perfect’s never gotten me anywhere good.” 

She pulls the sleeve of her sweatshirt up and wipes her face with her wrist. 

“You’re unbelievable,” you say, dizzy.

“Thank you,” Karina says, sweet like she means it, and sits back on her heels. 

You can’t help yourself; you’re petting back her hair again, cupping her face softly in your hand, caught on the dark glint of her irises. Angel was an understatement. She looks more than that - looks like something holy and all-powerful, something omniscient and blindingly beautiful, something who knows exactly what you need and knows exactly how to follow through. Something worthy of mythology. Something like a god.

And any sort of rough, ruthless, fucked-up fantasy - it’s never going to happen. 

You just can’t ruin a girl like her. 

“So?” Karina’s voice is a smoky bombshell lilt, like she’s just stepped out of some film noir from the 1950s. Hands folded primly in her lap, fingers interlocked like a lady. She could be a pop culture icon, an eternal sex symbol - a Marilyn, a Bond girl, a timeless universal beauty. “What now?” 

You think your brain actually short-circuits. “Sorry?” 

Head tilted, lids dropped low. Smirk still sharp and scarlet. “Are you gonna take me home?” 

You open your mouth to respond, but then a customer walks by the aisle. 

You’re a panicked flurry of motion - zipping up your pants, turning away, frantically patting down your clothes - but Karina just stays kneeling on the floor, little chin on an incline, utterly incriminating. It doesn’t matter. The customer passes you by. The world returns to the way it should be: just the two of you.

“Karina,” you say, flabbergasted by her composure. 

Karina’s lips quirk. “What?” 

You shake your head and offer your hand to help her up, but Karina laughs instead - actually laughs. It’s peculiar, beautiful: raspy like a chronic chainsmoker, as though there’s something foreign she’s trying to dislodge. The raw, gravelly aftermath of a skinned knee, a grisly scrape over skin. 

“Wow,” she says, and stands all on her own, tugs the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her fingers. “That’s a yes to taking me home, then?” 

“What are you doing?” You’re laughing too - you can’t help it - reaching for Karina’s tiny waist to pull her in. “What are you - what do you want?” 

When Karina smiles, it seems to set her eyes aflame. Bright and dancing, lashes like a shroud of smoke. “What do you mean?” 

“You just met me.” It sounds feeble, somehow: a thin, useless excuse. Nothing against the way her body slots between your hands, a smooth effortless fit; nothing compared to how she kisses you between sentences, so quick and easy it already feels like a habit. “You don’t - you don’t know me.” 

Karina’s mouth puckers, coy. “No?” 

“No,” you shoot back, grinning, but it doesn’t sound convincing at all. “Come on, baby, seriously. What do you want?” 

There’s gotta be some motive, you’re thinking. There’s gotta be a reason. Karina is so still, so soft and pliant under your hands, all the carved porcelain perfection of a marble sculpture but with none of the cold stiffness. Spine curving under your fingertips, jaw tilting into your touch. 

A complete stranger, maybe - but every part of her body is begging to be known. 

“Don’t you get it?” Karina says. “I want whatever you want.” 

It’s so simple and earnest it takes your breath away. 

“I - Jesus.” You’re biting on the inside of your cheek, drinking her in. “What if I told you I don’t know what I want?”

Another rasp of a laugh, sound like the serrated edge of a blade. “I’d say fine, okay.” Karina’s voice is low, conspiratorial. “But I’d think you’re lying.” 

And here’s the thing you know for sure:

The very second you saw Karina you swear you saw the next hundred pages of a manuscript unfurling in front of you, lines and themes and gorgeous dark-eyed heroines, tragically beautiful endings and stunning cinematography - infinite narratives in the glossy sweep of her hair, in the seductive stretch of her legs, in the way she looked at you in a crowded room and smiled a lovely, secret smile and told you she’d follow you anywhere. She’s worth making art about. She’s worth devoting lifetimes to. The most honest thing you could say to her right now is baby, I’m writing a movie about this one day, and I think you’re really gonna like it.

Karina couldn’t possibly know any of this, but it still feels like she does - impractical knowledge in how she loops one arm around your neck and kisses you again, no hesitation. Like she actually knows you. 

“I want to fuck you,” you murmur against her mouth, because it’s the next most honest thing. “Is that enough for you?”

You’re a screenwriter. You know your horror movies. A small part of you recognizes that this is precisely how they start: fanged vampires, wicked succubi, femme fatales out for blood. Karina’s so gorgeous she can’t be human - teeth so sharp there’s no way her intentions are pure.

“Sure,” Karina says, smirk glimmering like starlight. “Then I want that, too.” 

It’s a murder plot waiting to happen. 

You take her home anyway. 

-

(Oh, and about your Oscar-winning script-

In theory, this is how it begins.

It’s classic. There’s a stranger and there’s a beautiful girl and they’re both sitting at a bar, talking for the very first time. The girl has a rose tucked behind her ear; it matches the crimson color of her lipstick perfectly. The stranger had asked her what the deal with it was, but she’d said something vague and nonsensical about it being a gift, so now they’re talking about normal, average things. Jobs, names, flirtatious pickup lines. It’s obvious because it’s meant to be, like a set-up to some predictable porn - everyone watching knows they’re going to fuck. 

She keeps getting closer to him. At one point he thinks she’s going in for a kiss.

Instead, all she does is pluck the rose from behind her ear, and hand it to him. 

It’s okay, she says. No thorns. 

He stares at the rich furled petals and the whittled-down stem. 

Thanks, he says, amused, charmed. He thinks there’s something odd about her. He likes it, though; if she were as beautiful as she is - which is very beautiful, exquisitely fucking beautiful - and she behaved like most people do, he’d find her terribly boring. 

He takes it from her. Turns over the rose in his hands absentmindedly as she keeps talking. She’s got all this hair: wild and glossy black, pouring over her thin shoulders, her ribs, her tiny waist. After a moment he feels the sharp prick of a thorn against his fingertip and releases the rose in surprise. 

You said there weren’t thorns, he tells her, laughing. Ow. 

Whoops, she says. Then: Did it get me too? 

She turns her head, pulls her hair out of the way. There’s a scarlet bead of blood trickling down the side of her perfect pale neck. He can’t quite tell where the point of entry was, where the thorn had dug in and broken skin. It’s bleeding a bit too heavily. Covering its tracks. 

She swivels, slightly. She sees the look on his face. Is it bad? she asks.

No, he says, though he can’t really tell. But - couldn’t you feel it, though? The thorn? 

The girl presses her hand to the side of her throat. It comes back bloodstained, a neat smear of red along the lifeline of her palm. 

No, she echoes, though this can’t possibly be true. Hey, you wanna get out of here or something? 

Alright, he says, smiling. They both stand. They leave the rose where it is. Let’s go. 

He cups her cheek instead of her neck when he kisses her for the first time, so he doesn’t have her blood on his hands.

It starts simple like that.) 

-

Karina’s so out of place in your apartment that it’s almost laughable - or it would be, if you were capable of thinking about anything but her mouth and her hands and her tits crushed up against your chest as you pin her to the doorframe. She keeps making these little sounds into your mouth: low and throaty, almost agonized. You swallow all her moans off her lips - oh, baby, you’re okay - and you only kiss her harder. She doesn’t belong, among your carpet worn-down from pacing and your laptop still open and idling and the mess of incoherent colorful post-it notes pasted to your fridge. She doesn’t fit here. Here kissing your mouth, here in your arms, here on fucking earth with the rest of you heathens-

“You wanna fuck me so bad,” murmurs Karina, chin on an incline, staring up at you, “then do it already.” 

She doesn’t squirm or fidget; she doesn’t get needy or start begging. She stays pinned down by your body, lips parted, and stands completely still. 

It’s like she’s telling you to make your move. Waiting for something inevitable. 

“What happened to patience?” you say, anyway. 

Karina’s mouth curls. She palms your cock through your pants. “What the fuck is that?”

You try to laugh, breathless and turned on, but all she does is kiss you again.

You’re a creative - you’re ready to attribute meaning to every movement - but there’s nothing so profound about it when you get Karina on your bed, all that thick black hair fanned out on your sheets, her hands grasping to get your shirt off - off, she murmurs, off. Even that comes out measured. She never shakes. She’s so sure. You kiss her everywhere you can reach, her face and her neck and her collarbone and her tits, drunk on the soft, humming sounds she makes when you do. You’re so fucking gorgeous, you can’t stop saying, and Karina keeps laughing that same raspy laugh, like it’s the most hilarious thing she’s ever heard. 

“You told me you already know that, right?” You’ve got her face cupped in one of your hands and your other one at the neckline of her scarlet dress. “So what’s so funny?” 

“Everything.” Her teeth glint the way fangs would, a deliberate trick of the light. She’d be villainous if she weren’t so content to be trapped underneath you. “All of it.” She presses her palm to the side of your neck. “You’re too nice.” 

“Fuck.” Your thumb accidentally digs too hard into her cheek. She doesn’t wince, but you feel it - the stomach-turning thrill, the possibility of leaving a bruise. Your hand drops low - lower, down her throat and her tits and her flat midriff - and slips between her thighs, up her dress. It feels safer, somehow. “How do you manage to make the word nice sound like an insult?” 

“It’s not,” she says, simply, and spreads her legs. 

And it must not be - because Karina’s so wet. 

She makes another low velvety sound when you first touch her, seems to melt into the stretch of your finger in her cunt - just one finger, and her back arches faintly, prettily, hips lifting to take more. “Jesus,” you mutter, but Karina’s not looking at you: her eyes are shut tight, lashes fluttering black, tits heaving in her dress with each draw of breath. You’ve fucked girls who’ve seemed unsure of themselves - embarrassed by their own wantonness, how wet they are, how bad they want it - but all Karina does is wrap her hand around your wrist and tug, once: a clear soundless plea for more.

For a second you’re actually, positively certain that you’ve lost it. 

It’s abject fantasy. It can’t be real. You in your apartment with the dream girl - the personal Aphrodite - the muse; God, if anyone was ever made to be a fucking muse, it’s her - underneath you with her ridiculous tits and her tight little pussy, face like a Hollywood dream. Ludicrous. Impossible. Bucking as she tries to fuck herself deeper on your fingers, all the way to the knuckle - slowing down only to say you wanna fuck my cunt open with your big fat cock or what? 

“I,” you try to say, strangled - her mouth’s so fucking filthy. “I was - I mean - we could take it slow-”

“How romantic,” says Karina - and this, too, sounds like a heinous insult coming from her - but she drags your wrist to her lips and sucks her own slick off your hand anyway. 

You choke on your next breath. “Karina-” 

She looks up at you, unflinching, tits half out of her dress and cunt dripping down her thighs. Lipstick worn-down, kissed-off. All over your mouth, or your throat, or your shirt. Mouth chapped from the cold and stained marvelously pink. There’s something in the way her smile forms slight and crooked every time you say her name, as if there’s some private joke you’re not in on. 

“You’re such a gentleman,” Karina purrs, all syrupy-sweet condescension. Then: “You really don’t have to be.” 

She licks the pad of your finger. She’s so completely shameless. You feel monstrous on top of her, in this sick, superior way, like she’s just too small to be so sopping wet and slutty and fuckable - too beautiful to be anything but treated just right. 

“If you want me to fuck you like a whore, baby,” you tell her, half-joking, “then just say that.” 

It’s a mistake the moment it leaves your mouth - a line crossed. Because all Karina does is cock her head, your wrist gripped delicately in her hand, her legs parted underneath you, and stares. Almost droll, bemused. Like you’re so goddamn predictable.  

“Didn’t you hear me?” That perfect face sears right through you. You’d nearly fucked that face. Not quite. Not yet. “I want whatever you want.” 

She’s even tinier than you originally thought she was. You only realize this now, tracing her stomach under your fingertips, feeling the sharp relief of each rib straining beneath her skin. You don’t know it until you touch her, but you can span the width of her thigh under one hand. It sends a strange shiver through you: mapping every jut of bone, every startling edge. She’s tiny. Breakable, practically. Men meaner than you have probably thrown her around, fucked her up against walls, used her like a toy. 

“So,” says Karina. “What do you want?” 

Your fist clenches tight in her grasp, right in front of her face, knuckles going horrifically white.

Like you - like you’re going to-

An accident. A primal sort of gesture, like you’re less than human, turned under her touch into some feral hot-blooded animal who can’t control itself: carnivorous, predatory. You stare at your own hand and then the sharp scythelike curve of her mouth and feel revolted embarrassment crawl straight up your spine. 

It’s abhorrent. 

It also doesn’t even seem to matter.

Karina doesn’t go wide-eyed and nervous; she doesn’t look at your wound fist like she’s scared of what it could do to her. She clicks her tongue, once. Like this, too, is something she already saw coming.

“I thought so,” she says, anyway. Maybe this is it, what does it for her; looking the devil full in the face and begging to be burned. “Then do it.” 

“I can’t do that to you,” you mutter, but you tug her dress up, and you fuck her anyway. 

-

She’s a stranger. This is the point of fucking strangers. To do things to them that you’d never do to anyone else - to take out your worst impulses and tell your best lies and know that none of it matters, in the end. Because they’re nobody, and because you’ll never see them again. 

But you just can’t. 

She’s too indulgent and stunning and soft, with her low moans and the addicting drenched heat of her cunt, hand gentle and careful on the nape of your neck so she can keep pulling you into a kiss. She’s made up of curves, delicate edges - those hips and those tits you can’t keep your hands off of and her lips in a dreamy smile - and you find yourself stroking her hair back from her face so you can drink it all in: the blush in her cheeks, the almost serene way she lets her eyes slip shut and her mouth drop open, slack and enticingly wet. So good, baby, you keep telling her, because she is, her entire body warm and wanting and so easily fucked open, little pussy swallowing your cock right up. She doesn’t fidget or plead. She’s so sweet, such a perfect fit, humming into your mouth as your cock eases her open; so wet you can hear it, the sloppy squelch of her cunt when you bottom out. Your voice comes out coaxing. You like that? That feel good? Taking my cock so nicely, huh?

“Mmm,” Karina breathes, in an exhilarating moan, right into your mouth, against your tongue. “Mm, mm-”

She never quite manages full sentences. Never finds it in herself to make any more obscene demands. Just gets all small and soaking underneath you, licks messily at your bottom lip, and lets you do all the talking - lets you draw a careful hand through her hair and drop your other one between her thighs, clenches tight around your cock when you rub at her clit, keens low in her throat and listens. To the good girl, to the I got you, baby, to the that’s it, there you go, this is what you wanted - I know, honey, I know, you just needed to get this cunt fucked right, you just needed to cum real bad. I know what this is. I know what you need. 

“Fuck.” She’s flushed pink to her chest, delightfully ineloquent. “Yes-” 

Well - good thing you’re decent with your words, when it counts. Let Karina blush and drool and slick up your cock with every stroke. That’ll work just fine with you.

It’s the kind of juxtaposition you’d really lean into - the kind of thing you’d write just to get so self-indulgent with, a personalized note to the director, a wink and a nudge to every audience member. Look at that. Look at her eyes like something straight out of poetry. Look at her body like a pornographic fantasy. Look at how she gets so tamed and docile and compliant when she gets her tiny pussy stuffed full, creaming all over that cock, huge tits bouncing - look, that’s art, isn’t it? What else would you call it? What else could it be?

“You gonna cum, baby?” She’s so fragile underneath you. Color staining her cheeks apple-red; lips swollen and begging to be kissed. Fictive little fairy tale. “You gonna cum for me?”

“Yeah.” It’s breathy and barely-there. Her chin trembles, jerks in a weak nod. “I’m - I - fuck-” 

See: you just can’t rough her up. It’d be blasphemous. Sacrilege. Taking one single look at the stained-glass windows of a church and tearing it all to the ground.

Still, you’re mesmerized by how utterly vulnerable she looks: the glossy shine to her irises; the way she inhales all slow and shaky, body slipping from some sort of precipice. Not just like she’s near-tears, but like she’s stunned - struck dumb from a violent blow, mouth wide open in the aftermath. And it’s just sex - and, fuck, you’ve said it, you see things the way every obsessive artist does; sex is never just sex. Every one thing means something more. A metaphor. An allegory. You get nasty and debauched and dirty because you know exactly what you can spin it into. Put the entire scene in a silent film and everyone can swoon about the things you might be saying to her, this impossibly captivating stranger in your bed with her graceful name, her dizzying moans, her shuddering frame in her orgasm. Don’t you get it? you could be telling her, hand brushing gently over her sweat-damp hairline. Don’t you feel that? You’re a stranger to me, baby, but you don’t have to be. There’s a reason we met. There’s a meant-to-be here, somewhere. I’m not a believer, sweetheart, but you could make one out of me - I swear you could, I promise-

But that’s the reason why these things are best left to the imagination, anyway. 

A million scripted sweet nothings - and none of them manage to make it out of your mouth. 

“Karina.” Your hips jerk hard. You sound half-possessed. “So pretty, cumming all over my cock like that. Such a perfect little cunt, baby - so fucking good-”

Her eyes suddenly shut tight; her body arcs into your touch, lips parted in a silent gasp. And for a second it seems like such a snapshot of innocence, like she’s brand-new to getting fucked quick and rough and dirty - though you know this can’t possibly be the truth, not with the way she flirts and whines and drips for more like she’s made for it - but she’s trembling under your fingertips, and you can dream. She’s your beautiful stranger, your pristine muse; you can pretend she’s whatever the fuck you want. 

“God,” Karina murmurs, so soft and weak it makes your head spin. 

Before you know what you’re doing - before you can even think twice about it - you’re pulling out, and cumming all over her stomach. 

You can’t help it. You shouldn’t have had that thought about innocence. Jesus. This is what you mean, about you and your own painful humanity; you’ve got all the same vile desires. When you see a pure thing - all that porcelain skin, all that thick glossy black hair, all those gleaming white teeth in her open mouth - your very first instinct is to fuck it up bad.

You’d do worse, if you were worse - you’d make a real fucking disaster out of her. 

“Baby,” you say, breathlessly. “Are you…”

And Karina, then, does something truly evil: 

Sighs luxuriously, stretches her arms above her head, eases those gorgeous eyes open, and smiles. 

As if she’s reveling in it. The scent of sex - the defiled tautness of her tummy - the way you’re not sure where her little red dress or her shoes or her panties are, how her cunt’s dripping wet onto your sheets, her hair a glorious mess. Grinning in the face of utter filth. 

“You,” you exhale, running your palm down her side. “You’re so…” 

Karina’s mouth pulls up at a corner, like she’s daring you to finish the sentence, but you never do. 

You can’t stop staring at the stretch of cum-covered skin before you. Coating her belly, pooling into her navel. You realize with a start that there’s a new bruise blooming on her chest, a vicious sort of bite mark. You can’t remember when you did that. You’d been kissing her - of course you kissed her - her mouth and her neck and her tits, but you’d been so gentle, sucking light and soothing her skin with your tongue after-

“You didn’t want to cum inside me?” Karina asks, hoarsely. 

You blink so hard your vision blurs. “What?” 

“Right.” Her eyeshadow’s smudged dark underneath her eyes, making her look deliciously used up. “You did want to cum inside me.” 

“Karina,” you warn - or, at least, you mean to make it sound like a warning - but her name comes out too faint. It’s horrific. Your hand traces her hipbone so reverently. You’re no match for her. 

Karina arches a brow in unhurried challenge, ghosts her hand across her tummy. Takes two fingers and drags them through the cum you spilled, pulls back with it clinging thickly to her skin. Drifts down, down, down. 

“Karina,” you try to say again, even more pathetic than last time. “Jesus-” 

But you saying her name holds no weight here; she’s made that more than obvious. Nothing to stop her as she smears her cum-slick fingers across her glistening pussy, gaze locked amusedly on your face, tracking your reaction. She’s still so fucking wet - she rubs your cum in circles across her clit - tossing her head back a little, chest heaving and falling, fingertips just barely dipping inside her cunt-

“I can’t.” Karina lifts her hand to pop her fingers in her mouth, sucks them clean. Pointedly flashes her too-sharp nails at you like she’s unsheathing claws. “If you want it, you’re gonna have to do it yourself.”

“You,” you say, though your hand’s already pressing hard into her ribs, “are fucking cruel, baby.” 

“And you,” replies Karina, head tilting, “just want to see my cunt all filled up and leaking your cum.” 

Oh, she hasn’t been wrong about you all night. She certainly won’t start now. 

“What?” A sly, languid smirk tugs at her lips. “Afraid you’re gonna knock me up or something?” 

Your breath halts right in your lungs.

You’d been right about her too, it seems. Succubus. Vampire. She must be; she’s bloodthirsty. Tits gleaming with sweat, the scarlet stain of that bite mark you can’t remember leaving, cunt all dripping wet and desperately empty - body like a fatal fucking blow. 

Karina’s eyes glint. I want what you want, she’d said. 

With the way she spreads her legs, she’s gotta be ready to prove it.

So you never stood a chance. You give in and scoop up cum with one finger and sink it deep inside her aching cunt, feeling as she clenches down, as she takes it so well; like a good girl, you tell her, letting me do whatever I want with this needy little cunt; that’s my good girl. Karina lifts her hips - goes so still and so obedient - and lets you repeat it over and over again, fucking into her with your fingers until the plane of her stomach is bare and sticky and her cunt’s dribbling your cum onto your sheets. It’s completely nasty. It’s hot. It’s Karina craning her neck back and shutting her eyes as you bury three fingers inside of her and fill her with your cum, every part of her in utter surrender, entirely at your mercy, breathing out hard through her nose until your thumb rubs at her clit and she’s cumming again, all over your hand. She gets this look on her face, afterwards - exhausted, every line of her face gentle and lax - staring up at you like you’re the only person still left on this planet. Adoring, almost. As if you’re something out of another world. 

It’s an expression too sweet for a scene like this - and it’s exactly what men like you make art about. 

“There,” you say, soft and mesmerized, wiping your hand across her chest. “Satisfied?” 

Karina laughs her strange, gravelly, gorgeous laugh. 

“No,” she says, shamelessly. “But that’s not your fault.” 

Your fingers curl around the curve of her jaw. “No?”

She barely looks like she belongs in your bed - she must be something divine, lit from within, god-blessedly gorgeous. She’s a fucking fever dream: stunning eyes and the bob of her throat and her tits and her curves and all that hair. Stay, you think of telling her. Let me see what I can make of you. I don’t know you yet but I could, baby, I really could. 

“Nope.” Karina smiles, and somewhere, soliloquies are writing themselves. “I always want more.”

“Okay,” you say, mouth hovering over hers. “Then stay.” 

-

So she stays.

-

(An update on your script:

The stranger and the girl are back at his place. They’re sitting on his couch. Nobody has cleaned off her neck. He’s been too busy pawing at her: at her face, between her legs, at her tits in her tight dress. I need you, he’s been murmuring to her, and it feels like he really means it: like he’ll die if he doesn’t get her desperate and whining underneath him, his cock stretching her tight little cunt wide open. He doesn’t feel too bad about it. She’s a dirty slut. She’s said as much. She’s got her own needs, too. 

What happened to your window? she asks, suddenly.

He pulls back from her chest, his spit clinging shiny to her skin. 

She isn’t looking at him. He has the sudden, unnerving feeling that she hasn’t been looking at him the whole time. Not like she’s had her eyes closed in blinding, overwhelming pleasure - but like she’s deliberately been trying to look at anything else. 

But his hand falls between her thighs, and he realizes she’s already wet. 

A bird flew into it, probably, he says. That happens, sometimes. 

They’re talking about the stain on the once-clean glass of his window. The backdrop of the night sky behind means it’s barely visible, but the suggestion of it is enough. Implicit gore. Tiny little black feathers, caked in blood from the impact, dark and dried. It’ll be scrubbed off soon enough, he knows. It’ll be all gone eventually. 

Oh, she says. She doesn’t apologize for potentially killing the mood. She hasn’t, anyway, not really. She’s still wet and small underneath him, begging for it. Poor thing. 

Yeah, he says. 

She turns back to him. Her hair’s everywhere, all over the arm of his couch, wayward strands beneath his fingers. She’s clearly expecting something - to be kissed, to be fucked hard, to be called baby and angel and good girl. It doesn’t really matter either way. Those are the only things he can give her. 

He stares at the blood on her neck. 

Let me clean that off for you, actually, he says, and goes to the kitchen to get a washcloth.)

-

Much, much later:

“I admire you,” Karina says, all tucked up in your bed, underneath your sheets, half-buried into your side. Moonlight bleeds into the room. Her eyes gleam like galaxies. “For showing some self-control.” 

“What?” 

Karina’s hair pours over your pillowcase. She takes your hand and brings it close to her face, working your fingers into a tight fist. 

“Fucking bitch,” you mutter, and then regret it immediately. It lands too harshly, too strange and serious. “Sorry. I didn’t - that came out weird. I don’t think you’re a bitch.” 

Karina’s lips brush your knuckles. “Not the meanest thing I’ve been called.” Her voice twists with humor. She shouldn’t be so comfortable curled up with a man she doesn’t know in the middle of the night. You think of kissing her hard, of scraping her neck with your teeth, of warning her about self-preservation - sweetheart, you could tell her, this is how people end up dead. “Not the meanest thing I’ll be called, either.” 

You shift. Your fist, unconsciously, goes tense in her hand. “What’s your deal?” 

Her mouth tilts. “What’s yours?” 

You huff out a laugh. “You’re unbearable,” you say softly, which feels much kinder than calling her a bitch. “What are you - what do you mean?” 

I’m not hard to figure out, you want to tell her. I’ll let you in if you ask me to. But you - you, you imagine saying, cupping Karina’s face in your hands and saying her name like you’re praying to her, drafting scenes in your head with each whispered syllable - you. Look at you. I’d fill a thousand pages trying to find a way to understand you. 

“If you want to hurt me,” Karina says, “then hurt me.” 

Your throat dries up. Your fist falls open. “What?” 

“I wouldn’t blame you.” Her voice is matter-of-fact. You see her tongue dart over her bottom lip, the slick glimmer of spit. “If that’s what you wanted.” 

You stare at her, hard. 

It’s not difficult to make out her silhouette in the dark; she’s illuminated so distinctly by the moon, like it’s her own on-set spotlight, professionally arranged - she’s got the cosmos calling her shots. You think about how careful you’d been with her: doing what she wanted and making her cum and kissing her like you have history and maybe fucking her like you love her, just a little.

You think about that bruise you left on her chest, her skin between your teeth, the feeling of biting down. 

“It’s not,” you say, and the lie tastes acrid in your mouth. “It’s - it’s not, Karina.” 

“You fucked my face in public within like an hour of meeting me. And fucked me and came on my stomach. And fingered your cum inside of me.” It’s far past midnight. She sounds more alert than she should. “You’re gonna start being polite now?”

It sends an odd knot to your gut, the way she puts it. Equating all of that to hurting her. Laughing in the face of your clenched fist - not because she thinks you won’t do it, but because she knows how bad you want it. 

Hurt me. She says it like it’s so easy. Fuck me. Let me stay the night. Hurt me; you’ve earned it. 

“I’m not polite.” The truth doesn’t taste much better. “I just have, you know, common fucking decency.” 

“Hm,” Karina says, a nonchalant little noise, and nothing else.

You brush her hair off her neck and your fingertips graze the hollow of her throat. You feel her swallow under your touch. You open your mouth, though you’re not sure what you’re about to say - Karina, like a chant, like she’s consumed you in a matter of moments, Karina - but she shuts her eyes delicately, and curls close to you, and just like that the moment is over. 

I have common decency, you’d said. I won’t hurt you. I promise. I can control myself.

So maybe you weren’t right about everything. You’re not the devil. That’d be a delusion of grandeur - the idea that you’d ever have that kind of power over a girl like her. 

Not for long, she’d replied, in the knowing tilt of her smile. Not if I can help it.

-

In the morning, it’s a picture of crime-scene proportions. It takes a little work to piece it all together.

Karina’s not in bed when you wake up, but there are traces of her everywhere - telltale, incriminating bits of evidence. Strands of her hair on the pillow. Blood-red lipstick stains on the fabric. Her crimson dress crumpled on your bedroom floor, sporting a tiny tear in the hem that you don’t remember leaving; you can still smell her perfume all over your sheets, like a calling card. If this was a TV drama - a clichéd police procedural - she’d probably be dead in your living room right now, blank-eyed and beyond saving, rigor mortis deforming her perfect body into something grotesque. 

This is also probably not a thought you should ever relay to Karina, but you do anyway.

“Sorry to disappoint,” she replies. She’s perched on your kitchen counter, dressed in one of your t-shirts, bare legs swinging. “I’m very much alive.”

“I was being dramatic,” you try to say, gesturing with your hands to set the scene - the lighting, the fake blood and the special effects, the potential pallor of her face. “I’m - I’m a screenwriter. It’s in my nature. I didn’t mean I wanted to find your fucking corpse out here-”

“It’s okay if you did.”

You choke. “What?”

“I’m right with you, babe.” Karina leans forward conspiratorially. There’s a sharpness to the dark glint in her eyes that kind of makes you think she really does understand: that she has the same tendency to jump to the worst possible conclusions. A kindred, morbid spirit. “I get it. I’m pretty devastated that I’m still breathing, too.”

She says this all in a scratchy, sultry voice, hoarse as though she’s been sleeping for years instead of hours. Lashes fluttering like she’s just told you something very adorable and sweet.

“God,” you say, desperately charmed, and laugh until you feel light-headed. “You’re sick.”

Karina’s mouth curls. “Right.”

“I’m serious.” It’s surreal: her wearing your clothes and sitting on your counter like this is an everyday occurrence, indulging every fucked-up thing you say to her. Maybe you’re still caught somewhere in a dream, just waiting to wake up. “You’re, like - not normal.” 

“Hey.” A light, careless shrug; her palm rests over the back of her neck. “No arguments here.”

You rub a hand over your eyes, smiling like an idiot, and take a breath. 

It’s late January, and cool sunlight drips into the room, over your furniture and your floors and the angel right in the middle of your kitchen. It should wash her out, blur her at the edges; it doesn’t even come close. Turns her to a freeze frame instead, carefully color-graded, every hue just a bit too intense: skin ghost-pale, lips pouty and pink, hair jet-black and tangled to her waist. Your shirt hangs off of her slender frame like it aims to swallow her up. You thought you’d been stunned by Karina before, lulled by the late night, the electric rush of touching her - you’d assumed you could blame it on the alcohol, the slutty dress and the sultry makeup and the long-held habit of artistic romanticization-

But it’s nothing compared to seeing her now. 

Karina crosses one leg over the other, and waits as though expecting a rating: to be starred out of five like a film. 

Face scrubbed clean. Bone structure a study of faultless symmetry, delicate in a way that feels both inhuman and invulnerable. She’s so classically breathtaking - a miraculous second coming of a tragic, iconic movie star, a phenomenon back from the grave; jaw and nose and mouth all clean lines, aesthetically precise art - but God, those eyes. Enormous without the thick liner, suggestive only of impossible innocence. Like some darling baby animal, some long-lashed lamb to the slaughter - something pristine and completely untouched. 

The morning after, the direct light, the exposed behind-the-scenes - she’s still beyond beautiful. 

And somehow she’s still here with you. 

“That’s insane, by the way,” you say, unable to stop yourself. “That you stayed.” 

There’s a loud cracking sound. 

You squint, disoriented. “What-” 

Karina blinks at you, wide-eyed; her jaw shifts. The sound echoes again, startling and sudden. “What?” 

“Are-” You step closer. “Are you chewing on fucking glass or something?” 

“Or something,” Karina replies, smile’s tiny and closed-off. She gestures to the cup next to her. “It’s just ice.” 

She’s so calm watching you approach her. You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the freakout, for the breakdown - or, at the very least, the scrambling excuses before the walk of shame. Here’s the truth: she doesn’t know you. Here’s an even worse truth: judging by her hickey that looks like you might’ve tried to rip her throat out earlier, she’d have every right to take one look at you and run. 

Karina doesn’t do any of it. Just raises her cup to her lips and tips it back, the arc of her neck so inviting. 

“That’s so fucking bad for your enamel.” You’re laughing again. You’re in front of her now, settled between her legs. “You’re gonna break a tooth.” 

Karina sets her glass down. Wipes the corner of her mouth with her wrist, eyes locked amusedly on yours - heavy-lidded enough to seem lazy, but pupils blown enough to be a siren call, a deliberate suggestion.

“Oh, no,” she says, all smoky sarcasm. “Who’d ever want me then?” 

She parts her thighs the second you touch them; her body’s so obedient under your fingertips, like a doll’s, something to be dressed up and posed and played with. Daring you to do everything you’re already thinking about doing. 

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur, and give in completely.

So:

Look, you know exactly how the movies would frame this. Pandering to the wide-eyed teenagers and hopeless romantics; adding the swell of strings every time your eyes or hands or lips meet, each motion accompanied with unsubtle cues - there’s the meet-cute, there’s the moment, there’s the love-at-first-sight. It’s ridiculous to drag any of that into your real life, of course. It’d be like believing in God. Giving up logic to put your faith in something silly and mythic and implausible - to follow true love like a religion, expecting it to save your soul; to pray to the one like a healing property, a benevolent higher power. 

You can’t believe in that. You can’t. 

But-

Karina pulls back the barest amount, eyelids fluttering open like a new day dawning, and smiles when she sees the look on your face. So sweet and gorgeous; so struck and adoring. So comfortable wrapped up in your arms.

“Hi,” she murmurs. 

And - as though it’s some bone-deep instinct, saturating your bloodstream - you just have to kiss her again. 

Don’t you feel that? you think of telling her again, your hand slipping to cup her cheek - the sentiment always seems to come back around. You swear you can see scenes flashing behind your eyelids, the beginnings of a creative epiphany; it must be seeping through your fingers, staining her skin with ink, every possible action depicted neatly between brackets. A laugh, a look, a touch. A version of Karina projected across the silver screen to a wild, wanting audience. Don’t you see what you could do for me? What you’re capable of becoming? 

You can’t believe in any of this, but it’s gotta be something close. 

The feeling doesn’t end when the kiss does: only intensifies, made tangible somehow. Sculpted into the spit-slick curve of her lips, the flinty gleam in her eye. Like she feels it too. Like she knows. 

“And it’s not insane that I stayed,” Karina says, belatedly. “You asked me to.” 

For a moment you just stare at her, seconds from her mouth and speechless. 

It’s the truth without difficulty. It’s a confession with no strings attached. It’s the fucking dangerous way she says it - as if whatever you want extends to a lot more than sex. 

“And you don’t-” Your throat closes over a swallow; you find your eyes darting between hers, searching for anything but honesty. “You don’t think that’s insane? Doing whatever a stranger tells you to?”

Karina only laughs her strange laugh, gritty the way good music is, demanding to be heard.

“Nope,” she says, like this is all so simple. “That’s just what I do.”

It’s unbearably filthy in its implication - and it’s exactly what you need. 

The room seems to fill with potential, fantasies pouring in from the ceiling, enough to bloat any manuscript to its breaking point. You let out a breathless laugh, loud and unabashed. You think of pushing for even more, pressing your nails in and digging deeper - why me, why this, why now - but Karina leans in close before you can and slots her mouth to yours, and you’re no fool: there’s no line of questioning worth giving that up. 

Seems like you’ll have to come up with this character motivation all on your own. 

-

“Look at us,” she murmurs against your lips - meaning this very minute, the chemistry, how every glittering star must’ve conspired to get you here. “Kinda feels like this was meant to be, huh?” 

She’s clearly kidding, because it’s too soon and too fucking crazy, but-

Well, the way you kiss her then is absolutely your version of a yes. 

-

Here’s something people should probably know about artists like you:

You’re rather enamored with the idea of a magnum opus. 

It’s a natural thing to reach for, to visualize - the concept of your one great masterpiece. Something you can pour years and years into, water into roaring reckless oceans; time transforming the things you make into something worth remembering forever. Everyone you know - your sculptors, your songwriters - has their own version of this, somewhere. When I finally create this one perfect thing I’ll be - go on, fill in the blank. Fulfilled. Gratified. Happy. When I finally do this, I’ll feel whole. 

It’s strangely fantastical. A lifelong dream a kid would have - a childlike, storybook aspiration. 

Yours - as far as you’ve figured out - looks a little like this:

“It’s not as romantic as it should be,” you admit, now. “I’m not really into that as a theme. True love, I mean. Or optimism. Or hope. I want something more…” Something rougher, you mean. Something with pain. Something with blood and bruises. “Nuanced, you know? Complicated, messy.” 

“I get it,” replies Karina. She has her hands twisted in her lap, watching you very closely. You’re obsessed with the way she looks at you - like she’s drinking every word in with those smoldering dark eyes, greedy for more. For you. “All the best art is about pain, huh?” 

You snap your fingers, pleased to be understood. “Exactly.” 

Karina smiles, small and knowing, and gestures you on. 

In your vision, your magnum opus is always about a girl. Like you said, it’s the way it goes with all the best films ever made: not about love, but the futility of it lasting. Think of all the famed examples - think of the filmmakers and their obsessions, sneaking the great loves of their lives between each line: there’s something she said, there’s a dress she wore, there’s a conversation they had in the middle of the night, tangled up in sheets and whispering against skin. Your future muse will be just like that. A reincarnation of the infamous women who haunt all the greatest artists - an amalgamation of their bodies contorted into narratives and replicated in loving, graphic detail. Someone with skin like marble, a statue you could take a sledgehammer to. Someone who looks unfathomably pretty when she cries. 

Someone like-

“Uh-huh,” says Karina. She must’ve just gotten out of the shower before you found her, because her hair’s damp enough to have left wet patches on your t-shirt. She licks her bottom lip, once. “Sure.” 

Someone to be what you’ve always wanted: a flawless girl to fall from the sky into your lap. To fulfill your promise to yourself: when I meet her, I’ll know. I’ll be able to make this movie. When I meet her, everything will slip exactly into place. 

Karina cracks another ice cube between her teeth.

“So,” she says, low with insinuation. “When you told me last night that you found me inspiring…”

She doesn’t need to finish the question. She knows exactly what you want.

“You’re…” You shake your head. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I saw you and I just - I felt like I knew. I knew. I wanted you.” You shrug helplessly, smiling. “Do you think I’m nuts?” 

She should, probably. You’re a total stranger, a practical lunatic, an artist talking of your visions like you’re possessed. You don’t know her - that’s the reality of the situation. You don’t know her. 

But then there’s everything else.

The unbelievable sex, the staying the night; the way she lets you touch her, blinking slow and subservient, like you already have a claim to her body. You think muse and you think in abstract concepts, glittering stars, guiding lights; you think of skin cut up and sewn together, of creators and their finest monsters, of the implicit poetry in the undoing. You think muse and you think of the way Karina smiles at you now, full lips and frail bones, a painter’s portrait reference. Unmoving, unafraid. Too otherworldly for your day-to-day but just right when she’s in your arms, like a trial-run demonstration: this is what we’re capable of. You could make it happen. You could make me fit.

You swear you’ve been dreaming of someone like her your whole fucking life. 

You think muse, and now you can only think of her. 

It’s a sign. It must be. And this, the next one:

“No,” Karina says, easily. “I think you’re just like everyone else.” But she raises an eyebrow, so you know it’s a joke. “I think you’re all the same.” 

You laugh, delighted; Karina’s smile widens, shows her teeth. “Shut up.” 

Karina acquiesces immediately - claps a hand over her mouth like it’ll keep any other words from escaping. It’s so adorable that you can’t keep yourself from pouncing, suddenly all over her like an animal: wrenching her thin wrist down, fingers threading through her hair, tugging her lips to yours as if you’ve been starved and she’s something to devour. She’s so cold, ice still melting on her tongue; even her body feels glacial, more porcelain than real. It drives you wild - the stunning impossibility of her. The desire to see it all reworked, unwound, shattered. 

“So,” you breathe over her mouth. “I can write about you?” 

“Babe.” Karina’s dark eyes sparkle, frozen-over streets in the mid-winter sun. “You can do anything you want with me.” 

That’s the whole point of having a muse, after all. Everything they are becomes yours. 

-

“But,” you can’t help saying right after: “you don’t have to be, like - concerned. About what I said. About art and pain. I mean…” You falter. You’re standing in between her spread legs now, thumbing the sharp curve of her jaw. “It’s fiction. I’m not that kind of guy in real life - I’m not going to hurt you.” 

Karina just stares at you, sentiment clear and unspoken. 

“Not like - not seriously.” You roll your eyes, laughing it off. “Not like that.” 

“Not like that,” Karina echoes. The hickey on her neck seems to flush redder every time you look at it - a photograph in a darkroom, developing. “But in other ways.”

Your mouth opens, but whatever defense you might’ve had gets traitorously stuck in your throat.

Karina laughs hoarsely, lets you trace her bottom lip with a finger. She seems to get the picture - that you’d love to see it bitten and bloody, but only ever in the name of art. There’s a kind of sick, sadistic beauty in destruction, battles waged and lost. She leans into your touch like she’s seen all the war films and knows precisely why they’re so well-loved. 

“For the record,” she tells you, arms looped loosely around your neck: “I look very pretty when I cry.” 

“Jesus Christ.” You’re smiling. She couldn’t be more perfect if you’d dreamt her up yourself. “Then I guess I’ll have to make it happen.” 

-

It’s like fate, probably. 

-

(Up next in your script:

The girl is standing in the stranger’s bathroom. She’s turning a little glass perfume bottle over in her hands when he stops in the doorway. He’s perfectly content to watch her; she’s the kind of beautiful that deserves to be observed, like some exotic wild animal caged between four walls in an elaborate exhibit, mildly unaware of all the attention. Her hair is messy; her head is tilted down. Unseeing. 

Oh, he says. That was my-

Except he doesn’t even get the rest of the sentence out before the girl whirls around, and the bottle slips from her hand and shatters on the floor. 

Jesus. The stranger jolts back. Jumpy. He’s not too concerned about the broken bottle; it’s not his, anyway. Why the fuck did you do that? 

Sorry, the girl says. She’s leaning rather casually against the counter, observing the glass covering the ground, the sickly-sweet smell of the perfume sticking to the tile. Honeysuckle and the sharp note of alcohol, rendered unrecognizable. You scared me. 

He looks down. A crystalline stretch of tiny little shards - if she tried to move she’d slice her foot open. 

No worries, he says. Hold on. 

He ducks into the kitchen to get a broom and when he comes back he stops in his tracks. There’s something slightly off about the picture in front of him. She’s small against the background counter, frozen, barely blinking. Everything about her looks suddenly frail, fair skin ghostly underneath shitty bathroom lighting, cheekbones gaunt and sunken-in, hair pouring ink-black in endless waves. A vengeful spirit. An incorporeal haunting. 

Did you…? he starts to say, thrown. 

She blinks, finally. Did I what? 

He pauses, reassesses. She’s gorgeous. She’s art. She’s vibrantly alive. 

Never mind, he says. 

It seems kind of like she’d moved, but he can’t tell. He forgets about it. She’s still beautiful and she seems okay and so he steps forward and clears the worst of the glass out of the way. 

It’s silly, she says, watching him. I used to know someone who wore that perfume. 

It was my ex-girlfriend’s, he says. She left it here a while back. I think it’s a common brand or whatever. Hey, let me help you. 

He’s very chivalrous about it, sweeping her off her feet, cradling her bridal-style across the possible remnants of glass. She laughs all the while, playing into it - a princess out of a fairy tale, being carried to safety by some gallant knight. But then he sets her down and cups her ass and says, You gonna pay me back for the property damage or what? and she laughs harder, because there’s nothing funnier than that: sweet moments turned filthy, a startling hairpin turn in intention. 

Or - conversely - a revelation of the absolute truth. Because what else could he ever want from her?

So she says, Yeah, sure, take everything, and leans in to kiss him.

It’s a normal kiss, mostly. It’s just that it begins pointedly erotic but seems to turn strange after a second, like he might be gripping her hair too hard, like she might be corpse-limp in his arms, like at any moment he could unhinge his jaw and sprout fangs and swallow her whole, cannibalistic, viperous. There’s too much spit and sound. There’s too much teeth and selfishness. It stretches on too long and lingers where it shouldn’t and overstays its welcome terribly - the score seems to fall off-beat, the lighting seems to shift dark and discolored-

But then the kiss breaks, and it’s over. 

When he pulls off of her she looks like the perfect picture of flushed contentment. Eyes half-lidded and lashes fluttering, her pouty lips swollen and rosy. Smiling like she wants more, like she wants it so, so bad. 

It didn’t get you? he asks finally, looking at her neck, thinking of thorns and pinprick pain and the rivulet of crimson that’d decorated her throat. The glass? 

No, she says. Don’t you wanna fuck me now? 

Oh, God, he says, grinning, and every other thought melts away into nothing. He likes how she doesn’t play coy. He likes how she’s smaller and has to tilt her chin up to look at him. He wants to fuck her, so he does. 

It’s excellent sex. The blood on the tile doesn’t really matter.)

-

Before you really start writing, there’s just one singular problem: you don’t know anything about her. 

“That’s not true,” Karina replies, right away. 

You open your mouth, then close it, because - okay, she’s not completely wrong. 

For about an hour now you just haven’t been able to stop talking to her. About anything, everything: your start into screenwriting, your favorite novels, your greatest inspirations, your neverending passion for eerie, erotic art. You can’t seem to shut up. And it would be bad - would be making you feel self-conscious right now, if it were anyone else - but it’s just not. Because it’s, well-

It’s you, you told her, thoughtfully, watching as the sun climbed higher into the sky, golden light grazing each scalpel-sharp edge of Karina’s body. You’re easy to talk to. Has anyone ever told you that?

Karina blinked at you. Tucked a strand of silky hair behind her ear and looked away, considering it. 

She has this way about her: this serene openness to her big eyes, her body language. Leaning back on her hands, humming and nodding and saying I get it, I feel that way too, I understand with such sweet sincerity that you can’t help but believe her. Like a Catholic confessional, a pristinely blank page - something you could pour hours and hours of words into that would never, ever complain. 

Yeah, Karina said, finally. She pulled one leg up to her chest; you could see the lacy black of her panties. I get that all the time. 

Just one of those people, huh? Her character was taking shape already. A vault for everyone else’s thoughts and ideas, cradling them between her fingers like something infinitely precious. A listener. Such a lovely trait; a perfect protagonist characteristic. An observer. 

Yeah. Her cheek rested gently against a knobby knee. Exactly. 

It’s something of an art study. You’ve been filing away these details about Karina since the moment you met her, unraveling her bit by bit.

She always seems to think deeply before she speaks, a sort of charming self-scripting, like she wants to make sure she gets every sentence just right. She makes silence seem like the most natural thing in the world. She doesn’t laugh nervously or blush or get embarrassed, ever. She’d mentioned offhand during one of your tangents about your most beloved movies that she tends to like films about gorgeous, dangerous, scarily self-possessed girls: Thirteen and Black Swan and Girl, Interrupted. She seems both intensely present and consistently lost in thought, there one moment and gone the next, her long-lashed gaze falling in and out of focus like a camera lens. A contradiction, you think to yourself. An enigma, even. Profoundly complicated. Not just a girl but something more. 

Art in and of itself, displayed deliberately on your kitchen counter, waiting to be understood. 

“No, you’re right.” Your fingers have strayed to your open laptop; you’re seconds from typing Karina’s name like a title, something you’ve created all on your own. “I know…”

You’re trying to think of something nonchalant to say and failing. I know you - the first instinct, somehow. I know you’re something brilliant and remarkable and new. I know I’ve never felt this way before about anyone. I know there’s something here, I know what I feel, I know what I want - you, you, you. 

Karina stares at the ice melting in her glass. 

Then she says, mouth tripping up at a corner: “You know I’m a world-class fuck.” 

“Jesus.” You laugh out loud, surprised. “Okay, yeah. That.” A pause. “And, obviously-” 

“Obviously,” Karina echoes, like she knows where this is going. 

“I know that you’re, like - outrageously fucking beautiful.” 

Karina hums once, letting the compliment wash over her, and turns to look out the window. 

You bite down on your lip - bite back all the other too-soon things you could say about her, threatening to claw their way out of your mouth - and go in on your script instead. 

It’s shockingly easy to write with her in the room. The details seem to stitch themselves together on-page, the restorative aftermath of an autopsy: sealing the slit chest cavity back up, prepping a corpse for an open casket, making something disconnected whole and beautiful again. You’d pulled these specifics from her like pulsing, throbbing organs - her tits, her tone, her tiny waist - and now all you’re doing is repurposing them. You know her body now. You turn stretches of pale, bruised-pink skin into prose, the curl of her little fingers around her thigh into dialogue. You imagine taking that perfect frame and picking it apart again, bit by bit; not just undressing her but peeling back layers of flesh, familiarizing yourself with the stark scarlet of her bloodstream. Until there’s nothing to hide and you can finally say it - I know you - and it’ll feel earned, and real, and honest. 

All very melodramatic, of course. It’s just the process: the natural consequence of being a writer. 

Your eyes trace the jutting protrusion of muscle in Karina’s throat, and you think about fucking her again. 

“Also,” you say, as though your earlier conversation isn’t long over. “I want to know-”

Karina makes a huffy, half-impatient noise.

You grin, gaze flicking back to her face. “What?” 

“You want to know more?” Her brows furrow in exaggerated confusion; her smile is absurdly self-deprecating. As if there’s anything she could possibly be insecure about. “You already got the two most interesting things about me, babe.” 

“Stop.” Your mouth twitches. “No way.” 

Karina’s smile stills in place, expectant. “No?”

“Come on.” Your hand slips from the keyboard to trace her knee. “I’m sure there’s all kinds of interesting things about you I haven’t learned yet.” 

The laugh she lets out is quiet and nearly secretive, legs parting to let you touch her. You’re already half in some faraway daydream, wondering if you can bottle the color of her eyes and turn it loose on the page.

“Okay,��� Karina says, easily. She nudges your laptop away, scoots closer to you, her sharp chin pointed down at you. “Come and learn them, then.” 

“God.” As if that’s what you’re doing. Memorizing her body as some private education; taking her apart in a classroom dissection. “Can I - I’m trying to write, Karina. I’m being productive. I…” You’re shaking your head as though you’re not already giving in, fingers slipping up her thighs - she’s smirking at you like she knows it. “You’re fucking insatiable, you know that?”

“Then satiate me.” Karina’s head tilts, lids heavy. “Fuck me. Use me.” She leans down like she’s telling you a filthy, sordid secret. “Cum in me like I know you want to.” 

There’s something surreal about how certain she is: never tripping over her words or waffling over intentions, the most practiced actress you’ve ever seen. Every move - her tongue wetting her bottom lip, her hand sliding gracefully through her hair, her mouth forming a sweet little pout - all clean, choreographed precision. 

I know you, she says - like it’s earned, real, honest. Inexplicable, but there anyway. I know you want to. 

“Karina.” Her name comes out embarrassingly strangled. You’re pulling her thighs further apart, toying with the edge of her underwear. “You’re such a fucking - you’re so needy.” 

Her smirk sharpens even as you tug her panties roughly to the side. “I’m what?” 

“Needy.” 

“No.” She’s so wet - she’s probably seconds from dissolving into a whimpering breathless thing, begging to be underneath you, begging for more. That damn smirk is probably seconds from shattering completely. “What were you going to call me?” 

“Nothing.” You drag a finger down the slick drenched heat of her cunt.

“A slut.” Her voice is a purr, gravelly and sensual. “You think I’m just this fucking slut who needs your cock all the time, huh?” 

But it’s the kind of question that you already both know the answer to. Karina takes your finger-fucking so well, hips raised and rutting, hair cutting across her cheekbones - seems to give herself over to desire so fucking easily, with her whole body, back arching and neck craned and hot little cunt a sloppy mess. Never puts up a fight, never demures or acts shy; never says wait or don’t or stop. Only spreads her legs, and drips down your hand, and waits to be fucked good and hard.

And - hey, there’s one dirty word for a girl like that. 

“Well.” You raise your eyebrows at her: a challenge. “Are you?”

It’s dangerous. This is all dangerous. Stumbling down a treacherous path, asking a stranger something like this. Are you what I think you are? Do I know you? Do I really? 

Karina makes a low, luxurious noise at the stretch of your fingers in her cunt, buried to the knuckle. 

“Sure,” she says - and the gleam in her eye tells you she knows exactly what she’s getting herself into. “I’m whatever you want me to be.” 

-

So, it’s possible this is really the most interesting thing about her: she’s the kind of girl who never says no. 

-

That scene goes down how all scenes should:

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-” 

Karina’s choking out curses like she can’t recall any other words, head lolling back to expose the pretty bob of her throat. You thrust deep right then and she lets out a sound like an aching gasp, like you’ve doubled down with a fist to her gut, like you’re knocking the the air right out of her; you might as well be - oh, she moans, like she could be in shock or awe or pain - with the way you’ve got one of her thighs pulled up so you can fuck deep into her tight dripping cunt. It’s not nice, not really. Her back keeps hitting your counter. You keep staring at her neck and her hair and her face: the faint flush of her cheeks, the flawless construction of her bones underneath - there’s so much unmarked skin - God, she’s so clean, it’s like she’s never been fucking touched-

“You gonna cum for me?” you murmur, voice coming out thick and half-animalistic. 

She has one hand curled around the back of your neck. She’s got those ridiculous clawed nails on her but she never presses down. Her pussy can’t stop clenching around your cock but she takes it so well, lets you make room inside her little cunt, shuts her eyes and trips over her own breath as you force her spine hard against your counter over and over again. 

“Karina.” 

“Yeah,” she exhales, raspy and strained, as your cock stretches her out. “Fuck, yeah-” 

“Cum for me, honey. Cum all over my cock - oh, there you go, good girl-” 

It’s hypnotic. The tiny bitten-off sounds spilling from her ice-cold mouth - that small pristine face and all that hair tangled to her waist, just available to be knotted and tugged and fucked all the way up - Karina clings to you when she cums, and you feel so much bigger than her when she does, like you’ve got her sloppy and open around your cock and you could do anything to her, that’s what she told you, and even if she hadn’t, it’s not like she could stop you - she’s gorgeous but she doesn’t have it in her - she’s just too fucking delicate-

It happens too fast to process. 

One minute you’re buried inside her pussy and the next Karina’s on her knees, on the ground, and you’re jerking your cock until you’re cumming all over her. 

It’s obscene. It’s fucking inevitable. Thick ropes of creamy cum coating her forehead, her cheekbone, her nose and mouth and getting all in that hair-

Her hair. You don’t realize how hard you’re gripping her hair with one hand - balled in a brutal fist at the back of her head - until you disentangle your fingers from it and Karina sinks to the floor like she’s just been cut loose from marionette strings, breathing fast and hard. She doesn’t even say anything: doesn’t comment on the fact that you’d just shoved her straight to the ground or complain when the head of your cock smears cum across her jaw. Doesn’t even flinch when your cock slaps heavy across her cheek, at the indecent sound of the impact. 

You’re staring at her, open-mouthed. At her gorgeous, breathtaking, defiled face. 

Karina’s not looking at you. Instead, she’s preening in the most lewd, pornographic way possible: swiping her thumb through the cum streaking across her forehead, popping it into her mouth to suck. Halfway through she seems to remember you’re still in the room - seems to recall the value of a performance - and she redirects her gaze up at you, lids heavy, and smirks. 

“Did I…” you start, without knowing how the sentence will end. “Did I - was I-”

Karina lifts a cum-covered eyebrow. Her mouth’s an arresting pink, puckering around her thumb like it puckered around the cubes of ice, how her lips formed a ring around your cock back in the bookstore yesterday. She lets it slip free, shiny with spit. 

“No,” she says. “You’re good.” 

You can’t stop looking at the cum caught in her hairline. She’d been so fucking clean. 

You glance down and realize there are strands of black hair broken off in your clenched fist. 

Karina’s looking at her hair in your hand too, now, but with a sort of amused detachment. She stands shakily, using the counter for support. There’s cum all over her. Her knees are red from how hard she’d been pushed down.

“You’re so cute,” she tells you, grazing the side of your neck with her fingertips. “There’s no shame in being rough with me, babe.” 

“Right.” There’s an unnamed pressure coiling in your chest. “But - but you-” 

“Hey.” The word comes out in a rasp, and then Karina laughs, pushing the low hoarse lilt of her voice to its limits. She steps closer, angles her little cum-stained chin up at you. “Are you really gonna tell me you don’t like seeing me covered in your cum?” She’s tonguing the corner of her mouth. “Turning me into a-” her smirk pulls wicked; your next breath hitches so badly- “messy fucking whore for your cock?” 

“God,” you get out, because she’s winding an arm around your neck, and her pretty face is still sticky with your cum. “I-” 

“It’s what you wanted.” Karina blinks, in a show of such doe-eyed naïveté that saliva begins pooling hot in your mouth - like you’re feral, like you’re rabid. “Isn’t it?” 

You’re looking down again. Her knees are going to bruise. Black and blue, as if someone’s bullied her in the schoolyard, pulled her pigtails and knocked her to the asphalt. An echo of something teachers could’ve told her years ago: oh, look, he’s mean to you because he’s got a crush. It’s okay, really - he only hurts you because he likes you.  

“You like me like this,” Karina murmurs, dangerously low. “All sloppy and slutty for you.” Her gaze is trained on your mouth. “Marking me up.” Her hair slips from your hand. “Owning me.” 

Her name clogs your throat, cloying and candy-sweet. “Karina-”

Karina’s head tilts. “Yes or no?” 

She’s too close to you. She’s so filthily beautiful she seems somewhat alien, some kind of foreign invention. Her jaw is smeared with your cum and her flawless teeth shine like jewels and she’s like every creative vision you’ve ever had cut in clips and playing back in a movie theater, made to be scrutinized. 

“Yes,” you tell her, winded. “You’re fucking - you’re unreal, you know that?”

You’re smiling like it’s flattery, like it’s an exaggeration. Like she’s not living, breathing, visionary art. 

She smiles back, like she knows just how much you really mean it.

“So I’ve been told,” Karina says, and taps your neck, lightly. “Go make breakfast.” She shakes her hair out; some of it gets stuck to the cum on her cheekbone. “I’m taking another shower.” 

“Right.” You bite into your bottom lip, hand skimming down her side. “Go get clean.” 

“Clean?” She steps back and flashes a disbelieving grin, gestures pointedly at herself - her creamy thighs, her porn star tits in your t-shirt, her body like sex itself. Dirty by design. “Never happening.”

Some cynical part of you keeps waiting for a slip-up, some mistake in a masterfully crafted script - no one can be that gorgeous and still be here with you. But Karina moves and your eyes are hopelessly drawn to the disheveled curtain of her hair spiraling down her back, the sharp distinct lines of her calves, the flex of muscle in her thighs. Her hands, balled into little fists. She’s alluring as if manufactured that way: engineered to be perfectly bruisable, ruinable. It defies logic. It’s movie magic.

“Well.” You snort with laughter, swat at Karina’s ass as she turns to go. “At least you can try.”

You don’t even think she can help it - that’s the thing. It’s just what she was made for. 

-

“What would you have done if I said no, though?” you ask after a moment, as she wavers in the doorway. “Like - what if I told you I didn’t like you like this?” 

Karina shrugs.

“I would’ve been something else,” she says, and closes the bathroom door behind her. 

-

(Next:

The stranger and the girl fuck and afterwards he promises her breakfast and then he realizes his cabinets are bare, his fridge painfully unstocked. Sorry, he says, as she pokes around his kitchen. I don’t know how that happened. I usually have something to eat here, I swear. 

I don’t mind, she says. Her fingertips sweep his shelves. She seems fascinated by the emptiness, admiring the vacancy. Oh, wait, look. 

She finds a half-eaten jar of honey that she ends up scooping up crudely with her fingers, dripping sticky amber down her hand. He’d tell her that’s disgusting but she makes it - as she seems to make everything - into a pointed seduction, her tongue pink and wetly visible, her skin gleaming as she licks it off. It’s funny. He’d never thought it possible to turn eating into some sort of sexual performance but she manages it anyway: meets his eyes, sucks loud and lewd, smacks her lips and wipes her mouth with her thumb, ill-mannered and stunning. 

I can’t imagine that’s very filling, he says, delighted by her commitment. 

Yeah, well, she says. It’s a good thing I hate feeling full. 

But it seems like a moment of hilarious irony when ten minutes later he’s got her bent over his kitchen counter, tits pressed punishingly to the flat surface, honey stuck to her neck and collarbone as she’s fucked hard again and again, stuffed with his cock, his fingers everywhere, like her own body barely even belongs to her - all mine, he keeps saying, and means it; you’re all mine. All filled up. Overfed. Bursting. 

Sex is a manner of consuming, it seems. He might as well be eating her alive.)

-

“Do you do this a lot?”

Eventually, it turns into one of those lazy Saturdays. An afternoon of sitcom plot points. 

It’s just so easy to fill the time, the space, the page - you tell Karina some inane story from your college years and she reacts in all the right places like your own built-in studio audience; she says something off-handed and enticingly vague and suddenly you have a new thread of dialogue to explore. You’re both sprawled out over your couch, Karina’s got her thighs tucked over your legs, wearing another one of your t-shirts, a fresh hickey bruising over her throat. There’s something delightfully domestic about it - like you’ve been doing it for a lot longer than you have, or like you could do it eternally if given the chance, holding all the silken comfort of an old routine. When you’d mentioned it - I kind of feel like I could do this forever - she’d laughed her scratchy laugh and said forever’s nowhere near as long as you think it is, babe. A perfectly cinematic line. You stared at her, leaned over, and added it immediately to your draft. 

“This whole…” You’re trying to elaborate now, staring at the blinking cursor on your laptop screen. Your knuckles skim her bare, bony knees. “You know.” 

“Eloquent.” 

“Shut up.” 

“I thought you were a writer.” 

“Karina.” You’re charmed by the drawl of her voice, the raspy roll of sarcasm. “I’m just wondering.”

Karina shifts in your lap. You’ve got one hand sneaking up the hem of her shirt - your shirt - skating up her tummy, her ribs. You’re probably about five minutes from snapping your laptop shut and pulling her on top of you and saying something crass about her tits and passing it off as a character study. 

“What do you mean?” She’s as close to clean as she can be. You made sure of it - licked the hollow of her collarbone earlier after she got out of the shower, tasted nothing but soap and skin. “Do I have a lot of sex with strangers? Or do I stay the night a lot after I have sex with strangers?”

“Both.” You think of taking her hair down, sifting your hand through it, wrapping the strands around your fingers. “All of the above.” 

Karina shoots you a look, fluttered lashes, suggestive understanding. You hear it without her having to say it. You want me to tell you that you’re special. 

“I’ve kind of been going through a phase,” she says instead, nonchalantly. 

Your eyebrows fly up. “A phase?” 

“I’ve been, you know.” She gives an airy sigh. “Trying to find myself in the big city. Running wild. Terrified of monogamy but being very brave and quirky about it. Sordid past with love and romance and general human connection. Doing the whole manic pixie dream girl thing.” Her eyes flick to your open laptop, abruptly too wide and innocent. “That sound about right?” 

“Fuck off.” It’s a complete non-answer. You run a hand past her stomach, laughing. “You’re fucking with me.”

“What?” Karina inches closer. “Isn’t that what you wanted? Your textbook rom-com love interest?”

You make a rather disparaging sound in the back of your throat. “Ugh.” 

“Oh, my bad.” Her mouth curls, contradictory. There’s nothing apologetic about her. “I forgot. You don’t believe in art about love. You wanna see broken people and broken people only.” 

“See?” You’re obsessed with her tone; all flirtation, some distorted version of come-hither charm. Talking of suffering like it’s a seduction tactic. “You get it.” 

Karina rakes a hand through her hair; her fingers fall to the back of her neck and linger there. She pulls herself out of your lap and turns, hooks one bare long leg over you until she’s straddling you. Your hands find her hips. You’re disarmed by her strange weightlessness, like she’s seconds from either shattering or taking flight.  

Then she asks, “Is that what you’re doing with me?”

It’s gotta be a very roundabout request to fuck her stupid, because she follows it up torturously: ducks her chin, parts her lips, rocks her hips down until you groan. You watch her throat, the way muscle works over bone, picturing unspeakable things: taking her by that pretty neck and pinning her to the wall, ripping your shirt right off of her with your fingertips leaving bruises - bending her over to fuck her fast and cruel until her cunt’s raw and aching and leaking your cum - until she’s begging pathetically, saying please, God, please - and you’re triumphant, victorious. Telling her you asked for this, didn’t you? You said anything. You said anything I want. 

“Depends,” you reply, when you can breathe again. “Are you a broken person?” 

Karina stops, moments from your mouth. 

“Depends,” she echoes. “Is that what you want from me?”

It actually takes a beat for the question to sink in. Then two, then-

“No,” you say, loudly. “Obviously not, Karina, Jesus. Why would I…”

You falter. 

Karina only looks back at you, patient, tolerant. Like if right now you said that’s exactly it: I want you broken, I want you ruined, I want you decaying and dead and buried, she’d smile and say do your worst. Flashing those white, white teeth, perfect like pearls, ready to be knocked right out and strung together. 

You blink the bloody vision away. “Why would I ever want that?”

Karina studies you for a second longer, expression indecipherable. 

“Okay,” she agrees, breezily. “Then I’m not broken. I’m just going through a phase, like I said. I don’t like being tied down.” Her shirt rides tantalizingly high up her thighs; her hand slips down to palm your cock. There’s a twist to her lips, a dirty sort of smirk. “You understand that, right?”

You stare at her.

“Right?” Karina prods, again, low and sultry. 

“Right,” you say, unable to fight your sudden smile. 

The pout of her mouth’s an inevitability; her little body in your lap’s a seductive form of foreshadowing. You dig your fingers into her protruding ribs, playful, and you don’t quite get the squeal of laughter you were expecting - all Karina does is curl closer, expecting more, expecting harder. She knows what you’re capable of. You’re both just biding your time until you cross the same line you’ve been crossing and you fall back into bed again.

“A phase,” you add, considering. It intrigues you, anyway - the casualness, the connotation. “So - I’m not special, then. That’s the moral of this story.” 

Karina’s fingers sift gently through your hair. “You wanna be special?”

“I mean, yeah.” Your palm falls to her neck, presses down. She doesn’t seem to mind. “Doesn’t everyone?” 

Her eyebrows rise in vague, unconvinced amusement. It makes sense: she’s the most special of all, a cosmic glitch, an angelic fluke. Someone like Karina wouldn’t understand the aching, clawing, consuming desire to be extraordinary. She’s already there. 

Your hand on her throat looks even bigger now, tendons straining from underneath skin.

“I think we all want to feel important,” you mumble, thumb grazing gently across her jaw. “Don’t you?” 

You’re pretty sure the wry, glittering smile that sits at Karina’s mouth is an answer in itself. 

-

Alright, forget your television metaphors - you’re not sure there’s any sitcom out there that goes quite like this.

“By the way,” you say, grinning against her hair as you pull her to the bedroom. “Did you say you don’t like being tied down?” 

Karina turns in your arms and doesn’t even flinch when you force her too hard against the doorframe and its edge smacks into her shoulder blade, digging in hard. You should apologize but you don’t; the possibility of her in pain seems laughable, a distant fantasy. This is how it goes, fucking a girl who looks like a god - your brain is convinced she’s wholly immune to hurt. The universe wouldn’t actually let someone so pretty bleed. 

“Oh, sorry,” she says, voice raspy with insinuation. “Let me rephrase.” 

“Karina,” you say, not really like a warning - more like you’ve got something to prove. This is real. You’re really here. You’re really this perfect, gorgeous, greedy thing. You’re really made for me. 

Karina only lets her lips tilt in a smirk, devilish and knowing.

“I meant that I don’t like commitment,” she says. “I love being tied down.”

She’s still smiling when you shove her through the doorway, across the threshold - across that same old fucking line.

-

Not that it makes a difference now, but one of the reasons you and your most recent ex-girlfriend broke up was because of what you’d both referred to as sexual incompatibility. Actually, there were about fourteen other things, too - she was a trainwreck and a textbook attention whore; you spent all your time writing and she took offense to the fact that you found your scripts more interesting than her - but the crux of the sex problem between the two of you was that she thought you wanted too much power over her. She seemed to assume that was the point of potentially tying her up and shit like that: to exert power. To put you and only you in control. To make her into this helpless little toy - and I hate that, she’d said, working herself into a fit, I hate feeling helpless. 

You hadn’t pushed her. You’d also tried to justify it in a number of ways. It isn’t about that. It’s not about control. I’m not trying to make you feel bad. But it hadn’t made a difference and she hadn’t believed you and you’d come to the reluctant, inevitable conclusion that that particular dream would never actually get fulfilled. 

Until-

“Look at you, baby.” 

Until now, when you’ve got Karina stripped bare and tied to your bed, thighs parted as you kneel over her, pretty little cunt glistening wet and tits heaving with every breath as she waits, and waits, and waits. 

Eyes half-lidded. Utterly fuckable. A curated collection of every salacious desire you’ve ever had. 

“You’ve been looking at me forever,” murmurs Karina, her tone still humorous, like the reason her voice is run so ragged is because she’s holding back a fit of giggles. “You gonna fuck me anytime soon?” 

To Karina’s credit, the idea of tying her up didn’t seem to bother her one bit. She’d let you knot her wrists to your bedframe and only grinned sharply when you asked her if it was too much. She didn’t seem to care about feeling helpless or feeling bad. Actually - judging from the wetness that collects on your fingers as you rub two of them over her cunt - it all seemed to turn her on either way. 

“You’re so fucking mouthy.” You lift your hand only to ghost it over her stomach, leaving a lewd shiny streak across her skin. “It’s like you want to be punished.” 

“Well, you put in all this work.” Karina yanks at the ropes tethering her wrists to the bedframe until they bite so severely into her skin that it turns white. “I’d hate to see it go to waste.” 

“Not a waste.” 

“No?” She’s got that seductive little smirk on, legs spread shamelessly, head back and throat bared. 

“Nope.” Your eyes rove down her body. “It’s a great view, actually.”

You’re shocked by the sound Karina makes, then: harsh and derisive, scratchy and painful, like she’s choking badly around some injury in her throat. You’re half-expecting her to turn her face and spit blood onto your sheets - all murder-scene evidence, horrifically vibrant gore. Coughing up her own vocal chords. 

It’s so awful it actually takes you a minute to realize that she’s laughing. 

“Karina?” you say, perturbed.

“Oh, please.” Karina hacks out one more horrid laugh. “Cut the shit.” 

You draw your hand back uncertainly. “What are you-”

“Come on, man.” There’s a glint to Karina’s gaze as she looks up at you: bored, mocking, infuriating. Irises flashing like the darkest corners of haunted houses, set-ups for a summoning; lashes like cobwebs, self-spun and delicate. “Fuck me or leave me alone.”

For a second you just stare at her, unmoving, something caustic and furious threading up your spine. 

And then-

Look, none of this next part is on you. You can’t blame yourself. It’s her - her tiny hands in tight clenched fists, tummy so flat it seems caved-in, hollowed-out; her own glimmer of slick smeared on her belly, physical proof of how desperately slutty she really is. The bruise on her chest; the one on her throat. Her goddamn eyes. Her lazy, lilting drawl, the exact matter-of-fact casualness she’d had last night when she’d told you to hurt her - fuck me or leave me alone. 

It’s so obvious what she’s trying to do - provoke a reaction out of you. It’s gotta be the only reason she’s talking to you like that. Like, what else are we here for? Like, what else could I possibly want from you? 

So - no, God, it’s not your fault. 

But-

It’s over before you can even think about it. Before you’ve even rationalized doing it, before you recognize the sound ricocheting through the room as the perfect violent land of a blow, the hot whiplash of skin on skin, your palm connecting with its target. Before you blink, and recalibrate, and you take in the rapid reddening of her cheek, and her angled jaw, and her hair falling starkly past her chin - it’s too late. It’s already done. 

Because you’ve just slapped Karina clean across the face - hard. 

“Oh.” You’re babbling as if on autopilot, all your nerves on shutdown. “Oh. Oh, God. Karina-” 

Karina licks the corner of her lip, like she can taste the impact. 

“Jesus Christ,” you’re saying, panicking; you can’t shut up. You don’t know what to do with your hands; you find yourself kneeling carefully in front of her, cupping her face, stroking her temples with your thumbs like it’ll soothe the sting. You can’t believe you hit her. All the things you could do to a girl like that, and you - “I’m sorry. I didn’t - fuck, baby. I’m sorry.”

Karina blinks up at you, expression placid and blank, porcelain-doll cool. 

“For what?” she asks. 

You freeze, her face still between your palms. “For-”

But the serene tilt of her mouth makes the words die in your throat. 

“Seriously.” Karina’s voice is softer now, a kind twist of mirth. “Isn’t that what you wanted to do with me this whole time?” 

Her features seem to fall out of alignment, occurring to you in cut, edited fragments - the baby-animal eyes, the bone-white glint of teeth, the pretty blooming flush of her cheek, blood rising underneath skin but never breaking through. No evidence of a limit breached; she doesn’t wince or wail or cry. She wears the hit so well. She’s smiling. A you-don’t-need-to-be-sorry smile, a you’re-forgiven smile: I’m strong, I’m good, I can take it. Whatever you need. Whatever you have to give. 

You blink and Karina reassembles, stitched up at the seams, beautiful and uninjured and intact.

“You want this,” you exhale, a wondrous revelation.

“Of course.” Karina’s shoulders rise as much as they can with her arms so tightly tied back. “You do, don’t you?” 

The panic recedes, and something else - something electric and brutal, visceral, intoxicating - takes its place instead. 

It’s the way she says it: rhetorical, all-knowing. As if she’s seen exactly what’s in your mind - what repulsive daydreams have settled right behind your ribcage, clawing to be set free - and she’s offering her own body in sacrifice. Saying here, put them here. 

So you do. 

She doesn’t even look surprised when you slap her again. 

“See?” Karina’s chin tips upwards in delicious, submissive invitation: eyes darkly pleased, pale skin a burning wildfire, curled mouth a beckoning. Like it’s been what she’s waiting for, all along. “There you are.” 

And when you’re finally able to catch your breath:

Oh, you think, in some exhilarating epiphany. Here I am. 

Every single reservation falls out the window. Karina’s smirk slants viciously and then you’ve got your hands all over her, on her shoulders and her tits and her hips and her throat and her face, thumb digging hard into her cheekbone. Any sort of gentle caution is gone when you’re getting on top of her and burying your cock deep inside the suffocating vice of her aching little cunt, half-drunk on the high mewling moans you’re forcing out of her, head swimming at the drenched audible sound of her pussy every time you fuck into her - at how tight she clenches down around your cock. Fuck it all, then, it’s not like it means anything - hurt me, she’d said, running through your head on loop; I want it so bad, I need it, hurt me - and so you do, wrapping a hand around her delicate neck and pressing down, slapping hard against her heaving tits, salivating over the marks that you leave. She doesn’t even struggle. Takes it like a good girl, an obedient girl: something meant to be hit and torn up and pulled apart. A hands-on art piece. A disassembling, made purely for audience consumption; a sign hung around her neck that says leave your mark, that’s the point. You’d been so naïve, thinking of being careful with her - like she’d ever even fucking want that-

“You like it like this.” Your voice sounds raw, almost unrecognizable; your fingers press into the base of her throat. “This is all you needed, huh? You just needed to be roughed up real hard.” Your hand trails up to grip a fistful of her hair, merciless. Karina shuts her eyes. “Like you’re just a slutty fucktoy-” 

Karina chokes out a small, wet gasp.

“Oh, baby.” You yank harder at her hair. “It’s okay to admit it.”

But in a way, she already is. Doesn’t fight against the restraints tying her wrists, doesn’t flinch at how rough you’re fucking her, doesn’t whine or blink back tears at the harsh graze of your thumbnail against her nipple. Like she’s a plaything, here in your bed for your pleasure alone. Like-

“Like you were just fucking made for this, yeah?” She comes undone so easily: cunt a wet sticky mess when you reach down to rub her clit, teeth pearly-white where they’re caught on her bottom lip - though nothing can hold back the anguished noise Karina lets out at your pace, the thick stretch of your cock, your palm smacking at her tits over and over. “Look at you. That face, these tits, this little fucking cunt-”

Like it’s her one and only purpose - to have all her fair skin turned searing red and bruised under someone else’s hands. Her cunt just begging to be split open and stuffed full, railed so hard she could break. It’s gotta be what she was created for. She’s more than mortal, so above the concept of imperfection; a nasty little fuckdoll of a girl, meant to be used hard and licked clean. She looks too irresistible all fucked-out and ruined. It has to be in her nature. Made for this, you keep telling her: to be fucked until she can’t walk. To be treated forever how you’re treating her now. 

Your ex-girlfriend couldn’t have been more wrong. It’s not about power or control at all.

“You’d really just let me do anything to you, huh?” you murmur, awed, but you’re holding her throat too hard for her to reply. 

You fuck her, and fuck her, and fuck her. Rub at her clit until she clamps down and cums around you, until you can really get on top of her, force her to hold those huge tits together so you can fuck them. You can’t handle how tiny she is underneath you, her face and her mouth slack with lust, eyes glazed over entirely. She squeezes her tits around your cock. She’s hardly even human. It’s the best thing about her. 

“That’s how I know you’re a fucking whore.” Your grin feels wide and manic on your face. You’re gonna cum all over her - again. “None of this even matters.” 

And it’s only after - after you’ve painted her collarbone and chest creamy white and let up on her throat so she can fight for air; after you’ve groped her tits and grabbed her face after just to see your cum glistening all over her perfect slap-marred cheeks; after you’ve rolled off of her and you finally leave her alone - that Karina gives you a response. 

“No,” she says, hoarsely, staring up at the ceiling. “It really, really doesn’t.” 

-

Power just isn’t the right word for it. It’s something much more beautiful than that. 

Desire. You’re dozing off, halfway in a sleepy fantasy. You imagine rolling the word around in your mouth, using it in speeches, citing it as an obvious central theme. It’s about desire, you’d say, in interviews, at film festivals, patiently explaining your motivations to the masses. That irrational animal instinct. That innate human greediness. You’ll maybe even throw in some fun anecdote about how people in past relationships never agreed with you. It’s never been about power, though, you’d explain: how foolish, how crude. It’s about the ache of truly wanting something. Isn’t that so much more romantic?

So you’ll make a movie about this one day. So you tied Karina to the bed and slapped her hard and fucked her senseless. Actually, you picture yourself explaining, foggy and on verge of falling asleep: actually, it’s about hunger. Irrepressible, all-consuming hunger. That’s why I did this. That’s why I’ll keep doing it. You’re all like me; you get it. That makes sense, doesn’t it? 

And it will, to raucous, riotous applause.

Good. You’ll laugh so hard. You’re dreaming, now; you can’t tell if you’re talking about the sex or the hypothetical future movie. I’m glad you understand. Anyone would’ve done what I did. 

Because - honestly - what’s the point of starving yourself of something that’s right in front of you?

-

(Let’s pull back from your script for a second. Here’s a real story:

A few months back you were visiting a museum with one of your friends when you got into this conversation about performance art. He’d told you about a woman back in the seventies who walked into a gallery and laid out various objects and let the audience do whatever they wanted to her for six whole hours. Her as the artist, in title only; herself as the art. A free, untethered canvas. 

And what happened? you asked, morbidly curious. 

Your friend grimaced. What do you think happened? 

It was a rhetorical question. The performance had been a test of what the general public was capable of - a reflection of their moral compass, of what they’d do if left unchecked. The setup spoke for itself. You didn’t have to get all the gory details in order to understand. 

Seriously, though, your friend said, about the artist: I don’t know what’d compel someone to do something like that to themselves. He’d shaken his head, baffled. Like - I think it takes a deeply fucked up person to just give up their body like that. Like it doesn’t even matter to them. 

It’s strange. It’s an almost universally accepted fact that, at least on some level, artists are inclined to put pieces of themselves into the things they create. A memory; a feeling. Condensing twenty different emotions into a single acrylic painting, or a lyrical reenactment of heartbreak into a song - something personal and unique and lovely. Often inspired, sure, but yours. 

I think that’s what’s funny about it, you told your friend, before you realized that funny was a fucked up word to use here. There’s nothing personal about that. It’s so detached. It’s about the rest of the world, whatever they might make of her - it’s not about her at all. 

You were both quiet, thinking. Visualizing what it might’ve been like. To be there, one of many in the audience, watching this woman who had thrown herself to the wolves and asked to be ripped apart. 

She’s just - material for them to use, I guess, you said, after a moment. A blank page. 

Removing her own identity; becoming nothing, no one. A ghost. An empty vessel. A slab of clay, taking on the impression of everyone who’s ever touched her: the ridges of fingerprints, the half-moon cuts of nails, molding her into something new. Even if it took some force. Even if it hurt. 

Still, it’s what she’d asked for. 

You can’t imagine she’d ever expected anything else.)

-

There’s this fascinating complaint people have about films these days, you’ve found. It’s actually quite the phenomenon. You talk to your colleagues and scroll through social media and read comments on movie trailers trying to get a grasp on it all: market research. This isn’t realistic, people gripe. It’d never sound like that. She’d never look like that. This would never, ever happen - God, are you kidding? Who are they trying to fool? As if they’ve somehow missed the point of fiction - of a sweet, escapist fantasy. As if they’ve convinced themselves that the real world is better. 

Which is moronic, obviously. 

“So what’s the solution?” Karina asks.

Well, you’re no expert; it’s been a while since you’d finished your last movie.

“But you have an idea,” Karina interpets. She’s perched on the edge of your coffee table, nursing a new glass of ice. She’s watching you with her head at an angle, eyes shrewd. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be telling me this.” 

As with most of her guesses about you, she’s right. 

“It’s all about the details,” you say, after a moment. “It humanizes a person. Having little bits and pieces about who they are - it makes them alive. Their likes, their dislikes. Embarrassing stories. Things that make them laugh. Diary entries, favorite foods - first loves, first heartbreaks. So on and so forth.” You’ve got one of Karina’s ankles between your hands; your thumb brushes against the bulbous protrusion of bone. “It’s what makes people real.” 

Karina’s mouth twists, sharp and strange; it takes a second for you to realize that she’s grinning. 

“Oh, right,” she says. “You want me to spill my guts to you.” She pushes her ankle further into your grip. Her legs are just like the rest of her: thin and pale, waifish. Like a nineties catwalk model. “That’s how you’re gonna make me real. In your movie.” 

You pull a face, letting her ankle slip from your hands. Spill her guts; what an ugly figure of speech. As if you’re doing something much more invasive and violent than just writing about her. 

“Basically,” you agree, anyway. “I mean, it helps that you’re already, you know - a real, whole, living person.” 

“Ugh,” says Karina, dry and amused. “Barely.” 

You wonder if she’s also thinking about this morning; you, stunned and staring at her cum-streaked hair, calling her unreal.

She’s got a point, in a way. There’s something slightly uncanny about her sitting in front of you, as if she’s been taken straight out of some wildly different scene - some spotlit stage, some movie set, some glossy high-budget existence - and haphazardly edited into your life. You reach out and press two fingers to the side of her neck, like they do on television if they think someone’s bleeding out. 

Karina tips her head to allow you access. Her pulse throbs hotly under your touch. 

“I don’t know,” you say, smiling at the swanlike line of her throat. “You seem pretty alive to me.” 

“Sure.” Her hair tickles your wrist. “But you want more.”

She says it like it’s this given - as if she’s always faced with people wanting more from her. You wouldn’t doubt it, little tease she is. You can picture her in motion so easily. Always running. Letting people pine and plead for more. 

“Yeah,” you say. It seems pointless to lie to her. “I want more.” 

Karina leans in closer. She reaches up and touches one of your knuckles with the pad of her thumb. Without makeup, you can see the shadows of dark circles underneath her eyes, but even those look painted-on, pre-planned; a study on the aesthetic allure of bruises. She lets her gaze drop to your mouth, then bites down on her bottom lip. Impish.

“Karina,” you say, grinning wider now. 

It’s one of those unspoken things: the translation of body language, the transcription of the tilt of her mouth. Then have me, she’s saying, almost certainly - like a swooning melodramatic heroine, throwing herself into your lap, wanting to be saved. You want more? You want me? I’m right here. I’m yours.

“Fine,” Karina purrs, and kisses you again, like sealing a contract. “Take it all.” 

-

You don’t fuck her again - not at first. There’s more than one way to take someone apart. 

Karina says she’s got a story for you and then she pulls out her phone. 

“This was back in high school,” she explains, scrolling back through her photo gallery. There don’t seem to be a lot of recent additions to it; you’d expected selfies, pictures of her with friends. There are more photos of food than anything: plates of pasta and donuts and burgers and pastries piled with whipped cream. It’s cute. It makes you laugh. “When I won prom queen.” 

You splutter. “When you what?” 

“What?” Karina gives you a bemused, sideways look. “Does that surprise you?” 

It floors you, actually. At first you can’t quite put your finger on why, but then you look at Karina again - at her intense dark eyes and pouty fuckdoll lips and the exaggerated pinup proportions of her body - and you realize you’re making that mistake writers often do: buying into archetypes. It just makes sense that she’d be some kind of brooding bad girl. Mysterious, promiscuous; in your creative vision she’s probably cutting classes and chainsmoking in the girls’ bathroom. A favorite of the rumor mill. A pretty little delinquent.

“Wow.” Karina makes a funny noise in the back of her throat when you tell her this. “No. I was - I did fine in school. Perfect attendance, almost. And I can’t stand the smell of cigarettes.” But she doesn’t look offended, either; you imagine people make these assumptions about her all the time. “The prom queen thing - it wasn’t my idea, though. My best friend did all the campaigning for me.” 

“That’s sweet.” You watch as she reaches the year she’s looking for. Flashes of her in a sparkly dress with her arms thrown around another girl - a tiny doe-eyed brunette - slide by. In one of them, Karina’s got her head tipped back, clearly mid-laugh; in another, she and the girl have their heads bent close together as if they’re trading secrets, unaware that they’re being photographed. “Well - I think it’s sweet.” 

Karina’s fingers stall. “Why wouldn’t it be?” 

“I’m just saying-” You shrug. “It’s a nice gesture if it’s something you wanted, I guess. Seems like a lot of attention, otherwise.” 

“Oh.” There’s a pause. “Yeah. It was - I didn’t get to go to junior prom, so it was kind of - this was - senior year. Senior prom.” Another pause. “Yeah. She did it to make me happy.”

“And did it?” She passes by pictures that fill up with more people: friends with big grins who stick close to her side, wrapping her up in an embrace. “Make you happy?” 

“Of course.” Karina’s thumb pauses on a video, the preview dark and unfocused. She says it like she doesn’t even have to think about it. “She was my best friend. She always knew what I wanted. Hey, look at this.” 

The video’s of her in the back of someone’s car, prom queen tiara askew on her head, satiny sash falling off one shoulder. She’s yelling, laughing; the sound isn’t on, but her mouth’s wide open and her dark eyes are crinkled to half-moons, creased underneath heavy false lashes and glittery makeup that’s begun to smudge and fade. It makes her whole face look very soft. Young, too - cheeks full and flushed pink with excitement, hair blown-out and everywhere, glossed black. As if she’s having the time of her life. 

“How old were you here?” you ask, in awe. 

“Eighteen. Just turned, I think.” 

“You look-” Like a baby, you almost want to say. It’s true, though. Big brown eyes, scrunched little nose - grinning like the rest of the world hasn’t quite dug its claws into her yet. Skin unmarred and infant-smooth. “You look pretty.” 

Karina doesn’t look at you, but you can see the slight, entertained upturn of her lips. All the nasty things you’ve called her - all the irredeemable ways you’ve touched her - and now, inexplicably, you’re going for pretty. 

“Thanks,” she says, and clicks the volume up.

“Shut the fuck up,” baby Karina is saying, delightedly. Her voice sounds high, childish and carefree. “You’re so dumb. It wasn’t - it wasn’t even like that, I swear!” She flaps one hand in the air, her nails all short and painted the same rich deep maroon as her dress. “No - you’re just saying that because you’re jealous, you idiot, I know you - you just-”

The person behind the camera says something that you can’t quite make out. 

Baby Karina presses one hand to her sternum, pearl-clutching, and gasps. 

“I would never,” she admonishes - over-the-top like an actress from a movie - before she throws her head back and laughs. 

It’s a startling, wonderful laugh. A little-kid laugh. A mess of wild, unabashed giggles, hiccupy and sweet, so loud and infectious you can hear the other people in the car start cracking up with her; out of frame, someone reaches out to interlace their fingers with Karina’s, waving their joined hands until they smack against the car window and Karina only laughs harder. With her whole body, shoulders shaking and all. Streetlights flashing across her face, making her look sort of blurry and surreal, like something out of a painting. 

“Your laugh,” you find yourself saying, stunned. 

Karina’s touching the back of her neck, completely engrossed in the video. “My what?” 

You don’t laugh like that anymore. That’s what you mean to say. That scratchy, almost painful laugh that she’s been gracing you with since the moment you met her - there’s no trace of that in how baby Karina wriggles with laughter in the backseat of the car until her happy, breathless blush spreads to her neck and her chest. Head tipping back against the seat, like she’s all tuckered out. 

“Um,” you say, voice caught in your throat. 

On the screen, her eyes fall shut, lashes fluttering so delicately. 

You can’t do anything but stare. Brilliant, past-life, prom-queen Karina - grinning at nothing, and sleepy from a perfect night, and laughing as if she’ll exist as this version of herself forever. As if she just doesn’t know any better, yet. 

“You,” you start to say, again-

Karina shuts her phone off, and turns.

And you’re about to say something - something about the gnawing, uncertain feeling you get when you watch this former self of hers. It’s on the tip of your tongue. You don’t laugh like that. Something happened to you. For a moment the whole image just seems off - like the way people make posthumous holograms of pop stars, superimpose faces of long-dead actors on stunt doubles. A kind of intense wrongness. A murmured, uncomfortable: that’s not really you, is it? It can’t be. I barely recognize her. 

“What?” Karina asks. Her smile reveals her teeth. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

Then reality hits you, all at once. 

“Sorry.” Your hand finds her thigh. You laugh because you’re being ridiculous - how would you know who she really is, anyway? “I was just thinking - I don’t know. Never mind.”

She seems to take that at face value. You like that about her. How she seems to trust so easily - going home with you, winding up in your bed, staying when you ask her to stay. Giving you whatever you want: her body, her story.

“So,” you say, eventually. “I can put in my movie that you totally peaked in high school, huh?” 

Karina snorts. “Yeah,” she says, playing along, and taps her dark phone screen with a clawed nail. “Say it was the last time I was happy.” She pulls a face, like the thought of it is just unspeakably pathetic. “That’s a tragedy if I’ve ever heard one.” 

“Shakespearean,” you agree, and let her clamber into your lap. ���It’s perfect.” 

But you know she’s kidding. You’d like to think that you understand girls like her. They live in a different world than the rest of you - the kind of world where every person on earth looks at them and falls to their feet, falls madly in love. You’ll write about it one day; you’ll feel out the narrative for her, a curious exploration. That rose-tinted life she must flourish in, closed-off and flawless like a snow globe, her spinning and protected in the glass.

“Perfect,” echoes Karina, and kisses you - like she’s proving she really means it. 

That’s the reality, here. That’s it. This is all there is. 

-

Well, almost.

-

Karina lets you scroll through the rest of her photo gallery, front to back. You take the opportunity, because you’re greedy for as much as you can get. 

There’s a lot of photos that are just her, funnily enough - selfies posed in front of the same full-length mirror, over and over again, clad in unholy outfits. Swimsuits, sports bras and little running shorts, lingerie: shit that makes your mouth water, eyes lingering, groaning out loud as she laughs at you. But it’s also her in faded old t-shirts, holding the hem up to expose her stomach. Body angled to the side in girlish sundresses. Hair pulled up, showing off her neck, her gorgeously sharp collarbone - in makeup or out of it, stare intensely focused and sultry. 

“That’s hot,” you comment. “Self-obsessed as fuck, but hot.” 

Karina smiles - her tiny private-joke smile - and doesn’t say anything at all. 

There’s one video in particular that catches your eye. It’s recent, relatively - the date reads late December, last year. Less than a month ago. Christmastime. You click on it, curious. 

Karina’s immediately recognizable in it, black hair winding past her shoulders, drowning in a large black sweatshirt. She’s smiling, but it looks sort of tense and tired - bags under her eyes, like she hasn’t slept in a while. She’s got both hands balled up into fists, held close and protective to her chest; her sharp chin rests on her pale knuckles. There’s a tiny smear of red across her mouth, lower lip bitten bloody. 

“You just got here,” she says. She’s looking at something behind the camera. “The first thing you wanna do is hear me sing?” She laughs once, scratchy and hoarse. “Why are you even filming this?” 

The answering strum of guitar strings, a pretty, perfect chord. An invitation, or a demand.

“You’re kidding.” Karina’s voice is flat.

Another chord - evidently not. 

“Wow,” says Karina. Her smile, out of nowhere, goes very soft at the edges. “You just do this because you know I can’t say no to you.”

“What?” you ask Karina now, laughing. “Is this - what is this? Do you - are you really going to sing?” 

And then - crazily enough - she does. 

“Oh,” you say out loud, adoring, and Karina turns her face into your shoulder. 

Her voice in the video is breathy, sweet. Shyly unpracticed, raspy from disuse, completely and utterly gorgeous; lids slipping shut and open again, laugh leaking into her melody line in lyrics about black eyes and kisses and wanting someone who’s just so, so bad for you. But what surprises you more than anything is the look that dawns on her blurry on-screen face - irises sparkling and smile bashful, hiding her mouth behind the sleeve of her sweatshirt, curled up with her knees to her chest. You see now that she’s wearing pajama pants, fuzzy and patterned with snowflakes. 

She looks radiantly pretty. She looks vulnerable. And not even in a sweaty, satiated, filthy post-fuck kind of way - actually, genuinely vulnerable. Soft and wide-eyed and tender.

Suddenly, you just can’t tear your gaze away. 

“Stop.” 

The song’s over. On-screen Karina’s fully grinning now. Porcelain-fragile, but undeniably happy, too. 

“I hate you,” she says. “Baby, I really do.” 

“You love me,” says the person behind the camera. “You’ll love me for the rest of your life and you know it.” 

And in the video - in vivid, fluid motion - Karina laughs. 

Whole-hearted, lovely. Familiar. For a moment, you swear she’s still that girl sitting in the backseat of a car with her prom queen tiara on, giggling free and uninhibited, unhurt, untouched. A month ago - less than that, even - looking like she’s coming back to life. 

That’s where the clip ends. 

It doesn’t change anything, if you actually think about it. It’s just another version of reality. A Karina from a whole other universe, laughing like a child, and so, so far away from whoever she is now. 

-

(Back between the lines of your script-

The stranger and the girl drink to get drunk and that’s about it. She reads the label of his wine; he makes fun of her for being a snob. She doesn’t really drink, she says at first, but he laughs like this is a challenge, and pours her a glass anyway. She flushes pink and fidgets around. She seems to shed hair like a cat and he thinks this is the most hilarious thing he’s ever seen, picking up thin black strands off of the arm of his couch, teasing her about girls and how they really like to leave their mark, huh?

Leave their mark, she repeats. There’s some trick of the lens here, some sort of strategic camera work - he’s in the forefront and she’s in the background, and she looks so much smaller than him. Why do you say that? 

He still had his ex-girlfriend’s perfume in his cabinet. He probably still has some of her clothes in his closet. Not out of any particular emotional attachment, but sometimes this is just the way things are: when you spend years intertwining your whole existence with someone else’s, it’s hard to rid yourself of that connection. You’ve grown into each other’s spaces, tangling limbs and heart lines, putting down roots. It’s gonna take a little force to get them out. 

They’re just so much, he says, gesticulating with his hands. And they affect everything in your life, like a fucking infection. And then it doesn’t work out, and you - he makes a wide, sweeping motion here, attempting to encompass the wreckage. You have to fix everything they broke. Purge them from your system and all that. It’s so fucked up. 

It’s like this, he means to say - you love someone and then they leave you behind and you’re left staring at the blown-up decimated crater that used to be your life together. You love someone and they don’t love you back and all you have now is the debris.

They’re both drunk. There should be music here and there isn’t. It’s only eerie, too-still silence, suffocating the both of them with every passing second. 

Well, she says, laughing, and takes another sip. You and I can agree on that, at least.)

-

It happens like this:

There’s a monologue you want to write. 

You tell Karina this after you’re finally fucking her again, when she’s balanced on the edge of your glass coffee table with her legs spread and your mouth slick with her cum. Well - not after, technically. She’s between orgasms and you have your thumb on her clit, tracking the expression on her face, the split-second moment where she comes apart. It’s then when you realize so badly that you want to write some great speech for your heroine - something about the sweat beading on Karina’s midriff and her tits that you can’t stop touching and the jerky movements of her hips, trying to get your tongue back on her clit, panting and delightfully desperate. Something about desire. 

“Desire,” repeats Karina, voice halfway into a raspy, worked-up moan. 

“Yeah.” You’ve replaced your mouth with your fingers, fucking up into the obscene tight heat of her cunt. She’s trembling, dripping everywhere; she’s the very picture of what it means to want, probably. “But I just can’t figure it out.” 

Karina laughs roughly, and then she cums. 

“Is that funny?” you ask her, after, when you’re wiping your wet mouth with your wrist and she’s sucking on your glistening fingers, licking the taste of her own cunt off your skin. Her eyes big, lips all full and pink - slutty angel on her pedestal, perched above you. “Me writing about desire?” 

Karina lets your fingers free with a loud pop. She’s still clutching your hand close to her mouth, thumb dragging through the sticky gleam of her spit. “No,” she says, eyes distant. “It just reminded me of something. There’s this Anne Carson quote, about men and desire…” She shakes her head. Presses her lips once to your fingertips in a small, startlingly sweet kiss. “It doesn’t matter. Tell me more.” 

There isn’t much to tell, truthfully. Except that you’ve got this love for movie lines that are just so utterly quotable - things that make their way into the pop culture consciousness. That’s the kind of work you want to be doing: creating something that has an impact, something that’ll exist long after you’re gone. Everlasting. If you had to pull for an example, you’d say-

“You ever seen Closer?” 

“Yeah.” Karina drops your elbow into her lap. “Oh, I get it. He tastes like you but sweeter. Lying’s the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off - et cetera.” She hums the melody line. “So you want an early 2000s pop-punk band to make a song about your movie? Ambitious.” 

“More or less,” you say as she shimmies her shirt back down, hem falling back over her midriff. “But like I said, I’m kind of stuck.”

Karina rolls her neck. Her hair is everywhere, sweet-smelling; snapped-off strands decorate your table, looking like cracks in the glass. 

“Any suggestions?” you ask, thumb skimming along the pale bruised inside of her thigh. 

She smiles, mischievous. “Maybe.” 

That’s how you both end up curled on your couch together with your laptop in front of you, Karina’s eyes glued to the movie playing on the screen, watching as the four main characters fuck and flirt and cheat on each other and scream at the top of their lungs. Melodramatic dialogue. How do you feel about him using your life? You’re lying; I’ve been you. This will hurt, which Karina laughs at - as if announcing the pain will make it better, playacting at exoneration. 

It’s also - predictably - how you end up fucking again. You barely make it an hour in, and then-

“Hey.” Karina’s breath tickles your ear. She’s already seconds from climbing in your lap already; her thigh is hooked over yours, bare and inviting. “Are you inspired?” 

You’re swallowing back a grin. “Sure.” 

“Oh. Great.” She’s no actress herself, clearly. She couldn’t be subtle if she tried. “Do you wanna be more inspired?” 

And - whatever. It’s a movie about sex. If anything, at least you’re sticking to the theme. 

The dialogue plays in the background as Karina rocks her hips down on your lap - you can feel how wet she is again, like she never stops wanting to be fucked. You’re telling her something about how she’s the most insatiable girl you’ve ever met; the sound of the film saturates the room, setting the tone like it knows its purpose. How? How does it work? How do you do this to someone? This big, infidelity-ridden confrontation. Did you phone her? Beg her to come back? Asking him why he falls for another girl, getting this ridiculous answer - it’s because she doesn’t need me.

“Huh.” You smile into the curve of Karina’s neck, already palming her ass. “That one’s funny.”

“Is it funny?” Karina’s sharp jaw brushes against your cheekbone. Her eyes are so dark, shadowed by her long lashes. “I think it’s pretty realistic. People don’t like needy girls. It’s a burden to be loved so hard.” Her tongue darts across her teeth; her smile’s somewhat caustic. “Too much to handle, I guess.” 

“What are you talking about?” This strikes you as fairly fucking ridiculous, too. “What men have you met who don’t like needy girls?” 

Karina just laughs and leans in for another kiss. 

It’s easy to let the rest of the film float away in the background, the lines coming disjointed, unconnected. A spoken-word soundtrack, tone perfuming the air: the angst and pain and eroticism seeping into your clothing. Once in a while you’ll pull back from kissing Karina’s neck or tits or mouth and see a thoughtful little quirk to her mouth. Like she’s genuinely listening, even as you’re taking off her shirt, slipping a hand back between her legs. Where will you go? Disappear. I can’t still see you - if I see you, I’ll never leave you. I amuse you, but I bore you. 

“I bet you’ve never felt that,” you say, half into the silk of her hair. 

Karina pauses. Her shirt’s on the floor; she’s gloriously naked on top of you. “Felt what?” 

“I amuse you, but I bore you,” you recite. You already sound sort of fuck-drunk, far gone. “You’re the farthest thing from boring.”

Back in the movie, the female lead sobs into her fists. Karina studies you, fingertips grazing the nape of your neck. You try to imagine it - her as one of those heartsick heroines, crying herself to pieces, begging a man not to leave her - but you draw an utter blank. Some people just aren’t breakable in that way. 

“You’d be surprised,” Karina says, after a moment. “People get bored of me all the time.”

“Oh, please.” Even when she’s the one top of you, you can’t help feeling so completely in control. It’s gotta be the look in her eyes, dying to be obedient. “I bet you have lots of ways of keeping guys interested in you.” You smack her ass hard just to make a mark. “I bet you let them fuck you however they want.” 

“Exactly,” Karina agrees, without missing a beat. She moves in close until your noses bump together. Lets her voice go all smoky and suggestive. “Wherever they want, too.” 

You open your mouth - probably about to say something very rude about what a dirty whore she is and how you should’ve realized it the second you saw her; I knew it, I know you - but then your hands slip lower and Karina presses her lips to yours and licks into your mouth, over your teeth, making you swallow your words. Filling you up until there’s nothing but her and the movie, playing on.

I think I’ll be happier with her. 

You won’t. You’ll miss me. No one will ever love you as much as I do. Why isn’t love enough? 

“Romantic, right?” murmurs Karina, sweet against your tongue. 

“Shut up,” you say, and grab her by the hair, tugging her off your lap as you stand. “Bedroom. Now.” 

Later, you’ll take the time to consider the different ways filmmakers illustrate a power dynamic - it’s playing on your laptop screen right now. The heroine’s sitting on the arm of the couch, clutching desperately at the hero’s jacket. Gorgeously emotional and pleading for another chance, her tiny chin tilted up, eyes so large and watery. Made fragile and fearful by everyone: the protagonist, the narrative, the director, the audience beyond. By herself, even. It’s a stylistic choice - she wants to look that pathetic.

And you-

Well, you’ve got Karina’s long hair wrapped up in your fist, tits bouncing as she stumbles to her feet, ankle knocking hard and horribly loud against the leg of your table. Cute little ass all red from your hand. Thighs shimmering from how drenched she is, cunt dripping from how you’ve treated her. She hasn’t managed to work her mouth into a trademark smirk fast enough: when she looks at you over her shoulder, her eyes are abyss-dark and bottomless, crease between her brows, lips parted in pained surprise. 

The definition of pathetic, too - but that’s exactly the point. She’s just so much more fuckable like that. 

“Ouch,” you say, touching her hurt ankle with the side of your foot. 

“It’s fine.” Karina’s skin feels clammy and cold. Her smirk’s intact now, camera-ready. “I’ve been through worse.” 

Her ankle throbs under the pressure of your touch; you still haven’t let up on her hair. You’ll go through worse, too, you think of telling her: a sly comment about how rough you’re about to fuck her, what vicious marks you’re about to leave. How you’re gonna hurt her exactly like she asked you to. 

You don’t say a thing.

She must already know all of that, anyway.

-

So, Karina’s not breakable like the helpless, weepy, soft-hearted girls in the movies - but that’s alright. She’s breakable in much more enticing ways.

Case in point:

“Oh, get real, baby. Don’t pretend you don’t love it.”

Well, breaking someone down doesn’t really get better than this.

It’s all a scene of your own making, a perfect pre-arrangement. You on your bed, Karina limp and bent belly-down over your lap - you in control and Karina as the most impressive toy you’ve ever gotten your hands on, creamy ass and needy cunt and skin that turns bruises to artwork. You’re goading her and failing - trying to get her to just admit to what she is, what a filthy slut, what a nasty eager fuckdoll - but it’s hard to get a response when even breathing seems to be a chore for her right now. Every noise out of her mouth is nothing but a gasping, choked-out whimper. Her face is buried in her forearm, hidden. And through the shine of lube dribbling down your hand and her ass and into the sticky wetness of her cunt, you’ve got two fingers stretching out her little asshole - and you’re just getting started.

“I know you fucking need this.” Your other hand slides up her back, slips to tangle in her hair. “You’re just too good at it.” You pull hard, wrenching her head from the crook of her elbow. “Too good at being an obedient fucking whore for me, huh?”

Karina’s whole body stiffens when you fuck your fingers deeper, as if tugged taut on a string: the flex of her feet in the air, shoulder blades straining, neck craned back almost painfully. You pull harder. It’s a buzz at the base of your skull, live-wire thrilling: the knowledge that you can yank her into whatever position you want - fuck her anywhere, work her ass open with your cock, fill her up with cum - and she’s just going to have to take it. Like she’s this pliant, powerless thing. Like she’s yours. 

Your self-satisfaction seeps right into your voice. “Answer me.” 

You hear Karina gulp down a breath. “I,” Karina mumbles, but she can’t do anything but babble. “I - fuck-” All teeth-clenching nonsense; she shoots a baleful glance over her shoulder, desperation clawing its way into every word. “Please-”

Your fingers pause. “You want more?” 

Her cheeks are splotchy and pink; you swear there are tears wobbling in those big dark eyes. The heavy arousal in your stomach turns to violent hunger, as though your mouth could start watering at any second. You can’t help it. The thought of seeing her cry is fucking exhilirating. “You - oh-” 

“Answer me. You want my cock?” You’re waiting for the breaking point. “You want me to really fuck your ass?” 

“Fuck-” 

But that’s not a proper reply and Karina knows it, so she doesn’t protest when you pull your glistening fingers out of her and smack your palm hard across her ass. Once, then twice, and then you just don’t stop. She yelps like a hurt animal - trembles uncontrollably, her thighs and her shoulders and her quivering bottom lip - and makes a sound in the back of her throat that might be a sob, but she still lets you hit her: gives into the harsh crack of skin on skin, over and over again. Listens as you tell her that she deserves this, that she wanted this, that you’re making her into a good girl and this is what good girls get when they’re too cock-hungry to follow orders or answer a fucking question, you know that - you know I’m this rough for a reason. It should hurt. It’s so much more fun that way.  

“I’ve been too fucking nice to you,” you mutter, teeth gritted in an effort to hide your grin - as if you even need to. It’s obvious how much you enjoy this. It’s the point. “That’s the problem with girls like you - you never learned your fucking place, huh? Never really been punished for anything?”

Karina mumbles out something unintelligible, slurring from her drooling mouth to the sheets.

“Yeah.” Your hand comes down again - she flinches just before her body goes slack. “That’s what I thought.” 

And after you’ve spanked her so hard that her fair skin is ravaged and raised with goosebumps along the slope of her back - her whole body in revolt - you finally, finally stop. 

Karina doesn’t budge except to breathe, and even that releases shallow, unsteady. You read it all in the shaky lift and fall of her thin shoulders, her hands in white-knuckled fists, her face pressed to your sheets and hidden - her hair coats everything, all ink, all words written but left unsaid. She shivers beneath your fingers. Her cunt’s dripping all over your lap. She’s a masterpiece. She’s a wreck. 

You’re filled up with thick, swollen pride. “Karina.” 

Karina. Your own personal creation, transformed under your touch. Might as well have your name carved into her, too. A brand right across her back, slicing through tissue, scarring to seal her fate - this is who you fucking belong to. 

“Poor baby.” You follow the sharp ridges of her spine, tracking notches, keeping a tally: counting how many times you’ll hit her, how many days she’ll stay in your bed. How many movies she’ll let you make out of her, being your brilliant muse for decades. “It’s painful when you don’t listen to me, huh?”

But then - inexplicably - you think of her bruising ankle. Her twist of a smirk, detached and humorless. I’ve been through worse. 

You’re abruptly glad you can’t see the look on her face. 

“Come on, sweet girl.” You dig the heel of your palm into her lower back, half a warning. “Pull it together.” 

Between the strands of glossy hair tumbling over Karina’s skin and your sheets, you spot a reddish mark on the back of her neck. Like the impression of a thumbprint, small and round. Blurry enough in the dim light that your brain starts conjuring up strange theories; an old wound, maybe. A birthmark or a burn, a childhood injury.

You graze her shoulder blades with your fingertips, exploratory. She feels so small draped over you like this, a tiny wet wisp of a girl. A doll. 

She still hasn’t moved.

“Karina.”

Nothing.

“Karina,” you say again, suddenly uneasy. Your hand stops. “Are you-”

For a few terrible seconds, you can’t even hear her breathing. 

But then Karina shifts. Slow, sensual, deliberate. Pushing herself up off your lap, arching her back, the slick pucker of her asshole obscene from where you fucked it open with your fingers. Her bruised knees dig into your mattress as she straightens up, and her gorgeous pale face seems to glow in the midday light - heavy dark eyes, bitten-pink mouth, black hair curtaining her cheeks like a frame to a portrait.

“You,” you start to say, feeling suddenly like you’re looking at her for the first time. 

“I’m really sorry,” Karina murmurs.

She doesn’t look close to tears at all. She’s so unfazed, as if having her ass spanked punishingly raw is something that happens to a girl like her on the daily. A run-of-the-mill occurrence - a consequence of having a body like that, made to be brutalized. She’s already reaching towards the nightstand for the lube. 

“I just wanted it so bad I couldn’t think straight,” Karina tells you, with erotic-film certainty - reciting all the lines that’ll make her seem the most insatiably slutty. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Her lips form a pout; she leans down to press them to the tip of your cock, all sweet and demure, like she thinks she needs to convince you. Eyes flicking up at you through her thick lashes, molten-hot. “I should’ve listened.” It’s only a breath, warm and torturous. “I deserved that, I know.” 

Your hand winds tight in her hair. You want to force your cock down her pretty throat, make her gag and choke over her simpering apologies, spitting up your cum until it trickles down her chin, her tits, her tummy. Both a game and a power play: prove how sorry you are. 

Karina pulls back before you can, and holds up the lube. 

“Babe,” she says, the term of endearment almost a singsong - a lilting reminder. “I thought you wanted to really fuck me now.” 

“Uh-huh.” Her tits heave as she moves, crawling closer, offering herself up. “And I always get what I want, right?” 

You feel drunk with power. You forget that this isn’t supposed to be about power. You watch as Karina coats her palm with lube and pumps your cock, her fingers slick and hot, her veins starkly blue at her delicate wrists. Expression delighted at how hard you are, pink little tongue poking out between her teeth - seduction down to an art form, meticulously calculated. 

“With me?” Her smile burns. “Obviously.” 

You pull her in by the neck to kiss the smirk off her mouth. 

It’s interesting. There’s this other thing regular critics and moviegoers have been saying about films these days: sex scenes need to have a purpose. Some sort of coherent motivation. Strip your lead actress down to nothing and get her keening and moaning and you’ve got to explain it away somehow. It forwards the plot, you could insist, pitching it to producers and directors. It does something for the character dynamics. It’ll draw in just the right audience, the ones dying to see their favorite celebrity debauched and getting dirty on-screen - they’ll see it over and over just to get a taste. Isn’t that enough? To satisfy the masses? Isn’t that why we’re all here?

Because otherwise all people are staring at is a play at pornography: useless half-convincing make-believe. The heroine can writhe and whine and arch her back all she wants. Everyone knows she doesn’t feel anything. 

“Tell me the truth.” 

Oh, if you two were a movie - you don’t know how anyone could justify a sex scene quite like this. 

It doesn’t matter what artsy angle you take. It all comes down to the same unforgivable details: Karina face-down ass-up on your bed, the perfect bowed curve of her spine, the depraved wide stretch of her asshole around your cock - the sweat shining along her shoulder blades, the hard smack of your palm against the red raw skin of her ass, your other hand at the crown of her skull with your fingers wrapped entirely in her tangled hair - her cunt fucking ruining your sheets, wet all the way down her thighs, each brutal shift of your hips sending her little body into full-blown shudders-

“Tell me that you fucking love it.” Your hand slips lower until you’ve got her pinned down by the back of the neck, fingers pushing down: a grip she couldn’t escape even if she wanted to. “Whoring out your slutty little ass like this for a stranger. Getting on your hands and knees for me just because you’re so fucking needy for cock, baby - don’t even try to deny it, you’re so wet, nasty fucking girl-”

You just can’t stop yourself. It’s so easy. She really is so fucking pathetic. Too fragile to get free - too easily manipulated and manhandled. Trembling and drenched and giving way as you make room inside her, forcing space. She’s just so tight - it’s godless, how you make your cock fit in her lube-slicked asshole, how she moans like a bona fide bitch in heat over it: needing faster, needing harder, needing more. Cheek pink and pressed hard to your mattress, sharp nails digging into the sheets rough enough to tear through the fabric. Giving herself up to be fucked cruelly and stupid and senseless. 

Like she’s a real-

“Natural fucking cockslut, huh?” 

Look, seriously - you can’t be held accountable for the things you say to her here. 

Because when you say shit like you’d just let me do anything - like you’d let me fucking tie you up and keep you here forever, be an eager fucking cumdump for me whenever I want you, I know it, I know you - that’s just the moment talking. The circumstances. The pretty arch of her back and the drooling wetness of her cunt and the indecent tightness of her ass, conspiring to make you lose your mind mid-fuck - that’s the whole reason you even tell her any of it. You think you’re good for anything else? Right at her ear, your body covering hers, your cock buried deep. You’re not. Just made to get this slutty ass fucked open, and your mouth, and your cunt - this is all anyone’s ever gonna want from you and you know it - better get used to it now, baby. This is all you got. This is all you are. 

It’s Karina’s fault, really. She just takes it - all of it. She doesn’t even try to fight it. 

“But that’s okay,” you murmur, as she gasps and squirms and cries out like you’re killing her. “I’m still gonna make you cum.” 

And with your cock filling her ass and your hand between her legs, slapping hard at her sopping cunt until she can’t do anything but collapse - shaking, shattered - her whimpers fucked-out and drool-soaked and bleeding into one big nonsensical mess, everything about her used and ruined-

“You’re mine,” you tell her, laughing as she falls apart. “You get that? You’re mine.” 

-then, you do.

When it’s all over, Karina rolls over to face the wall, breathing hard. She’s slick everywhere, sweat and saliva and lube, your creamy cum dripping out of her well-fucked asshole and trickling down her thigh. You trace her lower back and grin at the way her skin seems to give into you, turning pink with a press of your fingertips. You’ve come to realize you adore her like this, the fugue state after you fuck her: utterly dead to the world. 

Like she could become a permanent fixture in your bed. Too tired to move. Too tired to ever leave. 

“Mine,” you say again, softer.

Karina doesn’t argue. 

It’s basically all the confirmation you need. 

-

So, really, if you two were a movie-

It goes like this: life can imitate art, too. It happens all the time. The line between fiction and reality blurs together until it’s indistinguishable - until you can’t tell where the fantasy ends, or if it ever did at all. 

-

(It goes like this: the heroine smiles sleepily and tells the hero he’s the best she’s ever had. You’ve seen this film before. The movie stars with their fake on-screen fucks might not feel a damn thing, but at least it’s still fun to pretend.)

-

Also, the mark you saw on the back of her neck isn’t actually what you thought it was. 

“It’s a tattoo,” you realize out loud, drowsily awed, brushing her hair away so you can get a better look. You’re both tuckered out, an inevitability when you fuck like you do; you’re seconds from dozing off. Karina’s looking away from you, on her side to escape the soreness of her ass, sheets loose across her chest. She lets you touch her wherever. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice that before.” 

“You don’t know me,” mumbles Karina, half into your pillow. “It’s not your job to notice anything about me.” 

The tattoo’s crimson-red, all delicate linework. It really does look like it hurts: like someone painstakingly cut the shape into her skin. It’s of a heart, rendered in anatomical detail - valves and ventricles and arteries. It’s beautiful, you realize belatedly. Bright instead of faded, and obviously cared for. Lovely. 

The only permanent stain on her perfect body. You press your thumb against the ink, fascinated. 

“What does it mean?” you ask, but Karina’s already fallen asleep. 

-

(In your script, the girl and the stranger watch some gory crime show, except they don’t pay very close attention and he tugs her into his lap and makes her ride his thigh. The episode they’ve got on is about a serial killer who murders so-called sinners - liars, adulterers, the like. Slaughters them like sacrifices, cutting their throats with vicious efficiency. Fake blood drenches the screen with every crime scene: a form of fucked-up baptism, a psuedo-religious cleansing. 

The girl’s putting on an equally decent show on top of the stranger: head thrown back, eyelids fluttering, high-pitched little moans. He sinks his teeth into her shoulder and keeps watching the TV.

Hey, he says, a murmur against her skin, a close-up on his mouth. You’re a sinner, right?

She’s got her hands on his shoulders, hips rolling. Sure am. 

How do you think this guy would kill you? 

He thinks this’ll shock her, but she doesn’t even pause. Like he kills all the rest, she says. Like an animal.

I think he’d be more careful with you, the stranger muses. You’re too gorgeous. He’d have to use, like - a scalpel, or something. Something cleaner. Something that’d keep you intact. 

It’s no use. Nothing he says seems to scare her. Her eyes are far-off, almost glazed in recollection. Like she’s thought about it too - her own untimely end. Her own vivisection, skin flayed and organs visible, viscera and bone. There, hold the shot: now the audience can consider it with her, ponder all the ways she could be torn apart, all the repulsive things they could do with her desiccated body. All the ways flesh can warp under a human touch: the blue-black yellow-green purpling of bruises, a whole palette on one tiny girl. There’s value in that, isn’t there? There’s something intimately, incomparably beautiful in suffering. There’s art. 

Isn’t that why everyone’s watching? 

I get it, the girl says, still soaking his thigh, smiling as if it’s an inside joke between them. You want me dead. That’s been obvious since the moment you met me. 

I don’t want you dead, he says, and grabs her by the jaw. I just want to fuck you. 

Okay, she says, uncaring, like there’s barely a difference. Fine. Whatever you want. 

They don’t turn the TV off. They let the characters scream and bleed out in the background; he fucks her like she’s got a death wish. It’s funny - he expects her to get louder the harder he fucks her, ruthlessly working over the tight clench of her cunt - but she keeps getting less and less responsive, as if he’s pushing her little body into some sort of trance: expression vacant and blank, body limp and lifeless, mouth open and speechless. It makes him angry. Give me something, he’s saying, frustrated, clawing at her hair: baby, it’s not fair, it’s no fun like this. The on-screen shrieks aren’t enough - he wants it from her. Actually, he keeps saying he needs it - as if fulfilling desire is on the same level as food or air, as if he’ll drop dead in seconds if he doesn’t get her sobbing. He gets his overlarge hands on her face and starts contorting it, pushing her mouth open, her eyes wider, his fingers down her throat until she spits and gags and chokes. Oh, the audience will love this one: it’s reminiscent of those filthy exploitation films with their cult followings, so cleverly referential. Look at her pathetic and pinned down. Look at her helpless and struggling. Think of your favorite on-screen murder scenes, and then think of this.

Anything I want, the stranger reminds her, yanking back her hair as she drools down his wrist. You asked for this, didn’t you? You said anything I want. 

Except now the girl can’t say anything at all. 

This moment will start rumors, invite horrified scandal the same way some purposefully marketed horror movies are passed off as snuff films - that really went down, they really died like that. This scene’ll get a similar response. Did he actually fuck her? Did he actually hurt her? Did everyone - the writer, the director, the crew, the captive audience - actually just stand by and let that happen? 

Sure. Or she might just be a really, really good actress.

There. The stranger’s murmuring to her now, watching her manufactured expression, watching the tears fill her eyes. There you go. There’s my girl. And she is his, she really is - transformed into something all beautiful and new under his clumsy fingertips, molded right into art. The camera will zoom in close on her gorgeous, cadaverous face, a perverse little gift for the audience: here, have this, take a look. She’s all yours now. 

There’s something to be said here about the manmade link between sex and violence - inescapable, brutal, primeval; bodies in all shades of red - but he forgets it the second he touches her, and she’s being fucked too hard to remember.

Maybe they’ll get to it next time.) 

-

AND WE'RE BACK!!!!!!!!!!! <33333

all my luv ever to @capslocked @worldsover @passingnotions @braaan for beta reading my dumbass shenanigans and also for being the best ever I LOVE U!!!!!! AND ANYONE WHO IS READING THIS I LOVE YALL TOO.................. PART 2 COMING SOON!!!!!!!!!!!

[pjsfvs]

sex postion hcs - enha legal line

paring : enhypen (legal line) x afab!reader

warnings/tags : dom/sub, submission, dominance, masochism, sadism, exhibitionism, voyeurism, vaginal fingering, rough sex, unprotected sex, deep penetration, soft sex, breeding, heavy kissing, teasing, wall sex, hair pulling, if i missed anything let me know!

summary : The Legal Line's favorite sex position headcanons

a/n : don't leave hate comments for me to see. if you don't like it just block me and leave.

HEESEUNG :

Standing / Against Wall

Heeseung is a nuisance with no shame. He craves for how you gasp and whine when forced up against the wall.

If you’re in public, hidden in an alleyway perhaps, he’ll tease and mock you for being too loud until your biting your lip to keep your sweet noises secret.

If you choose to be loud then he’ll hold his hand over your lips to muffle your moaning. He doesn’t actually want to get caught, but he’ll use it as an excuse to slip his fingers into your mouth and toy with your tongue. He’ll twitch deliciously inside you if you suck them greedily.

“He-heeseung ..” you panted heavily, your legs shook with anticipation and arousal at the situation he’d got you in. Your chest was pressed up against the rough wall of the alley you’d both ducked down, your lovers' hands gripped at your hips as he pulled you back against his thick cock. The lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the air leaving nothing to the imagination.

His lips hovered at your neck, delicately brushing over your tender skin. You could feel the devilish smile he wore before he parted his mouth and lay firm kisses and nibbling bites. “Ah!” You cried out, shivers shooting through your spine.

You continued to tremble and gasp under his assaulting lips, heat blooming under the bites. He drew his tongue over the marks, before he pressed soft kisses up your neck until his lips rested at your ear.

“Shh..” he hushed, his breath tickling your reddened ear. “The sidewalk is barely a few steps away.” He reminded you with a mocking grin. You could still hear the chatter of Seoul citizens going about their evening. The thrill had you shaking, your needy cunt dripping at the idea of being caught in such an indecent position.

“Unless you want us to be caught?” He purposefully nipped at your ear lobe causing you to gasp audibly, your hips jerking back against his. He moaned unabashed as you tightened around him, his breath hot against your skin. His hold on you tightened, his nails digging into your skin almost painfully.

“Aaa.. n-no-!” You moaned, your desperate voice betraying your words. You were certain he was be able feel the heat from your cheeks. His deep groans only turned you on more and his pace never faltered, his cock reaching deep inside your eager cunt.

“Mm.. then you’re going have to try and be more quiet.” He chuckled, his voice deep and husky, laced in heavy arousal. With unrelenting purpose he thrust into your seeping cunt with long deep strokes, each one drawing out your gasping breath.

You quivered at the feeling, your arms braced against the wall shaking, you wondered how you were even supposed to be quiet when he teased you so relentlessly.

JAY :

Face Down, Ass Up

Jay is a no-nonsense guy, so when you’re in the bedroom with your rather arrogant lover he’ll desire nothing more than for you to be on the bed presenting yourself to him.

He loves to be in control, will thread his fingers into your hair and press your face down against the bed.

All the while his other hand roughly grips your hip, holding you in place as he takes you from behind.

You pressed your cheek against the soft bedding below you, your hands fisting the quilt as you kept your behind raised up. Completely naked and legs spread you shook with need; you could feel your slick leak out of your displayed cunt. A sharp inhale from you lover was all you heard before the bed creaked and dipped as Jay knelt on the edge.

A furious blush coated your cheeks, you chewed your lip in arousal and embarrassment. He needn’t say anything, you knew just how he wanted you. But today he seemed to desire a bit more from you. “Ah-!” You gasped as he gripped your hips in both hands, then dragged you down the bed until you were at the edge.

He made no noise as he stood again. You kept the same position as before, your head resting against the cover. His hands never left you they dipped from your hips, pinching and squeezing your behind, before eventually stopping at your twitching cunt.

“Always so ready for me.” He laughed mockingly, spreading your cunts lips with his fingers. He rubbed the area with unusual tenderness, watching as you trembled and leaked for deeper attention. He snorted a laugh, then wasted no time he plunged his lithe fingers inside you. Gasping moans were forced from your lips. Your cunt squelched and seeped with embarrassing lewdness as he sank his fingers in and out of you.

“Jay..” you whined, rocking your hips to meet his movements. He curled his fingers in response, stroking and toying your gummy walls. “Aaa.. please..” you moaned into the sheets. You spread your legs wider, trying to accommodate his thrusting fingers, which caused your position to lower.

His other hand trailed from your behind, smoothing over your hips and then tucking back under your body. He pressed the palm of his hand against your lower stomach, forcing you to keep your ass raised. Whimpering needly you raised your head and looked over your shoulder as best you could, his intense gaze pinned yours almost immediately.

“So disobedient today.” He scowled, moving his hand from your stomach to grasp your hair. He tugged harshly, pulling your head back. “Mngh-!” You cried out weakly at the tugging pain. “Keep your head down.” He ordered, then forced your head back down against the sheets.

“Haa..” you whined, feeling warm frustrated tears prick the corner of your eyes. His fingers never stopped their relentless thrusting into your core, you felt a fiery ache building up inside you. “Please..” you begged, voice slightly muffled.

“You’ll get what you want when I give it to you, doll.” He clicked his tongue and scowled at your disruptive movements. You curled your feet over the edge of the bed and released a hot shaky breath. You knew it was going be a long night of him edging you into utter submission.

JAKE :

Missionary

Jake is a romantic man, and he loves nothing more than to hold you in his arms whilst your making love.

He definitely whispers sweet nothings into your ear and presses soft kisses and delicate bites against your neck while you cling to him desperately.

He’ll eat up every little moan and whine that slips pass your lips with a searing kiss.

Chests pressed firmly together, Jake had you pinned to the bed, your slick cunt stuffed full of his cock. You threw your arms around his shoulders and met his lips in a deep kiss.

Your tongues fought for dominance even though you never win the match. He groaned each time your lips parted, and you whined softly at the separation.

“Jakey..” you panted and raised your legs, wrapping them loosely around the back of his thighs. This granted him easier access to your aching core, his thick cock reaching deep inside you, pulling delighted gasps from your lips.

“Ah-!” You cried out, throwing your head against the plush pillows. His hips smacked against yours, the erotic sound of skin slapping against skin filling the bedroom.

“y/n..” he groaned deeply, one of his hands held your hip whilst the other threaded into your hair allowing him to tilt your head and pull your lips back to his. He greedily swallowed each moan and blissful gasp that escaped you with a primal eagerness.

Your mind soon felt hazy as your breath was truly being stolen from your lungs and the deep ache building in your core was almost ready to burst, eventually he pulled back to allow you to breath.

His thrusts became languid as he committed the sight of you below him to memory. Your eyes hazy with pleasure, lips swollen and parted tantalizingly as you panted below him, trying to catch your breath.

You quivered under him, his teasingly slow pace baiting a needy whine from your throat for him. He groaned hotly at the sound, unable to withhold himself as he dove back in for another all-consuming kiss. Then he finally increased his pace again as he thrust into you quickly, your bodies pressed flush together.

SUNGHOON :

Riding

Since I find Sunghoon to be rather aloof you’ll have to be the one to initiate intimacy most of the time. He’s unsure, so prefers positions where you’re leading.

Particularly likes to watch you as you whine and moan on top of him. Your hands pressed against his firm chest, or maybe entwined with his, as you cutely bounce on his cock.

Will grasp your hips with bruising strength when he’s close, he starts to lose himself to the pleasure and can be unintentionally a little rough. Not that you mind of course~

You moan softly as you sink down onto Sunghoon’s cock. He lay flat on his back on your shared bed, a bright blush coating his cheeks and his lips parted in a silent gasp. You grasp his hands, entwining your fingers together, as you take him entirely.

“Haa..” he moans softly at the feeling, his hands gripping yours back. His flustered blush sinks deeper, travelling down his neck. He looks up at you, his gaze full of heat, as you straddle his hips.

“Mm..” you sigh breathily, tilting your head back slightly as you relish in the full feeling, his cock filling your tight cunt snugly. “Hoon..” you blush as you meet his hot gaze, causing him glance away nervously.

“Sorry..” he mutters sheepishly, as if he shouldn’t have been staring, and drew his bottom lip into his mouth.

“Ah.. no.. Sunghoon..” you trip over your words, your blush brightening at his cuteness. “I want you to keep your gaze on me..” you wet your lips, then pursed them in a small pout.

“O-ok..” He mumbled, his eyes flicking back to you, his cheeks still alight. You gave his hands a comforting squeeze as you rose to you knees, stopping when only the tip of his cock remained inside you.

“Aah..” you both moaned together as you sunk back down and repeated your movements. Drawing him out and then pushing back down, slowly increasing the rhythm each time.

“y/n..” he gasped in pleasure as you rode him, your cunt squeezing him pleasurably and your breasts bouncing at each thrust. He clutched your hands back and thrust up to meet your movements, soon gaining more confidence.

SUNOO :

Prone Bone

(For those of you that don’t know this position, it’s basically missionary but the person underneath faces the bed and not their partner.)

Sunoo is usually portrayed as a cute guy with a ton of aegyo and If I'm being honest. I feel like he's the worst when it comes to sex. He would definitely like any position it's just, he just loves how the position gives him easy access to your slick cunt, he can just thrust his hips down against yours and bury himself deep inside you. I’ve got a massive HC that Sunoo is a breeder, and this is a good position for that.

Sunoo loves to feel your body against his whilst your having sex, he won’t admit it but having you restrained under his weight is a huge turn on.

He’ll cage your head between his arms, his lips pressed against your neck as he marks you as his own because even though everyone knows you’re a couple no one will dare to try and steal you away if you walk around with his love bites decorating your neck. He gets jealous quite easily, so your neck will never be bare.

“O-oh!” you gasped as Sunoo pulled out of you suddenly and flipped you over with ease, your naked chest pushed down against the bed. Your cheek rest on the soft pillow as you tried to watch him from the corner of your hazy, half-lidded eyes.

“S-Sunoo..” you whine his name as he lines the tip of his cock back up with your sloppy cunt. You had both been at it for hours already and you’d lost count of the number of times he’d made you come undone. Your neck stung pleasantly from the multiple hickeys and bite marks he’d decorated you with.

You weren’t even sure how many times he’d cum inside you this evening, you’d long since lost count of that too. Your body ached from all the different positions he’d pushed, bent and held you in. All while telling you how much he wanted to breed you, that he wouldn’t be satisfied until you’d both cum in each new position.

“Haa..” you whined weakly as he sunk back into you. Each time he pulled back his seed leaks passed your messy cunt’s lips, your stomach felt bloated from how much he’d filled you up already. “Sunoo..” you couldn’t even string a sentence together; your mind was numb with pleasure.

“This morning..” He groaned hotly and pressed his body down against your back, pinning you to the sheets. His arms were braced either side of the pillow as he made sure he wasn’t crushing you under his weight. “I didn’t want to leave the bed, I wanted to abandon all my duties..” He smack his hips down against yours, immediately setting a deepb, slow pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day.. thinking about all the different ways I would breed you..” he moaned unashamedly, his lips pressed up against your ear and he spilled his dirty thoughts to you.

“Ah-!” You cried out as he gave one harsh, deep thrust that buried the tip of his cock against your cervix. “Sunoo..” you gasped, pressing your forehead against the pillow as he stopped thrusting and remained buried inside you.

“Mmn.. more.. ” You whimpered while wriggling your hips against his to try encourage him to move again.

“Fuck.. y/n..” he groaned hotly, you're begging and moaning of his name had his cock pulsing for you. His hands fisted the bed sheets, his weight felt lighter on your back as he started fucking into you quicker.

“Sunoo..” you panted heavily; your bulging stomach was being pressed against the bed. “Haa..” you moaned softly and chewed your bottom lip; you wondered if it would just come gushing out when he was done.

JUNGWON :

Spooning

He’s got easy access to your neck, so get ready for plenty of kisses and love bites. Plus those tantalising lips can whisper sweet nothings into your ear as he slowly fucks between your thighs.

I’m rolling with the idea, get ready to try and be quiet as he teases you relentlessly in a room full of sleeping band mates~ you’ll have to bite your lip quite hard to hold back the moans he’ll tempt from your lips.

“W-Won’..” you whisper softly, your bottom lip drawn between your teeth, your eyes screwed shut. “We-.. we can’t..” your voice was barely audible as you try and keep your delicate moans from escaping passed your lips. You quiver in his gentle hold as he embraces you from behind, spooning you in your shared bunk in the room.

“We never get any time alone in the dorm..” he sighed softly, his warm breath tickling the back of your neck. His hands were tucked under your top, his smooth palms cupping your breasts as he rolled your perked nipples between his fingers. “And I'm sick of quickies..” his silvery voice sent heat flooding to your core, your entire face heating up.

“B-but..” you shudder as he trails one hand down your stomach, slipping into your trousers and into your panties. “Mmn-!” You chomp down on your lip to muffle your gasps as his fingers circle your opening.

“Shh, y/n..” he whispers into your ear, his teeth grazing the tender cartilage. He chuckled quietly as you whine, his fingers parting your folds and sinking into your dripping wet cunt. You continue to bite your lip, holding in your moans as he pumps and scissors his fingers in you, your hips following his lead.

You’d been craving him too and you really did have no private time in the dorm, or anywhere for that matter. Your drenched cunt gave away just how much you desired him. You bit your lip and decided the risk was more than worth it, all you wanted right now was your lovers cock stuffed inside you.

“Y-you..” you stammer quietly, his other hand still playing with your breast. He grins against your ear, biting it and causing you to jolt as it sends sparks down your body. “A-ah..” a weak moan escapes you as he continues to tease you all over.

“You’ll wake them up..” he warns you as he trails his lips down the side of your face, ignoring your lips and resting in your neck. He sucks your sensitive skin, drawing back only to return to the same spot and nip the area.

“Mmn!” You cry out, then freeze in place. A sleepy murmur from someone else in the room sets your heart racing. Your body shakes in Jungwon’s hold, yet he continues his advances as pulls his soaked fingers out of your cunt and pushes your panties down to your knees.

“W-Won’..” you whine his name, you couldn’t stand his teasing anymore. “M-more..” you whisper, shaking your hips back against his bulge. He inhales sharply, then releases a gentle laugh. While he tugs down his own boxers, freeing himself and lining his cock up with your seeping cunt from behind, he finally releases your breast and holds his hand in front of your mouth.

“Suck.” He whispered hotly and you do just that, taking his first two fingers into your mouth as he holds your face still. He sinks into you little by little then drags his hips back, only to thrusts back into you slowly again, drawing out each and every thrust into your aching cunt.

“Mmph..” you moan around his fingers. His free hand tucks around your body and returns to your cunt, easily finding your clit. Your orgasm was building too quickly, the coil in your stomach almost ready to burst. You knew he wouldn’t want to end this so quickly, so you were most certainly in for an incredibly long and torturous night at the hands of your teasing lover.

[jenctrl]

Scattered Reflection kim minji

pairing; idol!minji x non!idol reader

synopsis; Despite being together for a year, Y/n can't help but feel like Minji is keeping her at arms length whenever she gets hit with the reality of how secretive their relationship is and the pain it causes her to keep it from everyone close to her.

genre; smau, written-chapters, angst, fluff, comedy

warnings; relationship problems, parental issues, trauma, mentions of mental health, toxic industry, tba, each part will come with warnings if there are any

updates; sundays

status; ongoing

starring; newjeans (minji, hanni, danielle), le sserafim (yunjin, kazuha), enhypen (jungwon) oc's, tba

a/n; im very busy atm, but still wanted to do this so im gonna try my best to get the parts out every sunday for yall (keep in mind there might be delays)

group chats; pantaloons | eva-pilots | extras

parts;

1 - Compass

2 - Homotron 3000

3 - Only when it works for you

4 - Anxious (stomach ache)

5 - Hanni's anti-psychotics

6 - Lovesick

7 - Sick and guilty

8 - Brat summer

9 - Newlyweds anti

10 - Capable of love

10.5 - Beautiful girls

11 - Everybody's business (not lonely)

12 - Waste your time on me

13 - Another excuse

14 - Investigating

15 - No time for consideration

16 - Inconvenience

16.5 - Back off

17 - Void

18 - Don't take it to heart Yunjoon

19 - Rotten flesh

20 - Fear of dying

21 - Great people and nightmares

22 - Indeed not a joke

23 - Left out

23.5 - They before me

24 - Losing it (real time)

25 - Suki desu

25.5 - In my bed (what about me?)

tba!

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[shuxiii]

GORGEOUS— hanni pham

──── ★yn!idol reader x !idol hanni pham

synopsis: rumors were circulating online that aespa yn apparently held a deep abhorrence against Newjeans Hanni, reaching through headlines causing fandoms to divide. Fandom wars began to arise as the company had to take action towards the drama. Eventually only one solution came to the light, fake dating— But what if the two idols did loathe each other?

warning ; strong words, drama, suggestive jokes

tags ; idol x idol, wlw, floff, smau, fake dating, enemies to lovers

Chapters

01.

02.

03.

04.

05.

06.

07.

08.

09.

10.

11.

12.

13.

14.

END

[enha-stars]

✧ Homecoming (18+)

paring: idol!heeseung x fem!reader (fluff, smut)

summary: Heeseung, your boyfriend, has been on tour for the past 2 months with the rest of Enhypen. According to him, he’d be home in five days. But not everything goes according to plan, and sometimes, fate is on our side.

warnings: swearing, SMUT, kissing, minor exhibitionism, unprotected sex, teasing, hair pulling, wall sex (basically), oral sex & fingering (fem receiving), crying, praise, slight dom!hee, fluff

wc: 7.1 k

Heeseung and the rest of the boys lounged in his shared hotel room, waiting for their manager to figure out their recent predicament. Although their tour had officially ended a few days ago, they still had a few promotions left. This morning, their manager had told them that the promotions might have been pushed to virtual, which meant they could officially go back home. 

“I hope we get to go home soon,” Riki mumbles, half dangling off the bed with his legs in Jay’s lap. 

Jungwon and Sunghoon nod, mumbling in agreement. Heeseung was too busy staring at the door to contribute to their conversation. Everyone knew that out of the seven, Heeseung wanted to go home so badly. 

He loved touring and his fans and the amazing experience that came with his job, but he missed you. He missed you so much that when his manager first told him that there was a possibility that they would be going home sooner than intended, he almost burst into tears. None of the other members even teased him for it, knowing that when it came to you, he was a bit extreme. 

“Hyung,” Jay called him. He nudged Heeseung with his foot and the man snapped out of his trance and raised an eyebrow at Jay. “Are you going to tell Y/n?”

Heeseung thought about it. He could tell you, but nothing was confirmed yet and he’d hate to give you false hope. Plus, he’d really like to surprise you. He could already see it. The way your eyes would light up and your soft lips would part before you whispered his name. 

Heeseung shook his head and patted Jake’s head that rested on his lap. “No, I probably won’t. I want to surprise her.”

Jay nodded in understanding. He knew how much Heeseung had missed you. Hell, they all missed you.  You weren’t just Heeseung’s girlfriend, you were their friend. Someone who took care of them and got taken care of. Before he could respond, the door opened and all seven heads turned to the sound of their manager’s voice.

“Good news, guys,” their manager smiled at them. “We’re taking the next flight home.”

A collective sigh of relief was heard in the room and Heeseung smiled so bright that Sunoo laughed at him. 

“Don’t look too excited, hyung.” Jake grinned. 

He was going home. He’d be with you soon enough. The thought alone had him on cloud nine, not minding the teasing that came from his members. He even let Jake borrow his beanie and gave one of his jackets to Sunghoon. 

He couldn’t wait to have you in his arms. Talking to you everyday was something, but it wasn’t enough. He missed how you felt in his arms, how he felt in you. He missed your laugh and your mouth. 

Heeseung checked his phone and smiled at your last message. A quick update of your day and a picture of your outfit. He sent you a quick text, ‘Let’s call later, I love you.’ And turned off his phone. 

There was a small pep to his step as he packed. Instead of throwing all his stuff into the suitcase, he followed Sunghoon’s example and neatly folded his clothes. You’d be proud of him, he thought. Wondering if his reward would be a kiss or a simple shake of the head. 

Now, there was nothing but a few hours and a plane ride between you both. 

He couldn’t wait to see you. To tell you he loved you. To make up for two months of time. 

You glanced at your phone when you heard that familiar ping! When you saw Heeseung’s name on the screen, you lunged for your phone, almost tumbling off the stool you were sitting on. 

Your lips lifted into a small smile at Heeseung’s text. It wasn’t enough, but it would have to do. At least you would get to hear his voice later. For now, you liked his message and placed your phone back on the counter. Currently, you were trying to finish a painting you had started a few weeks ago.

The inspiration for the painting came to you after you had watched a fan’s recording of one of their recent concerts. The fan had managed to record all seven members dancing while the moon shone brightly down on them. It sparked something in you and here you were, trying to decide how many pieces of confetti you wanted to paint. After deciding on the aesthetic instead of the quantity, you let yourself get lost in the painting. It almost felt like you were with them, standing by the stage as they performed. 

Playing their music as you worked only helped your delusions. 

A few hours passed and your back and neck hurt. Stiff, you slowly stretched your back and winced at the sounds you heard. If Heeseung was here, he’d crack your back for you. Or if Jay was here, he’d offer you a heating pad. You stared at the finished painting and grinned. This was one of your best yet. Using your white quill, you signed the bottom of the painting and let it sit. 

Quietly, you shuffled across your apartment in your socks, swaying your hips to Sunoo’s voice. With Heeseung gone and none of the other members bothering you, you lived a relatively quiet life. In quiet moments like this, you truly felt thankful for them. They brought so much joy to your life. Loud and disruptive, but warm and healing at the same time. 

As you stood in front of your fridge, your smile turned into a frown at the thought of Heeseung. You missed him so much. His hoodies stopped smelling like him and video chatting wasn’t enough. You missed hearing his laughter and his constant singing. You missed the way he’d find ways to touch you, having to have skin-to-skin contact with you at all times. You missed his teasing and horrible jokes. It didn’t help that you hadn’t properly finished since he had left.

No matter how hard you tried, how wet you were, nothing could push you over the edge the way he could. And you tried, gosh, you had tried. Nothing could compare to him, and you silently cursed him for it. Of course he’d ruin your own fingers for you. He always did want to be the best. 

Stop, you told yourself. Don’t think about him. You had come to tell yourself this many times over the weeks, knowing that even his voice wasn’t enough anymore. You needed him. 

You sighed as you scouted your fridge for all the groceries you bought yesterday and put them in a bag. You planned to stop by their dorm to clean up a bit and cook a few dishes for them. They would all be home in a few days and you wanted to give Jay a break. 

The poor guy, you frowned. You made a note to tell Heeseung to help the man out more. 

Grabbing your phone and keys, you picked up the painting and bag of groceries. The painting would look amazing on the wall adjacent to the television in their dorm and you had enough groceries to last them a few days. 

The drive to their dorm was a quick one. Usually, you would have opted to walk, but you had no plans on walking back in the night alone. 

You smiled at the attendant and made your way to their floor. Thankfully, they had fixed the elevator a few weeks ago. Maybe they finally saw the videotape of you flipping off the camera after pointing at the Out of Order sign and decided to take pity on you. 

You swiped your access card and hummed as the elevator slowly made its way up to the seventh floor. Your lips always quirked at the irony of the bright number 7 that flashed. Seven on seven. It was almost poetic. 

You put down the bag of groceries and leaned the painting on your leg as you dug through your purse for the dorm key Heeseung had given you. After a few moments, you found the Pikachu keychain and pulled at it. Your thumb brushed against the small head of the figure, recalling Heeseung’s excitement at matching keychains. 

Turning the key, you kicked the door open and winced at the smell. No matter how hard you or anyone else cleaned the dorm, a distinct scent of boy would always linger. Sighing, you grabbed the painting and bag before making your way inside, kicking your shoes off to the side. 

Immediately, you scanned the large room. You were the only one who had been here constantly in the last two months but it was always better to be safe. Sometimes, the staff liked to move the furniture around to change things up. 

Once you had made sure that all the plants were alive, you opened a few windows. It was a bit chilly out but the place needed to be aired out. 

You connected your phone to Heeseung’s speaker and began looking for the hammer that Riki had once bought because he claimed it “looked cool”. The painting was heavy and needed heavy duty assistance, which meant you needed screws as well. 

“Where did he put it?” You mumbled, having gone through all the kitchen drawers. The thing about Riki was that when he bought something, he valued it beyond anything. He usually slept with the item or banned any member from touching it. While endearing, it usually meant that when his phase was over, he tossed the item, never to be found again. 

Finally, you found the neon green hammer under the television table and sighed. That boy, you chastised. 

You reached into your pocket and grabbed the small screw you needed. Placing it on the wall, you quietly hammered it in. The best part about being Heeseung’s girlfriend and friends with the members and staff, was that you had free reign to do things like this. 

No one bat an eye if they found you hammering a painting against the wall. It made your heart squeeze, knowing that you had found your place here, with them. 

Fuck, you missed them. Only a few more days. 

Once the painting was up, you stood in the middle of the room, taking it all in. I was right, you smiled. It does tie the whole room together. 

Nodding to yourself, you grabbed the cloth you had wrung out earlier and began to dust the visible surfaces. You had cleaned up the apartment only last week, so it was still freshly clean. You didn’t have to clean up the dorm, in fact, everyone had specifically told you not to, but you wanted to. It made you feel like you were doing something; helping somehow. Plus, it made you feel at ease. You could smell faint hints of your boyfriend and the quietness of it all helped calm you down. 

Your own apartment was small, and cleaning it wasn’t nearly satisfying enough. Plus, this was the least you could do for the members and the staff. They all worked so hard, and you liked cleaning. When there was no one nagging at your or any time constraint, cleaning was almost therapeutic. 

Once you had dusted the surfaces and vacuumed, you made your way to the kitchen. You had an idea of what you wanted to cook, deciding on seven dishes; one that catered to each member. Washing your hands, you started cooking. 

You liked cooking on your own, but it was always better with someone else. Unlike Jay, you didn’t mind cooking with him. There were many nights when you’d tell him to relax and take over the kitchen, but he’d always want to do something. So, you and Jay were often in the kitchen while the younger members watched you from the island. 

Even now, you could imagine his slight frown as you took over the counter, not wanting to say anything but he never was good at controlling his facial expressions. 

You quietly chuckled to yourself, already knowing Jay’s reaction to a stocked fridge. He’d freeze at the sight and immediately start feeling bad, and you’d only pat his head and tell him to shut up. 

A few hours passed and you slowly stocked the fridge, using all of Jay’s containers. Once the food was safely put away, you began wiping down the counters. Your heart felt so full at the domestication of it all. You were tired and your body hurt, but it would be worth it to see their thankful smiles, knowing you were taking care of them as best as you could. 

Through the music and your quiet humming, you heard noise in the hallway. It started with shuffling and footsteps and turned into ruckus, with yelling and shoving. 

Freezing, you stared at the door before grabbing the closest thing to you, a butter knife. Any of the staff members would have texted you if they were coming and no one else should be here. Slowly, you walked towards the door, forgetting to turn down the music. You winced when Bite Me began playing, hoping the intruder(s) wouldn’t take the song too seriously. 

You watched in slow motion as the door swung open and you stopped breathing when you heard familiar voices and your knees buckled when your eyes landed on him. He was here. Why on earth was he here right now? 

Heeseung swings the door open, mumbling at how slow Jake could be sometimes when everything fell quiet around him. Looking up, his words died on his tongue as he made eye contact with you. 

The members behind him fell quiet, staring at you. All you could do was stare back, lips parted and eyes shining. Were you dreaming? Had the music and the spices mixed with the fumes of the cleaning supplies, putting you in psychosis? 

That’s how you all stood, staring at each other until you licked your lips and blinked a few times. You hadn’t breathed in what felt like minutes. “Heeseung?” Your voice was quiet, afraid the mirage would disappear if you spoke louder. 

Your voice; your soft, velvety voice brought him back and he smiled at you, his eyes bright and hands shaking. “Hi, pretty.” He spoke equally softly, afraid his words would tremble.

You dropped the butter knife and its clunk synced with the sound of Heeseung’s suitcase and suddenly, you were in his arms. His strong, shaky arms wrapped around you and you buried your head in his shoulder, breathing him in. His own head was in your hair, his hands traveling the length of your back, making sure you were real. 

He mumbled quiet nothings at you while you clenched your eyes shut, hating how your eyes watered. He pulled away and immediately cooed when he saw the tears falling from your eyes. His own eyes shined a bit, crinkled and glassy. 

“Oh, baby.” He used his thumbs to wipe the tears from your eyes. His heart was going to explode with the way you were looking up at him with wide eyes and trembling lips. Cupping your face, he placed a soft kiss on your lips. Before he could pull away, you grabbed the front of his hoodie and with your other hand, you cupped his cheek and tilted your head, deepening the kiss. He smiled into the kiss and you could feel his heart beating against your chest. His lips were warm and your head felt fuzzy at the scent of his familiar cologne. 

He licked your bottom lip, asking for entrance, but before you could taste his tongue, someone cleared their throat around you. You pulled away from Heeseung, smiling at his closed eyes and the pout on his lips. Turning, you realized that the other members had moved further into the dorm. Jake, Sunoo, and Riki were staring at the painting in awe while Jungwon was checking on his plants. Sunghoon was walking around, admiring the cleanliness of the room and Jay stood in the kitchen, hands on his hips as he stared at you, fridge doors open. 

You stepped away from Heeseung, grinning at the way his lips pursed and how he reached for you. You smiled at the boys in front of you and opened your arms. Immediately, Riki’s tall body enveloped your smaller one, knocking you back. You felt Heeseung’s warm hands steady you and laughed as Riki squeezed your body tight.

You rubbed his back, knowing how bad his attachment issues got. He had texted you everyday, updating you with pictures or quick voice messages. You also received his longer texts, the ones that were filled with doubts and fears. You knew Riki saw you as a parental figure, and you were okay with it. Patting his head, you whispered quiet, soothing words to the boy. 

“Move, Riki, my turn.” Sunoo rolled his eyes, pulling Riki off you. You could only laugh at Riki’s yelp before Sunoo pulled you into a hug. You hugged the boy just as tightly, kissing his cheek. You rocked with him as he buried his face into your shoulder. He, too, like Riki, had often texted you with doubts. You wished he would see himself the way you saw him, bright and talented. 

You rubbed his back, basking in the familiarity of it all. Sunoo kissed your cheek before pulling away, a wobbly smile on his face. You pat his cheek before Jake shoved Sunoo and bearhugged you, crushing you a bit. You smile as he squeezes you tight and you pat his head, knowing how attached to you he was. Saying goodbye for him wasn’t easy and you could tell he missed you by the way his body trembled. 

“Jake, move, you big baby. It’s my turn.” Jungwon pouted, arms crossed. Jake mumbled a string of incomprehensible words and released his hold on you. You pat his chest and smile at the puppy eyes he gives you. You’d have to delegate your time with them all. 

You hugged Jungwon’s slightly smaller frame, slightly surprised at his eagerness. Jungwon, while very affectionate, usually hesitated with hugs. But he needed this, so he let himself sigh into your hold. 

Behind you, you can feel Heeseung’s heat against your back. He’s close, and he’s trying to breathe you in. All he wanted to do was grab your hand and pull you into his room. He needed to kiss you, to touch your skin, bask in your scent. He would have to wait, though, because he wasn’t the only one who loved you. You were his girlfriend, yes, but you were more. You were a part of their family, someone who had been with them since their days on I-Land. 

You were Jay’s sous chef, someone who eased his burden. You were Jake’s bridge, someone he could rely on and felt safe with. You were Sunghoon’s pillar, there to remind him to stand tall and lean on you if he needed to. You were Sunoo’s breath of fresh air, a reminder that he was not alone and that things would be okay. You were Jungwon’s and Riki’s biggest supporter, caring for them the way they needed to be cared for. You stood behind Jungwon, knowing he needed care and support even though he was the leader. To you, he was still a kid. And Riki, you were everything to Riki. A sister and a mother, both when he needed one. Heeseung needed to be patient. It was his fault really, having inserted you in their lives. But he was thankful, so thankful. 

“Jungwon,” Sunghoon tsked. “I’m waiting.” He stood in front of you, arms crossed as he tapped his foot impatiently. He wasn’t the most physically affectionate, but it had been two months and he had missed you. 

Rolling his eyes, Jungwon kissed your cheek before stepping away, shoving Sunghon’s shoulder before the older boy gently wrapped his arms around you. You laughed at his behaviour, before squeezing him tight. He wasn’t often like this, but when he was, you knew he just needed some attention. 

Gently, you rubbed Sunghoon’s back, watching as his stiff shoulders slowly dropped and he melted into the hug. It was the most platonic form of affection, but it did wonders. 

Sunghoon pulled away from you, grinning so wide you almost poked his little fangs. You smiled and turned to face Jay, who still stood in the kitchen with a frown on your lips. 

You shook your head at him, he was truly predictable. “Come on, Jay, aren’t you going to give me a hug?” 

Jay sighed and dropped his shoulders before he shuffled to you. You spread your arms before wiggling your eyebrows at him. He smiled before wrapping his arms around you, hugging you the way you assumed he hugged children. You ruffled his hair before patting his back, knowing how tough the past two months must have been for him. He would tell you, all in due time. 

Stepping away, he frowned once again. “Y/n, you really didn’t have to do all of this. Who’s going to eat all that food?” 

You laughed and pointed to the five boys behind him, all looking at you with a sheepish smile. “Them. And you. And Hee.” Before Jay could argue further, you raised your hand. “I wanted to make sure you guys came home to some food and I wanted to give you a break. So, just say thank you and shut up.” 

Jay stared at you before sighing and nodding. “Thanks, Y/n. You’re the best.” You laughed at his defeated face, patting his cheek. 

“Don’t sound so upset about it,” you teased. 

Once Jay stepped away from you and walked back to the kitchen, the rest of the members fell back onto the couches, exhaustion knocking them back. Behind you, Heeseung wrapped his arms around your waist and dropped his head on your shoulder. He kissed your neck and you smiled, dropping your head back on his shoulder. 

“Y/n,” Riki patted the seat next to him. “Come sit. You too, hyung.” 

Heeseung didn’t unwrap his arms from your waist so you both slowly walked to them. He fell back onto the sofa, pulling you into his lap. You settled in, shifting a bit before you felt comfortable. Heeseung squeezed your hips, and you grinned. He couldn’t have been more obvious. 

“So,” you clapped your hands together. “What the hell are you all doing here? I thought you guys weren’t going to be back for a few days.” 

Jungwon grinned at you. “All of our ending promotions turned virtual so we got to come home early.”

You could hear Jay mumbles before he fell back onto Jake, ignoring the other boy's groan as he shoved him to the side. 

“Why didn’t anyone tell me? I would have come to the airport. Or had a warm meal ready.”

Jay waved his hand, dismissing your words. “We’re still stuffed. We ate before we left and again on the plane.” He patted his stomach. “I’m about to explode. 

Sunoo pointed at Heeseung. “He wanted to surprise you but you surprised us. How often have you been coming to the dorm?”

You shrugged, your face feeling warm. “A few times… a week.” You bit your bottom lip as they laughed. You could feel Heeseung’s chest rumble and you leaned back on him. You slightly shifted your hips and his nails dug into your skin. Your own breath hitched when you felt his bulge. 

“Tell me about the tour! How was it?” Heeseung almost groaned when you leaned forward, excited. He was losing it a bit. Here he was, back home and you were with him, and yet, he wasn’t in you. What was he doing? Why hadn’t he taken you to his room and fucked you yet? 

The rest of the members started talking, words spilling out of their mouth as you sat perched on his lap, listening carefully. They spoke over each other, excited to tell you all about the tour. 

Heeseung barely listened, focusing more on the heat of your body on his. He chimed in a few times but he was more interested in rubbing circles on your lower back, smirking to himself everytime you flexed your back. He had missed you so much, and all he wanted was to show you. He knew you wanted him just as bad, but your self control was always better than his. 

Slipping his hand under your shirt, he rubbed your back. At the feeling of his nails gently hovering over your skin, you felt goosebumps litter across your skin. It was getting harder to pay attention to Jake’s stories. You could feel heat traveling down your body, resting between your legs. You wanted him so badly. But you also wanted to spend some time with the rest of the members. You missed them too. 

Plus, you didn’t trust Heeseung right now. Knowing him, he’d want to fuck you but everyone was home. You had some decorum. So you ignored his light, teasing fingers on your skin. 

“When did you paint that?” Sunghoon asked, pointing to the large painting behind your head. “It’s beautiful.”

You grinned. “Thanks, Hoon. I just finished it today, actually. Figured I'd put it up before you guys got here.”

Heeseung wasn’t listening to the praises you were receiving. He would praise you later, rewarding you with everything he had. He had so much to thank you for. For waiting for him, for the food and the painting, for being his. If only you would give him all of your attention. 

Having enough, Heeseung gripped your hips tighter, lifting you off him as he stood. A tumblr of surprised noises left your mouth at the sudden movement and you turned your head to say something but your words got caught in your throat when you looked into his eyes. 

Wide and slightly dark, you knew what that meant. Stifling a laugh, you simply raised your eyebrow, slightly impressed by his self control. You were sure he would have jumped you earlier, but he held on. Almost for two hours. 

The members continued to talk; not paying any attention to the silent conversation you were having with Heeseung. They had long gotten used to it all. Plus, it was easier when they ignored it all. 

“Y/n,” Heeseung enunciated your name, tasting each letter on his tongue. You could have squeezed your thighs together at his tone alone, but you held back. “Will you come help me unpack? I’m a bit tired.”

Your eyes softened a bit at his words. Of course he was tired. You chose to ignore the enticing fruit his voice offered, giving him the benefit of the doubt. You simply nodded and followed him as he grabbed his suitcase, walking closely behind him as he led you to his room. 

Thank fuck he had his own room. Being the eldest had its perks and it helped that Jungwon only felt comfortable sleeping with someone else. He was so glad his bedroom was at the end, furthest away from the family room. 

Heeseung’s entire body felt like it was on fire. He had been thinking about you on the plane. Everything he’d like to do. From where he wanted to place his tongue to the food he’d make you. He kicked his door open, dropping the suitcase beside his door. 

You faced his bed before clapping your hands, turning to face him. “Okay, let me do it—” Heeseung cut you off by slamming his lips against yours as he pushed you into the door, a hand on your hip and face. Your surprised gasp was swallowed by him as he kissed you ferociously.  

The kiss was needy and hungry, but so were you. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you kissed him back deeply. He pushed himself further into you until pain seared in your back. The mixture of pain and pleasure made you stifle out a moan and Heeseung slipped his tongue into your mouth. Sucking on your tongue, he fitted his leg in between yours, his thigh rubbing your pussy. 

Pulling away, Heeseung began kissing down your neck, nibbling and sucking. Your head fell back as you bit your lip, trying to keep quiet. He bit down on your neck and your hands flew into his hair, massaging his scalp lightly with your nails. You feel him sigh against your neck and tighten his grip on your waist. 

Unconsciously, you begin grinding on his knee. Heeseung kisses up your neck before capturing your lips in another heated, messy kiss. Saliva coats your mouth as his hands travel from your waist to neck. He slightly presses down on your throat and you moan into his mouth. 

“Fuck, baby. You’re killing me.” Heeseung pants into your mouth, lips hovering your swollen, bruised ones. His own lips are swollen and his eyes are blown wide. He swears he could cum in his pants at the sight of you alone. Two months without being able to touch you–without being able to feel you–were hell. 

Your eyes are shut and your lips tremble at the feeling of his clothed thigh rubbing your pussy. After weeks of unsatisfying pleasure, this was too much for you. You were too sensitive. Heeseung smiled at the dazed look on your face and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before he took off his shirt.

At the movement, you opened your eyes. If Heeseung’s arm and leg were not keeping you upright, you would have collapsed at the sight of him. He looked so beautiful. Hair as wild as his eyes and his perfect chest on display. Gingerly, you lifted your hand and laid it flat on Heeseung’s chest, where his heart was. He watched you with half-lidded eyes and smiled at your frown. His heart was beating so fast. 

You looked up at him and he couldn’t help but press his lips gently against yours. You were so beautiful that it was too much for him. He watched you quietly as you lay your other hand on his right peck. He could only stand there, frozen, when you leaned forward and kissed his heart. His eyes shut when you began to litter soft, feather-like kisses across his chest. 

“I missed you so much, Hee.” You whispered against his skin. You kissed his neck, leaving open-mouth kisses. Your hand moved up his body until it reached the back of his neck. You pushed him downwards and bit his neck, smiling when he groaned. You kissed his Adam's apple before pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips. 

Heeseung opened his eyes and had to blink away the pure desire that clouded his mind. You stared at each other before he dropped his head, forehead resting against yours. “I missed you so much, Y/n. You don’t understand, I was going crazy. You were always on my mind and all I wanted to do was hear your laugh.” His words were quiet, spoken only for you. He didn’t miss the way you squeezed your thighs together at his words, his knee still in between you. 

“Kiss me,” you breathed. Heeseung smiled before he kissed you passionately, completely devouring you. As you kissed, he unbuttoned your cardigan, tossing it to the side. Quickly, he unclasped your bra before throwing it behind him. When his hands brushed your sensitive nipples, you pulled away from the kiss to release a shaky breath. Heeseung wasted no time in moving his head down to suck and bite your nipples, giving each one the proper love and attention he knew they deserved. His tongue circles and prods until you're shaking, unable to form coherent words. 

Slowly, Heeseung moves down your body, kissing and licking until he’s on his knees, looking up at you like you were his saviour and he was a man condemned to hell. Your knees buckled at the sight of him, messy and wild. 

“Let me taste you, baby.” He hooked his fingers on the waistband of your leggings and underwear before pulling them down. “I need to taste you so badly before I lose my mind.” 

You could only nod before moaning as Heeseung buried his face in between your thighs, nosing your clit. You let your head hit the door when you hear him inhale. You almost don’t catch his words when he mumbles into your pussy. 

“Fuck, you smell so good. ‘Gonna cum at the sight alone.” He looks up at you before rubbing your arousal all over your clit, earning moans and whimpers from you. He keeps eye contact with you before licking his hand clean. “You taste so good, baby.” 

He begins to leave wet, open mouth kisses to your thigh, alternating between biting and sucking at the soft flesh before he licks a trail of slick down your thigh up to your leaking hole. You buried your hands in his hair as he devoured you. 

Heeseung moans as he slides his tongue in. You arch your back at the feeling, biting your lip to prevent the scream that almost escaped you. His nose pokes at your swollen folds while his tongue works its way into you. He hums as he licks and swallows, the noise sending a shiver up your spine. 

Heeseung groans when you yank on his hair, his name quietly leaving your lips in rushed breaths. You tasted so fucking good, he couldn’t get enough. He sucked on your clit, tilting his head to make sure his tongue was reaching far into you. He shifted his thighs, trying to offer his cock some sort of relief.

Heeseung could have cummed as soon as you began rolling your hips forward, essentially fucking his face. You looked so fucked out, trying to reach your release against his bedroom door as all his members sat right outside. 

“So good,” he chanted. “Taste so good.” 

Groaning, his eyes fluttered shut as he lost himself in you; desperate for everything you could give him and more. He was slurping and sucking your pussy so loudly you wondered if everyone could hear you outside. At the thought, your hips jerked forward and you almost screamed as Heeseung’s face pressed into your pussy, his nose shoved deep within you. 

“Fuck, Hee,” you panted, pulling at his hair even harder. “I’m going to cum. Please–” 

He wasted no time in wrapping his lips around your clit as he sucked it into his mouth, eyes focused on you as your legs clamped around his head, nearly suffocating him. The building of pleasure snapped and you sobbed out his name, clenching your eyes shut.

It was all too much.

Your nerves were on fire as your vision went white but Heeseung continued to lick at you. The bottom half of his face was shiny and slick with your cum but he didn’t care. His tongue worked its way from your entrance all the way to your clit, needing to keep your orgasm going. 

Your body began to shake, knees weak as Heeseung kept lapping up all your juices. His tongue fucked your clit and you felt another build up before you shoved your fist into your mouth to muffle another scream.

“Hee, Hee, Hee. Please. Too much. Please.” You begged him, losing all feeling in your body as he sucked you dry. 

It wasn’t until you yanked his head away did he stop, face dripping with your click and pupils dilated. He sat there on his knees, staring up at you. You looked down at him, trying to remain upright. Your legs shook and tears fell from your eyes. 

Slowly, Heeseung stood. He licked his lips, trying to coat his tongue in your taste again. Nothing would ever taste as good as you did. None of the food he had on the tour could compare. You were addicting, sweet, and if he could, he’d only have you as his meal. 

You leaned back against the door, trying to catch your breath. Heeseung smiles at you and your knees buckle at the sight of your cum on his smiling face. He kisses you and your stomach twists at the taste of your cum on his tongue. It’s dirty and messy but so was he. 

He pulls away before he dips his fingers in your pussy. You whimper at the feeling and the loss when he sticks his fingers into his mouth, sucking as he stares at you. With a pop, he releases his fingers.

“You taste so fucking good.”

You can’t say anything and Heeseung grins at you before he tugs his own sweatpants off. You can only watch as his hard, swollen cock springs up and hits his stomach. Gosh, you had missed it. It was the prettiest cock you had ever seen. The small veins that trace up his length to his red, dripping tip had your mouth watering. 

Grinning, Heeseung slowly walks backwards until he reaches his bed. He sits down, spreading his arms as he stares at you, his cock leaking precum all over the floor. You can’t breathe. It was all too much. You couldn’t think and you couldn’t speak. All you wanted was his cock in you, but he seemed dead set on teasing you. 

“Walk to me, baby.” At your blank gaze, he laughed. “You can do it.” 

Slowly, with shaky legs, you put one foot in front of the other until you reached him. His hands immediately rested on your waist and he was eye level with your tits. Leaning forward, he sucked one nipple while palming the other. Your hands rested on his shoulders, needing support. Then he sucked the other nipple, biting down. You gasped, throwing your head back. 

“Such a good girl.” He kissed the space between your breasts. “Cleaning and cooking for us.” He licked your nipple before pushing you into him. He breathed you in. “You’re too good for me. 

You could feel your slick dripping down your leg. You squeezed Heeseung’s shoulder, eyes glistening. His own eyes softened as he rubbed your clit, his thumb drenched. 

“What is it, baby?” He raised an eyebrow. “What do you want?” Heeseung wanted to feel bad, but he couldn’t. Not when you looked like that. Not when you made him wait two hours before tasting you. 

“You,” your lips trembled. “Please, Hee. Need you. I missed you.”

Your words made Heeseung dizzy but he wanted to hear you say it. He needed to hear you say it. 

“Need what, Y/n? Be more specific, baby. Come on.” 

You moved closer and threw your legs on either side of him, sitting on his lap. You both hissed when your pussy grazed his cock. Dropping your head on his shoulder, you almost sobbed.

“Need your cock in me, Hee. Please. Need you to fuck me.”

Heeseung wrapped an arm around your waist as he turned, throwing you on his bed. You landed on his bed, eyes wide in surprise. Legs spread, Heeseung crawled in between your legs. His cock hurt. You dripped onto his sheets, more aroused than you had ever been. 

“I got you, baby.” He whispered, a love-struck smile on his face. “I hear you.” He leaned down, kissing you. He threaded your hands together as he pressed them down on his mattress. 

While drowning in the kiss, you felt his cock slowly rub against your entrance. You whined into his mouth as he coated his dick in your juices. He kissed you harshly as his cock poked your entrance. You held your breath when he pushed the head slowly inside, moaning against his mouth at the hardness of it. You felt yourself gushing around him, your pussy sucking him in. He moved his kisses to your neck, finding new places to mark you. He pushed his cock inside you slowly until he bottomed out, groaning at how tight you were.

“Fuck,” he shut his eyes. “You’re so fucking tight and yet you’re sucking me in. Missed my cock, baby? Did your pretty pussy miss my dick?” 

You could only moan in response. The feeling of being full after weeks had tears leaking from your eyes. None of your toys could compare to Heeseung, not with how big he was. 

Heeseung began slowly rocking his hips slowly, wanting to give you a moment to breathe. He could tell you were overstimulated, but he wasn’t done. When your eyes fluttered open, his pace fastened and deepened. “Never leave me again,” you mumbled. “Missed you too much.” At your words, Heeseung breathed hard and starting fucking you faster. His hand snaked down, rubbing quick circles on your clit.

Before you could cry out, he slammed his lips against yours, swallowing your moans. “Quiet, baby,” his words wobbled. “They’re all out there.” At the reminder, you squeezed his dick and he fucked you even harder. Your vision blurred before you mumbled out a series of incoherent words. 

“That’s it, baby. You’re taking me so well.”

Heeseung’s forehead was covered in sweat and his cock twitched. “Cum for me, Y/n.” He wasn’t going to last. He needed you to cum right now. He needed to cum in your pussy, needed to fill you up after months of emptiness.

You moaned as you squirted and came all over his cock. You lost all control of your body and felt your walls uncontrollably clench his cock so hard. Heeseung moaned loudly as he bit your neck, cumming inside of you. He emptied himself in you, the squelching sound became louder as your juices mixed and he fucked into you, filling you up. He was mesmerized by the sight of his dick in your cunt, disappearing. This is where he was always meant to be, in you and beside you. 

You babbled a string of words he assumed were his names as he pumped into you, lost in your cunt. He kept fucking you, unable to stop. You were crying, overstimulated and emotional. When the last drop of his cum dripped into your cunt, he slowed his pace. He pressed kisses to your face and neck until he stopped moving his hips. 

Heeseung collapsed on top of you, his head buried in your neck, cock still inside you. You wrapped your legs around his waist and arms around his neck. You couldn’t feel your pussy but Heeseung’s weight on top of you was welcomed. 

After a few minutes, he pressed a kiss to your neck and shifted to get up when you tightened your hold on him, shaking your head. He stopped moving and looked at you. “Baby?”

“No,” you mumbled. “Stay on me. Stay in me.”

Heeseung didn’t need to be told twice. Dropping his head, he laid there. You breathed him in, sweat covering your bodies. Heeseung closed his eyes, unable to stop himself from pressing kisses to your neck. 

You closed your eyes and enjoyed the feeling of Heeseung’s cock inside you. It’s where he belonged, and he had to make up for lost time. 

“Welcome home, baby,” you smiled. 

Heeseung grinned before biting your neck, licking up to your jaw. He pressed a kiss to your jaw, smiling softly at you, only love and adoration in his eyes. “I love you, Y/n.”

Your heart squeezed in your chest. “I love you, Hee.” 

a/n: hello! i finally finished my first heeseung fic! so excited. this is my first time writing proper smut so please bare with me. reblogs and comments are appreciated!!

[gyusrose]

➵ i still get jealous -> y. jw

⚠︎ smut ! (mdni)

✎ toxic!jungwon, unprotected sex, degrading, dirty talk, face-fucking, angry sex

summary: you’ve been friends with jake for as long as you can remember, jungwon shouldn’t feel insecure about him, right?

wc: 1.5k

{ jungwon x fem.reader}

( i got inspired by that one question they asked won in the fan meet hehehe)

“wonie? wonie? is everything alright?” jungwon gripped the steering wheel locking his jaw. of course he wasn’t alright.

you’ve spent the entire night (according to him) on your phone texting that fucker. it’s always ‘jake this’ ‘jake that’ he’s starting to feel a certain way about this dude.

jungwon shook his head at your question, not trying to start arguing while he’s driving.

“you’re just awfully silent, is something bothering you? do you feel sick?”

jungwon rolled his eyes at your naiveness, you pretty much ignored him (again according to him) the whole night.

“i don’t know, maybe ask jake how he feels.” there. he said it, well.. spatted.

you instantly rolled your eyes, he’s back at it again.

“don’t start, you know exactly what’s between me and jake.”

“are you sure ? you were giggling on the phone the whole night!”

“i answered one 3-minute call! that’s it! do you not trust me ?”

“i sometimes feel like i don’t, you barely talked to me, it always jake jake jake jake.”

your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. where was he getting all of this from?

jungwon was in fact wrong. you didn’t ignore him nor talked with jake the whole night. you answers ONE call from him and then turned off your phone to give jungwon all your undivided attention. but jungwon like always, overthinks everything.

“at this point just date him.” at this point jungwon was furious.

“oh stop being ridiculous jungwon!”

“oh i’m ridiculous ? alright we’ll see.”

the rest of the ride was quiet, you didn’t have the guts to respond to jungwon after what he said. your breath quickened, for some reason you felt..nervous?

jungwon threw his keys on the counter as y’all entered the apartment.

he pulled you into the bedroom in a blink of an eye, gripping your neck, so you’re looking at him straight in the eye.

“i’m gonna fucking teach you, not to be such a little slut, i’m the only man you should talk to, am i right?”

you nodded quickly.

“use your words”

“yes, yes jungwon only you.”

he let go of your neck, now stripping from his clothes, you went along with his steps and took your own clothes off.

“on your knees baby.”

he said stroking his dick in front of you.

“you know what to do.” you grabbed his base and licked the tip slowly. feeling the urge to tease him.

jungwon groaned at your actions. grabbing your chin.

“nuh uh, open wide, i see what you’re trying to do.” you opened up your mouth while he grabbed hair into a ponytail. his hips thrusted up inside your mouth as he pushed your head down onto his cock. pretty much fucking the hell out of your face.

jungwon’s eyes closed in pleasure as he continued to furiously thrust into your mouth, the feeling of tagging drove him over the edge, the way your throat closes made his dick twitch.

“fuck yeah, that’s right, keep that mouth open for me whore. “

at some point you couldn’t take it anymore and started moaning into his dick sending vibrations through it.

he finally pulled out of your mouth, not wanting to cum so easily. you were just adjusting your breathing when you felt being thrown into the bed.

“are you tired already ? i haven’t even fucked you yet, how pathetic.” she said shaking his head in disappointment.

without any warning, he inserted two of his long fingers into your cunt, making your back arch at the sudden sensation. he purposely went really slow, loving to see how stressed you’d get. lifting your hips up a little to go faster.

jungwon held your hips still, smacking the inside of your thigh, making you squirm.

“you think i’m going to let you do what you want?” his fingers still thrusting into you curling them inside.

you moaned loudly, wanting to be filled up already.

“please jungwon, fuck me, just fuck me!”

jungwon chuckled, this is how he wanted to see you, begging for him only him.

“so desperate for my dick, you fucking love it don’t you?” he said looking straight at you.

you could barely form a sentence but you managed to.

“yes please wonie just fill me up, i need you.” jungwon didn’t want to give in so easily but fuck was that so hard to do when you’re looking at him with those eyes begging to be fucked.

he retracted his fingers from you and instead lined himself up with your entrance. the wetness from his dick and your pussy was more than enough lube.

he dragged his dick up and down your pussy making you whine.

finally, he slowly entered you. nothing could be compared to the feeling of being inside of you. the way your pussy engrossed his cock almost made him cum on the spot.

jungwon wasted almost no time and started slamming into you with no mercy, your cries could probably be heard from blocks away.

the bed squeaked with every thrust he stirred.

“oh fuck jungwon, just like that fuck yes!” he knew how to drive you crazy, knowing exactly where to hit in your insides.

“mhm yeah? you like that? can jake fuck you like this? can he?” he grabbed your chin straight at him. normally you would roll your eyes at his remarks over your best friend but how hot it looked right now.

wanting to tease him more, you nodded your head.

“i don’t know maybe, he could probably go faster..” jungwon was appalled.

his thrusts weee enraged. you could feel how infuriated he was with every one of them. it was amazing.

“oh you think? can he make you feel like this? huh?” his hand lowered to your pussy, rubbing your clit in circular motion making you hips snap at the impact it had on your body.

you whines, moaned and groaned at all once.

“answer me!”

“no-shit - not he can’t.” with the speed he was going at, jungwon was dying for this view, you tits bouncing up at every thrust, he couldn’t help but lean down to suck and fondle them.

your hands reached down to his hair, gripping it not wanting him to pull away from them.

jungwon pulled away from your nipple and leaned back to his original position. now putting your legs over his shoulder in order to go even deeper (if possible) .

“only i can see you like this, you get that slut? no one, specifically jake can.”

“yes only you baby, fuck i’m gonna cum!” tears could be seen streaming down your face from the immense amount of pleasure you were receiving. jungwon wiped your tears then leaned down engulfing you in a deep kiss. his tongue swirled around yours, it felt like everything all at once. lust, love, anger, compassion.

“who’s pussy is this huh? tell me.”

“i’m cumming holy shit.”

“do not cum! tell me answer my question! who’s pussy is this?”

the ecstasy from the pleasure but now the urge to cum made your mind numb. barely forming a sentence.

“yours jungwon.” you said quietly, sure he heard it but he wasn’t content with it.

“i can’t hear you!” jungwon leaned closer to you. smirking. he wanted to cum so bad, but he wanted to hear you say that before it.

“yours jungwon! all yours to fuck.” you said much louder this time, the stress visible in your voice.

that’s all it took jungwon to come undone inside of you.

“fuck cum with me baby, cum all over my dick.” your orgasm mixed with his meant a furor of moans echoing around the bedroom.

jungwon pulled out of you before plopping right next to you, hugging your waist.

“tell that fucker to not call you so much.” you chuckled and kissed his lips knowing damn well that you’ll probably do it again in order to have this side of jungwon again.

[twice-inamillion]

The Company 

Sisters in San Francisco 

Smut (Deep penetration, forced creampie, doggy style, cowgirl, sister sex)

Chapter 16

4,340 Words 

(Jessica asks you to visit her during the Lunar New Year. She also asks you to bring her sister, who dislikes you for getting her sister pregnant.)

”You’re coming to my place for Lunar New Year, right?”

”Yeah, I just need to take care of some things, and I can fly out tomorrow.”

”Also, can I ask you for a favor?”

”What is it?”

”Would you mind taking my sister?”

”Doesn’t she hate me?”

”Yeah, but there are no last-minute flights. Can you please take her?”

” Okay, I will, but if she complains, I’ll like her out of the plane myself.”

”Thank you, thank you! Let me get in contact with her and send her your details.”

———

The flight from Seoul to San Francisco was surprisingly a calm one. Krystal was fairly calm and kept to herself while you remained on the other side of the plane. 

“Good Morning, everyone. It is 7:30 in the morning in San Francisco, California. We will be touching down in ten minutes. When we arrive, the care will be waiting for you all. Hope you enjoyed the flight, and we await your return.”

The plane arrives at the hangar, the door opens, and you are greeted by your chauffeur, “Welcome to San Francisco, sir.”

”Thank you.”

The chauffeur opens the door, helps with your belongings, and enters the car. “Where to sir?”

”Let’s head to Ms. Jung’s place.”

”As you wish.”

Krystal stares out the window, seeing their old home after not visiting for a while. Meanwhile, you text Jessica about your arrival from the airport, and the two of you heading to her house. 

“See you soon.”

The ride to Pacific Heights is a smooth one, the sights of the Bay Area as you neared the house. The closer you got there, the bigger the Golden State Bridge looked. “We are arriving, sir.”

The car pulls towards the front of the house and parks. The chauffeur opens the car, and you see Jessica open the door and exit. Krystal runs towards Jessica and gives her a hug, “How are you, Jess? How’s the baby?” 

“The baby is great. Growing pretty fast.”

“How was the plane ride?”

”It was okay; I behaved like you asked.”

Jessica looks towards my direction and asks, “How was she?”

”She was insufferable, but you know me, I managed.”

”He’s lying.”

”I know; he messaged me earlier and said you were good. He’s just teasing you.”

”Well… I don’t like it,” turning around and glaring at you. 

The three of you enter the house to drop off your bag, “I found a place to have breakfast. We can head out in a bit if you’re all good.”

”I’m fine. Can I take a shower beforehand?”

”Sure, you can shower in the guest room.”

You walk the flight of stairs, take your bags to the guest room, and shower. Once you’re ready, you see Jessica and Krystal coming out of the room next to you, “You look nice.”

”Thanks.”

”Oh, by the way. I finished the nursery room that I mentioned to you before. Want to see?”

“Sure.”

She opens the door, and the color catches your eye. Everything in the room is cream in color, including the crib, furniture, and even the stuffed animals that are a shade dark. “What do you think?”

”It looks great.”

”Thanks, I wanted something simple and minimalistic. It took me a while for me to choose what I wanted.” Jessica gives you a small tour, showing you the clothes, toys, and the scrapbook she made for the baby. 

You look at Jessica and see how happy she is, which hits you: you’re going to have a child with her. Her belly is much bigger from the last time you saw her, and her breasts have also gotten bigger, but her beauty is still the same. 

“Why are you staring at me like that?” she asks.

”You’re so pretty, I couldn’t help myself.”

Jessica blushes at your response and covers her face.

”Ew, don’t do that while I’m here. If you are, you should get a room or something,” says Krystal.

”Maybe we should,” looking at Jessica. She turns to the side, trying to hide her reaction, but the redness on the tip of her ears makes it obvious. 

“Alright, let’s change the subject and go have breakfast,” says Jessica.

Breakfast goes well, and the three of you enjoy the view and listening to the stories that Jessica has to share. Most of them are about her experiences throughout her pregnancy and her work life. 

After breakfast, you all go for a walk around Chinatown and see the events of the day. You see the two sisters bonding and having fun, and it reminds you of your own family. 

After a few hours, Jessica says, “Let’s head back; my feet are killing me.” You agree and take them back to the house. It’s already evening, and you have all decided to have dinner. 

“Want me to cook, or should we order in?”

“You’re tired, so let’s order in.” 

Krystal then says, “Let me order, I know a place that has good food.”

“Okay, Krystal.”

Jessica looks at you and says, “Let’s go to the deck and watch the sunset with me.” 

“Okay, let’s go.” You help her out of the chair and walk out onto the deck. The two of you sit on a large couch, and puts her back against your chest.

“How have you actually been?”

“Tired, my feet hurt constantly, and I’m craving food a lot. It’s all your fault.”

“Haha, it’s both our fault, not just me.”

“You’re the one who got me pregnant.”

“True, but remember you were the one begging me to cum inside…”

Her head recalls the memory of those nights of sex. The number of times she got pumped full of baby batter made her face turn red.

“You’re thinking of it, huh.”

“No!”

You grab her and put her in between your legs, rubbing her thighs and whispering, “Remember how wet you got when I was fucking you that night?”

You slide your hand inside her dress, gliding your hand across her thigh as you kiss the side of her neck. She shivers at the slightest touch, “It’s been a while, huh.”

”What do you mean?”

”Since we last fucked.”

You continue to glide your hand until you reach her panties, pulling them aside. Jessica moans slightly to your touch, a feeling she hasn’t felt in a while.

“Don’t… Krystal might walk in…”

“That’s fine, let her walk in,” tracing your fingers against her folds. You feel her tremble the deeper you go, collecting nectar from the source.

“Please…” squeezing her thighs together.

“You’re so wet; you missed this, right?”

“Yes… it’s much more different when it’s real.”

You notice her heart beat faster and go in for a kiss. She finally lets loose and doesn’t care if her sister walks in. “Babe, I want you… I need you…”

Teasing her, you ask, “What do you want me to do?”

“You’re really going to make me say it huh.”

“Yes, I want to hear you say it.”

She whispers in your ear, “I want you to fuck me; I want to feel your cock inside me.”

“You’re bad, what about the baby?”

“Don’t worry, I’m stable.” 

You press your fingers deeper until they disappear, “Ahh, aah, just like that. Keep going.”

Just then, Krystal walks out, “The food is here!” She looks at the both of you, her sister grinding as you have your hand inside her dress. “Eww! You two are disgusting; get a room,” and walks out completely flushed.

“Krystal, wait!”

“Don’t; she needs to understand that you have needs too.”

“I guess you’re right.”

You pull out your fingers and show her the amount of nectar you collected, “Do you think it’s healthy being this backed up?”

“No, it’s just that regular toys don’t work; it’s not the same as the real thing.”

“How about later tonight, I help you out?”, giving her a wink.

“I’d love that.”

The two of you walk to the kitchen and see Krystal setting up the table. She tries to avoid eye contact with the two of you initially, but after Jessica apologizes, they make up.

After dinner, you all play a couple of games to break the ice between you and Krystal. You’re surprised by how obedient she is to Jessica, but you assume it’s because of their close relationship and her pregnancy. 

“Okay, I'm tired, Krystal. Let’s call it a night.” 

“Good night, I’ll clean up here.” 

Standing up from the table, Jessica grabs your hand and whispers, “I’m going to shower; come help me.” The two of you walk upstairs as Krystal tries to think of something else. 

After taking a shower, she spends some time in the living room watching some videos. She looks at her phone, realizing how late it is, and decides to head up the stairs to her room. 

As she gets to the second floor, she notices noises coming from the opposite side of her hallway. Curious, she makes her way towards the master bedroom and hears her sister moan. She puts her eye through the small slit and sees her sister in skimpy lingerie riding you. 

“Ahh ahh, this is what I was missing. I missed your cock inside of me.” 

Krystal was hypnotized by the way her older sister rode you, her pregnant cunt holding your cock tightly every time she bounced. Her swollen belly didn’t stop her from getting her needs satisfied. 

“You feel so big inside of me…”

“Are you okay? Want to switch up a bit?”

“Okay, let me get a pillow.” 

Jessica unmounts you and gets on the pillow you placed before her. Using it as support, she lays on top of it and gets on all fours. 

Krystal’s eyes go wide when she catches a glimpse of your massive cock, wondering if it would hurt the baby.

“Jessica, are you ready?”

“Yes… just put it inside, don’t make me wait.”

You slap your cock against her ass cheek and align it in front of her entrance. Her leaking cunt welcomes you once more as it easily spreads for your length. 

“Yes… that’s it… fuck… so big.”

“Omg, how does unnie fit that massive thing in her?”

You grab Jessica’s hips and insert the rest of your cock until she cries out from pleasure, “fuck, you’re hitting my baby room.” 

She turns her head and says, “Put your weight on me and fuck me nice and slow; I want to feel it.”

Krystal sees her sister disappear under your frame; she moves her fingers toward her lower area and notices how damp her shorts are.

She loses track of time as she rubs her fingers against her shorts when she hears you warn Jessica, “I’m going to cum.”

“Do it inside; fill my baby room with your cum.”

You pull most of your cock out, only leaving the tip before sliding yourself back inside. Jessica groans from her walls being scraped and stretched, “Yes, just like that. Fill me, please!”

You hold her tightly as a stream of cum floods her womb, her walls tightening, taking every drop of cum as delicious nutrients.

Krystal watches as you pull out your cock, a large white load of cum oozing out her sister's cunt and onto her sheets. Jessica's expression was one of satisfaction after not having met her needs since the beginning of her pregnancy. 

You head to the bathroom and clean up while Jessica remains on the bed, completely filled. She turns around and sees her sister looking through the door. She greets her with a smile. Wanting to tease her, she spreads her legs wider, giving her a better view of her leaking cunt. 

On the other side, Krystal gets startled from getting caught by her sister. She sees you come out of the bathroom when Jessica says, “Up for round two?”

You reply, “I thought you were tired.”

“I am, but I want you inside me.” 

“Alright, but let’s try to keep it down since your sister is going to nag at me if we’re too loud.”

“Don’t worry about Krystal, this is my house. I can do whatever I want here,” she said as she looked directly at her. 

“That’s why I like you,” as you go in for a kiss. “Let me go downstairs and get something to drink. Want anything?”

“Just water is fine.” 

You put on some shorts and head to the door. Krystal immediately stands up and runs to her room. She lies in her room, imagining her sister going at it, round after around throughout the night. 

—— 

Krystal walks down the stairs after having a hard time sleeping. She couldn’t get the image of last night out of her room and ended up rubbing one out. 

“Good morning, Krystal.” 

“Good morning, unnie.” 

“Where’s your baby daddy?” 

“Don’t call him that; try to be nice to him.”

“Whatever.” 

“He went out for a run. Said he’ll be back in an hour.” 

“Okay, I’ll eat a quick breakfast and head out. I’m going to meet some friends.”

“Are you avoiding him because of last night?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know…”

Krystal’s ears turn beet red, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, maybe I’m wrong… have fun with your “friend…” 

It is then when the door opens, and the two of them stand next to each other, “Welcome back,” giving you a small rag to wipe yourself.

”Wow, you worked up quite a sweat,” she said, touching her abs and arms as she looked at her sister. “Might ask for another round later on tonight,” and chuckles.”

”Wait… your sister is here.”

”Don’t worry, she doesn’t mind, right?”

You look at Krystal and see her beet-red ears, “Whatever, do what you want.”

“See…”

“I’m going to go change; my friend is going to pick me up soon,” and goes upstairs. 

You look back at Jessica and ask, “Ohh, I didn’t know she was going out.”

”Same, maybe one of her girlfriends.”

”Too bad, with her attitude, she really needs a boyfriend.”

”You’re right.”

”Maybe she’ll fix that attitude of hers after a good pounding.”

Krystal walks down the stairs and shouts, “Alright, I’ll be back in the evening!” and exits the door. 

———-

Krystal comes back home late at night, “I’m back.” Jessica, who is sitting in the living room reading some magazines, asks, “How was your day?”

”It was good, I just hung out with one of my girlfriends.”

”That’s good, no guy friends?”

Krystal is surprised by the question but replies, “Uhh… no.”

”That's too bad, you’ll find one soon,” caressing Krystal’s hair. She then asks, “You know what? Let's do this: take a shower with me like in the old days.”

Krystal reminisces when she and Jessica would do everything together, “Okay, let’s go.”

The two of them shower, engage in sister talk, and share their secrets with each other. Jessica talks about the hard time she had setting up her business, even during her pregnancy. “Look at me now, my belly is noticeable and I’m constantly horny.” 

“It’s all his fault; he did this to you.”

”Don’t blame him. I knew what could have happened, but I still did it. Just a taste of his cock got me addicted to him,” as she lightly touches her cunt. She brings her fingers up to Krystal and says, “Just by thinking about him, I’m already wet.”

“Unnie, don’t; that’s disgusting.”

“Tell me, Krystal. When was the last time you got intimate?”

Krystal looks down and shyly says, “A bit over a year, maybe more.” 

Jessica holds Krystal’s hand and asks, “Want to give him a try?”

“What?”

“He’ll make you feel real good.” 

“But you’re having his kid…”

“I don’t mind sharing him, plus we’re sisters.”

“Ugh… I don’t think so…”

“I know you saw him fuck me from behind. I know you’re backed up as I am.” 

“…”

“Do it for me. If you don’t like it, then I won’t mention it before.”

Krystal stays silent for a while and says, “Okay, just once, but if he cums in me, I’m going to punch him.”

“Okay, I’ll let him know.” 

The notification ding goes off, and you see a text message from Jessica, “Come to my room.” Curious, you head to Jessica’s room across the hallway and knock, “Come in!” 

As you open the door, you see Jessica on the bed, leaning against the large pillows on the bed in her bathrobe. She lifts part of her robe and says, “Like what you see?”

You slowly walk towards her, “fuck yeah, I’m up for another round.” Jessica replies, “Maybe we should spice things up a bit.” 

You hear the door close behind you and see Krystal turning the door lock. You turn back and see Jessica’s grin, “She doesn’t have a boyfriend, so I thought we could let her join our fun.” 

Jessica looks at Krystal and says, “Show him how serious you are.” You turn around once more and see Krystal drop her bathrobe as well. She walks towards her sister, who is extending her arm, “Come sit, here.” 

You see Krystal climb up the bed next to Jessica, “I know you two don’t get along, but both of you are important to me, so I think that this might bring you two closer.”

”I’m okay with it if she is.”

You look at Krystal and wait for her response, “I’m good with it too.”

”Okay, I want to watch the two of you get along, so take off your pants.” You drop your shorts and extend your hand towards Krystal. 

She slowly reaches for your arm, and you lead her to the middle of the room. Standing in front of one another you part Krystal’s hair to the side and kiss her neck. She squints from the awkwardness of your kissing but after a while she loosens up. 

You reach for her bathrobe belt and unfasten it, causing it to drop and reveal her nude body. She tries to cover her breasts and lower area, but you part her hand and instead lead her to the bed.

Her demeanor changes, she becomes compliant to your advances and lays on her back. As you climb onto the bed, you get on top of her; she feels small compared to your frame and becomes nervous about what you’re going to do. 

You cup on her breast and kiss her collarbone, making her slightly moan. With your other hand, you slide it down towards her folds and gently rub her lower lips.

Meanwhile, Jessica watches as her sister begins to enjoy your foreplay, being considerate of what’s to come. She loosens her bathrobe, exposing her breasts and gently rubbing them.

Feeling some wetness coming from Krystal’s lower area, you stop your advances and move towards her legs. You spread her legs, move forward and grab your flaccid cock in your hand. 

Krystal feels your flaccid cock smacking against her cunt; it’s heavy but average. She tells herself it’s not that big, not as Jessica described it.

You slowly insert the tip into her entrance and slowly move more inside of her until it’s halfway in. Krystal makes an uncomfortable expression but gets adjusted to your flaccid cock. 

“I’m halfway in. Are you ready?”

“Sure, you’re not that big anyway.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, my last boyfriend was this big.” 

Jessica tries to tell Krystal to shut up and not taunt but it’s too late. You pick Krystal up and pin her against the wall. She smiles, thinking that she might have hit a trigger, but that smile immediately disappears as she feels something growing inside of her. 

Krystal groans as her walls stretch to its maximum, your flaccid cock turning into a rod of steel. She’d never experienced this type of pain and pleasure before, not even when she lost her virginity to her previous boyfriend. “Ahh… what the fuck, it’s getting bigger inside of me. You’re going to break me!”

With her face against the wall, you pull her hair, tilting her head, and begin to thrust. “Fuck, you’re too big, pull out!” Her feet tremble from your massive size cock going in and out of her small cunt. You continue to pull her hair and thrust until he has no energy in her legs. 

You let go of her hair and pick her up, tossing her onto the bed where her sister is. She looks at Jessica, and all she says is, “I told you to keep quiet.” Krystal looks back at you as you climb on the bed. 

“Let’s go for the main event. Get ready because I’m going to make sure I break you in like I did your sister.”

She looks at your throbbing cock, veins fully showing, “Get that thing away from me!”

Instead, you give her a devilish grin, causing her expression to change. You place her legs on your shoulders and smack your length against her cunt. “Think this is the same as your boyfriend?”

Krystal can already feel how heavy your cock is just by it being smacked on her cunt. She knows that if she’s fucked by this monstrosity, there’s no turning back. “Wait… I’m Sorr…”

Her eyes go wide as you ignore her plea and shove your cock inside her small cunt all at once. Her body spasms from the impact, her belly bulging as if she were pregnant like her sister.

*Cough, cough, cough*

She turns her head to her sister, who is sitting next to her, watching. Jessica moves her fingers towards her cunt, rubbing it slowly as you begin to thrust inside of Krystal. Every time you thrust inside, she sees the large outline of your cock. She didn’t know that someone could be this big. 

“How do you like his cock, little sis.”

“Ugh… it feels like my organs are getting rearranged every time he goes inside me. I’m scared Unnie…” 

Jessica doesn’t reply; she’s too preoccupied with touching herself. 

“Your sister is not going to help you. You put up a strong front, but in reality, you’re just cock hungry like her.” 

She sees you putting her into a mating press, smacking your cock at her entrance once more. “Wait… I’m sorry. Be more gentle!”

Krystal coughs uncontrollably as you split her wide open. She begs for you to slow down, but it’s to no avail as you’re determined to make her crazy. “Take this fucken cock. Feel as your womb takes the shape of my cock, haha.”

Jessica increases the pace of her fingers as she rubs her folds while watching you fuck her sister. The way Krystal struggles to take your cock reminds her of herself before her pregnancy.

She tells herself,” I can wait for the baby to be born. I want him to fuck me like that one night.”

You continue to fuck her roughly, her pleading turning into a scene of a complete mess. Her eyes roll back from the intense pleasure, and her body limb like a human fuck doll. This new sensation is foreign to her; not even her previous boyfriend made her feel this way. 

Suddenly, she loses control of her body as it begins to shake violently. “I’m cumming!” Her walls tighten and release a wave of ecstasy as she coats your cock with her liquid warmth. 

You pull your cock out and see her juices spill out, “what’s a complete mess.” She continues to spasm and turns to see Jessica. 

“I’m going to cum on her face, haha.”

She looks at you with a heavy expression and replies, “Do whatever you want.” 

“Fuck, if that’s the case, then the only way is directly into the source.” You grin at Krystal’s defenseless state and place your cock above her entrance. She turns to you, barely able to open her eyes when she sees you align yourself and tries to push you away. 

She’s seen that expression before, the expression of a man who is ready to cum inside of a woman. Luckily, the previous times have been with a condom as she’s trying to avoid any unnecessary pregnancies. 

Just as you’re able to insert your cock, she regains her rationality. “Wait, what are you doing? Do it outside, cum outside, please!” She pushes your hand away and looks at Jessica for help but is lost in her own pleasure. 

“Sorry, but your sister gave me the green light.”

”Stop! Don’t cum inside me, please. I don’t…”

Krystal’s eyes widens, and she coughs aggressively as she’s suddenly stabbed with your massive cock. 

“Maybe getting your womb filled with cum will turn you down a notch.”

A wave of cum flows into Krystal’s womb. It’s her first time tasting cum without protection. An overwhelming amount of thoughts are running through her mind. She’s trying so hard to prevent any problems and made her ex-boyfriend wear protection during sex just so she could get forced creampied by you.

She imagines the worst-case scenario: her getting impregnated by you just like you did her older sister. That would be the end of her career.

“It’s over; my life is ruined,” says Krystal as she passes out from shock. 

———-

Krystal wakes up much later and sees her sister riding you. Her expression is one of a wild woman losing herself in heavenly pleasure. 

“You came so much inside my sister; you might have impregnated her, you know.”

”Haha, jealous?”

”No, I just don't know what my parents are going to say about that.”

”Let time tell, but I wouldn't mind seeing two sisters have my child.” 

Krystal stays hidden from the both of you, only to fall back to sleep with your cum inside her womb. 

[hanbinniesmango]

mingyu hard thoughts about dating a needy gf

mingyu would be so cocky about it too goshh.

mingyu would give in so fast. he would think shes so cute and end up giving you the pleasure you want. one day you were really horny and started riling him up, kissing his neck, touching him excessively, and whining in his ear. he grounded you against his hips and smirked. “does my baby want something from me?” you nodding.

“gyu, i want you so bad…” you say before slowly moving your hips against him, him biting his lip with a groan. “you’re so needy for me baby..” you slide down off his lap and down to your knees in front of him on the couch.

“lemme suck you off, please gyu..” you say with a slight pout on your lips. suddenly all thoughts of him wanting to tease you seep out of his head, him looking at your innocent, but seductive gaze. “fuck..take what you want babe.” he exhales and chuckles before looking up at the ceiling, realizing what he just did.

you just make it so hard for him to say no…