#also if you DO want to watch it. I am. pretty sure its still just literally on youtube.

[good-wine-and-cheese]

He comes for people that have been driven into a corner with nowhere to go.

Finished rewatching Paranoia Agent. It still rules, check it out if you haven't!

[toytulini]

jalapeño eggggggggggg

[hon3y-y]

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !! maybe satoru got a little ahead of himself when he told you to throw away all of your vibrators…

cw : smut (surprised?), sex toys(again, is anyone surprised?), sub-ish!reader, dom-ish!satoru he’s more cheeky than anything, overstim & edging, etc etc…

*not edited*

when satoru was young and immature two weeks ago, he hated vibrators. maybe it was jealousy but when he found your little collection, he became a pouty mess. am i not good enough? do those make you feel better than i do? he even went as far as giving you the silent treatment, stating it was a ‘betrayal’.

you just rolled your eyes, taking his overreaction as immaturity and allowing him to throw his tantrum by himself. it didn’t last long, coming to its end one late saturday night where he climbed into the bed with a cheeky smile on his face.

“show me..” he mumbled, pressing kisses into the soft skin of your neck. his eyes were wide, pleading almost, lip tucked behind his teeth, his hands caressing your exposed skin and slowly unbuttoning the sleep shirt you wore.

“oh but i thought you wanted me to ‘throw all of them out’?” your words made him scoff.

“that wasn’t exactly what i said—“

“toru, i saw the tears in your eyes—“ before you could continue, his lips were on yours. it was rough, trying to shut you up which only made you smile. “you done being a big baby?”

satoru nods before moving to pull off your sleep shorts, “c’mon, i just wanna see”

so of course, that’s what got you into this predicament. you laying down with your head on the pillow while satoru lays on his stomach between your thighs, eyes glistening with mischief as he stares at your panty clad mound. Throughout the past couple of days, toru has made you use a couple toys to help get off, realizing extremely fast how it was becoming his new favorite hobby.

he took in how quick you were to cum, thighs clenching around the toy while you creamed, sticky substance leaving strings on your panties when he became impatient and pulled them off. it was almost addicting. you became so sensitive, eyes welling up when he began to fuck your swollen pussy, “s’too much!”

he just pounded into you harder, mockingly cooing at you. “oh, it’s too much? fine, i’ll stop.” satoru would pull out mid thrust, teasingly rubbing his fat tip against your clenching hole. he would do it until your legs wrapped around his waist to try and push him in, he smiled at the annoyance that came over you, still feisty even when being fucked dumb. “you’re so greedy—can’t ever make up your mind” shaking his head, toru would shove it back in while rubbing your clit making you squeal, an unusual reaction that he was growing accustomed to.

Those toys became his best friends and it was only a matter of time before he wanted to be in control of them. satoru personally loved your wand vibrator, pulling an orgasm out of you quick while also being used in so many different methods and positions. so it wasn’t a shocker that it was that one he picked.

you were comfortable, something he had been checking the whole time. He felt giddy, dick hard just from thinking about it. He made sure to start off slow and ease you into it, putting it on a low setting before teasingly dragging it up and down the crease of your panties, biting his lips after hearing your breath hitch whenever the tiny vibrations passed your aching clit.

“how does that feel, pretty girl?” he kissed your thigh softly, turning up the vibration to hear the gasp as you opened your mouth to speak.

“g-good!”

your words got choked up in your throat, hips bucking as he pushed it down on your bud. meanwhile, satoru watched in fascination as the damp spot on your panties grew bigger and bigger, mouth watering as he gently pressed his nose against it before his tongue lolled out to take a swipe. “satoru!” you gasped, hands moving to tug on his hair and pull it back, a heat climbing up your body in embarrassment.

he smiled sheepishly, turning up the vibrations another level which quickly made your hands loosen as your jaw fell open to let out a moan. “now's not the time to scold, dear~”

he pulls away, shutting off the vibrator while sitting on his knees. you felt a little light headed, eyebrows furrowing, “you're done?”

he shook his head, instead, pulling your panties down and flinging them across the room, fingers moving to play in your wetness before slowly dragging his soaked appendage to your clit to swirl around, “just lay back and relax your pretty little head. i know what i’m doing.”

he picked the vibrator back up, once again on its lowest setting and began using it to dip into your messy hole and spread the juices to the rest of your pussy. he felt like he was painting a pretty picture, eyes zeroing into his muse while his other hand wrapped around your thick thigh to pull it open.

he did this for a while, secretly watching and enjoying the way you were growing frustrated, pussy clamping around nothing as a frown overtook your lips. “toru—enough!”

he smiled, biting back a laugh at the whining. “fine..” you huffed, leaning back on the pillow.

you heard it before you felt it, the vibrations sounding stronger. you sat up, confused before the feeling of pure euphoria washed over you, causing your jaw to loosen and your eyes to cross and roll back. you felt like you couldn’t breathe, the stimulation almost too much, your hands moving to push it away, “too much! please—i can’t!”

but satoru just clicked his tongue, shaking his head in disappointment, “first it’s not enough, now it’s too much… this stupid thing can’t satisfy you, huh?” he pushes your hands away, positioning himself between your legs in a way that made it hard to shut them. “what do you think baby?”

finishing his sentence he began to move it up and down, the feeling making your stomach lurch and shedding some of the tears that gathered in your eyes. it felt too good, borderline brutal against your sensitive pussy.

you couldn’t even acknowledge his question, whimpers and pants filled the room along with mindless babbles of his name. “i’m—s’close! oh fuck—satoru! d-dont sto—p”

your hands claw at the sheets as you begin to tremble, your vision going blurry and the pressure in your stomach is released in pleasurable waves. you didn’t realize you had passed out until you feel a light tapping on your cheek causing your eyes to open slowly. At first, you’re too disoriented to focus. your vision is splotchy and your ears have a small ringing in them.

it takes a couple of seconds for you to register where you are and what just happened, finally taking in your surroundings. the first thing you see once your eyes adjust is satoru staring at you with a shocked grin. “babe..” he leaned down to kiss you, “–that was so hot” his hand reached between you two to pet at your cunt, cooing at the sharp intake of breath you had.

“let’s try again… i’ll leave it on a low setting, i promise” liar

safe to say toys became a frequent tool after that, even going as far as him ordering new ones to “try” including a cock-ring that leaves you both overstimulated, whiny, messes...

the end

a/n; two releases in one day??? who tf am i?? ik, it’s been soooo long but i didn’t have any inspiration</3 i honestly wanna right more sub!jjk characters so if anyone has any ideas they would like to present to the class PLEASEEE🙏 (especially nanami, cause i loveeee him)

[capslocked]

PASCAL

male reader x karina & irene

part 1 of two roses, by every other name

28k words

It goes without saying that Karina’s reputation is flawless. 

Irene’s is remarkably not.

You're not even staunchly a romantic or anything. You just can’t be assed to manage the distinction between desire and distance. So when the dust settles, the best case scenario is the three of you going around telling people, "all of this is actually a true story by the way."

-

You don't need the extra helping of moody and foreboding, but the wind picks up enough to chill you to the spot.

It blows some of the longer, darker strands of Irene's hair into her eyes and she shivers, too, against the cold as she tucks it behind her ears. You’ve got both hands balled into your coat pockets, watching her pretend like she isn't about to say something you absolutely do not want to hear. Then, a sigh - the length of which is probably unwarranted. You can feel the frost on the air burning through your teeth as you face back out toward the taxi stand. 

It’s gotten late and you're still waiting on an empty cab - you’re realizing there was never a conversation to be had in the first place.

“For what it’s worth,” Irene says, and there’s an indecent proposal just in the way she glances at you. “I had my eyes on her first.”

It’s all on account of some sort of moral quandary, or whatever nonsense Irene pretends to believe every time it comes up. A gross power imbalance; an issue of innocence and entitlement; a threat of abuse. Something, another thing, patriarchal expectations, blah, blah - she fudges around the details, but never ever cares who gets hurt. Not really.

And it’s doubtful Irene believes what she says, not to mention she’s skeptical anyone is even capable of zipping their way down Karina’s denim, working a pair of hands up the contour of her long legs, and making her pant and gasp hard enough that she forgets to breathe.

Well, supposedly - that is anyone, save the two of you. Nevermind the fact she’s always, always been off-limits.

The bottom line is she's a whole decade younger than either of you. This just for starters - only legal for alcohol by some narrow margin. Because between you and your fiancée there are all these rules: no coworkers, no labelmates, no close mutual friends, no personal assistants, no jealous ex-lovers, and absolutely none of her juniors. It’s in poor taste, among other things.

Also, just as straightforward: crossing any number of those lines has its own kind of appeal.

"Okay,” you say, “then maybe you should be the one to tell her we’re taking her home."

Irene's arching her eyebrows at you like a silent rebuttal. She smiles after a laugh, quick and easy, because it's what she's good at. It's what she knows. “Like you weren’t hoping she’d be here, too."

The ash Irene taps off the end of her cigarette falls to the ground like snow. Hitting the pavement as if it might punctuate the thought. That's a rare first mistake from someone like you, and then a second one from her: she thinks she’ll need to defend herself with an explanation, like she’d ever need to justify anything to you.

“Besides, she’s not waiting for me to ask.” There’s a curl to her mouth - and then, she adds, for your benefit, "she'd follow you anywhere."

The twisted irony is that the two of you could pick up any woman, anyone at all.

"I think it’s a discussion for another day," you tell her, serious. She laughs out loud.

"Which one? Who Karina wants, or that you're aching every bit as much as I am to spread her out on our bed and fuck her? Because I'm pretty sure we can both agree that at this point-"

Your palm curls around the nape of her neck with a touch of on-your-feet-thinking: one of these moments that lets Irene sit with the knowledge of how small she really is against you, her head against the collar of your coat, chin angled just so to look up at your face. And there's only a beat that passes between your fingers in her hair, tugging gently as her hand releases to your waist, her teeth clipping against the press of your lips, before a cab pulls up right next to you. You kiss her hard. It probably looks cinematic.

If for nothing other than to give Karina one less thing to overhear when she comes back outside to join you.

"Really not the time," you whisper right into the subtle twist of her grin. Her cigarette's gone out in the snowy mess, but Irene smirks deeper in response before throwing it onto the wet concrete. She grinds it beneath her boot like a reminder, her hand still firm on your hip.

"What, you don't think it’d make her day? Don’t think she'd want to hear all those kinds of thoughts running together through our heads?"

You pull Irene in closer. “She’s not you.”

-

For context - only so you’re aware how it all starts - it wasn’t actually New Year’s Eve, even though everyone had been drinking like it were.

Also for context, it’s not something you were strictly invited to either. Irene’s company holds this holiday party at the end of every year where all of their employees show up (read: idols; Irene likes to argue about work sometimes - to which you have never contested the value of her labor - but your brain tends to fuzz out in the middle, and instead you mostly just watch her pretty mouth in motion). All of the high-up executives and department heads bring their uptight wives and girlfriends to some restaurant ballroom for a cocktail reception that only really functions for name dropping, or influencing the media, or placing side bets on who is sleeping with the CFO - or whose mistress might show up unexpectedly and meet someone's wife face-to-face for the very first time.

It happens to someone Irene knows, once. You pray every year it will happen again.

Be that as it may, there are a plethora of other terrible ways to spend an evening and a half, but it’s all laid bare in Irene's contract - attendance being mandatory; enjoyment excessively optional.

And sure, it’s taken time, but you have gotten used to it: the industry, all of its excess, the inevitable display, the million and one things required of Irene that you, on the other hand, will simply never be able to relate to.

The machine’s so fine-tuned and tightly wound, like clockwork.

"Yeah, whatever," she had said, leaning her hip against your bathroom sink earlier in the day. Her dress laid out neatly across your bed, already pressed, set with her heels and jewelry, everything set on schedule to the point of absurdity.

And so it goes.

You can hear her brushing her teeth through the open door - and see her profile through the hand-swiped-fog on the mirror. She drags the toothbrush to the corner of her mouth: "And before you even ask, yes, you have to come. That's the deal. That's always been the deal - bored, or busy, or trapped talking to some social climbing board member who’s realized the liquor flows fast and free - I don’t wanna hear about it. You’ll be there."

"Uh-huh," you say, eyes fixed on her reflection in the mirror.

"Look, I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” she adds, spits, and lets the faucet run, “but this one’s shaping up to be a really long night.” 

You watch the meticulous effort to pull her dark hair back into a low, neat bun as she turns and comes back into the bedroom, tossing her hair clip onto the bed to reclaim later. 

“So I guess, pace yourself or something.”

"Ever the salesman, Irene," you say, facetious.

"Um, saleswoman, thank you." Her words are slightly muffled by a silk tank top pulled on over her head, then down the flat length of her body until it hits the tops of her thighs. 

It’s not a matter of opinion that she'll look gorgeous in the stilettos, the dress - those earrings that catch light wherever it dares touch her. She'll smile her practiced grin. It'll probably taste sour after the hundredth person asks how long it's been and she tells them she can't remember. But then look - Irene here, still perfectly disheveled: her damp-darkened hair sticking to the porcelain skin of her neck, skin washed free of makeup. She’s beautiful. In a plain and simple way, simple-but-good. Even with the tight little scowl she shoots your direction. It’s a look she has to know could launch a thousand ships; could start a real, actual war; though you're far too charming to know how to fight - you’ve never seen the appeal.

Irene's teeth tug at the corner of her lip like she knows you'd probably end up dying in it. She puts forward this unassuming, nonchalant, “hey.”

She muses it right into a laugh. Covers her genuine smile with her fingers.

"Hey," is how you answer, always.

You’re noticing, now, the strap of her top has fallen just down the petite slope of her shoulder. You want to get your fingers beneath it. Maybe get her back in the shower. You’re never too picky.

And here: an unspoken demand, the thing that always gets you about her - while Irene stands in front of you, her finger looped between the top buttons of your shirt to draw you close. The bow of her lip perked ever-so-slightly, this soft pucker - all pretty in pink. "Before I slip into this dress, you’re going to push me against something sturdy and kiss me until I'm dizzy," she instructs, calm and methodical.

"A lot," you continue for her. You nod seriously, for a moment. "Dizzying."

She closes her eyes and leans in, and you lean into her, too. "Yeah, exactly," she ends up murmuring under a hot breath. "So, get to it.”

And so it goes, and so it goes.

-

"Have a drink," someone keeps saying.

As a matter of fact, they all do: four shots together - or one old-fashioned, or two vodka seltzers, or three of these mystery concoctions that come in a tall-stemmed glass you didn’t actually catch the name of, and jesus, it fucking reeks of prosecco. You pace yourself, within reason. You really do.

Irene gets elusive under the surface, which is to say, she doesn't change at all - not even at the edges.

And though everyone is here to be seen, only a few actually do any of the talking. Irene has it covered - you do your time.

Happy New Year, sorta. You wait it out.

-

She tastes like everything sweet, strong on her heels and sharper on her tongue - and sometimes, it’s not the best mix, given all you can manage is the touch and scent of Irene without actually getting at the insides of her thighs or that tempting stretch of skin under her ear, her neck, down to her chest.

This much, and she has no complaint - hardly seems surprised or inconvenienced - to you stepping her into the wall like it's a matter of instinct.

She just sighs, a short huff. "Don't miss these kinds of parties," she then confesses, right into your mouth, her warm exhale filling you whole. The sounds of people laughing and champagne glasses clicking nearby, a new song starting up, it's all an unnecessary backdrop, and Irene isn't distracted by a single bit of it.

Character, setting, scene; it’s all rather textbook, no? 

You know what the sounds mean, the soft hums, the lingering touches, the firm press of your palm into the dip of her waist or the slender line of her back. She knows where all the cameras are because she knows everything that anyone could possibly ever want to know, such as the fact that this empty stairwell is a perfect place to start, that there isn't a real plan as to where this might go - or when it should end.

And you should know where not to press - or bite or grab or leave a mark - not in some liminal space, nor some vacant practice-room, not beneath a desk, not behind a curtain. No, not here, cloaked in shadow and secrecy, another scandal in the making. Not that the knowledge stops you from testing out the lines, from drawing little patterns up Irene's waist, slipping one hand along the barest skin where her dress has hitched up along her thigh. To a boundary, the low pitch of her voice, some suggestion like, "not here, are you serious?" mumbled across your lips like it really doesn't matter what gets said or does not.

She’s pinned so properly, so precisely, that the discord between her gentle coaxing, and your hard, bruising edge - that sheer incongruity between what you should do and what you should not - can make the adrenaline spike.

She kisses you harder - and harder, and harder. She catches the small sigh you let out. She kisses you breathless.

You can’t shake the feeling that you’re wasting an opportunity, given that you’re both dressed to the nines and are usually more homebody than anything else. Isn’t that the irony of fame? You sign up for an escape, and spend your life running away.

Irene eventually sinks back into the soles of her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist, and she smiles so easy. She tugs at the cuffs of your jacket, sets your collar flat and proper.

"I'm thinking," you hear her say, taking stock for herself, the flush high in her cheeks, the tousled sort-of-curls now bared, "in half an hour, if you feel like leaving early, we could, oh, I don't know - escape?"

Escape to a bed with a door that locks, you assume she means. Irene wants; you deliver - however she'd like.

“Sounds tempting,” you tell her. She laughs against your shoulder. "Are you waiting on someone else to sweep you off your feet, maybe? Another offer?"

"Uh, always," she scoffs. It's the little things, confidence, and certainty, the honest-in-practice; how her palms sit soft and secure, cupping the angle of your jaw, one hand, now, toying with the knot of your tie like she's contemplating just how it might fall off of you later. Irene shrugs, leaning her weight back against the wall.

She taps a finger to her lips. Ends up saying, very solemn: "Thirty minutes."

As if you had any intention of absconding without her.

-

Irene holds true to her word - she catches you on the second to last pass around the banquet room. Some executive with a slack mouth is just launching into what sounds to be a spiel about a merger - it's unimportant, not well-versed, so Irene sidles up to you, and immediately steals your attention. It doesn't bother you in the least. She curls her finger into the cuff of your jacket sleeve, and without really being prompted or asked - and only, probably, due to the clear discomfort she has being there with anyone else - she begins dragging you out of the room; you, her ticket out of hell.

"I'm so sorry," Irene dons the industry smile and is probably charming. It's difficult for you to tell. You follow her blindly. "So sorry," she tells someone else as you exit, just before you both disappear entirely, "We're leaving. But, we'll see you next year, promise!"

A real celebrity.

The two of you suddenly a duo - and for everyone’s safety, the way it should probably always ought to be - here’s how it’s all supposed to go:

You, standing almost amidst a bank of snow gathered at the curb, your coat fanned out around Irene, shivers racking up her slight frame. All hidden just enough that if anyone were to notice where your hand ends up arriving at the narrow of her waist, they might think: 'it's not really any of my business,' and look away.

Her, curled beneath your touch - even the single press of your fingers over the small of her back as a stranger pulls a car up to the curb; or, the pull of you that ensures the driver can't actually see what you're both up to, what you're hiding; the little reach she makes into your pocket for a lighter, smiling appreciatively as she presses her cold face to the crook of your arm, your jaw, the juncture of your neck; a safe space.

“So.” Irene will look up at you, pale moonlight gathered in her lashes. She’ll make another face: this thousand kilowatt grin or her brow raising - sharp, quick, there-then-gone. She'll turn the lighter over in her hand once, twice, and say, “how long has it been since we’ve done anything social?”

You’ll know it’s not what she means, but you’ll offer her the out anyway: "could go downtown - there's a place you've probably never been to. Might even play your style of music, if you're really lucky."

Irene will arch her eyebrow as she raises the cigarette to her mouth, lit up before you know it.

"Is that right?" she'll say, dismissive, a smoky tendril curling up over city neon and catching starlight.

You're no stranger to what’s actually being suggested - an unspoken sort of arrangement. All because Irene sees herself as being above, hiding her intentions in euphemism, tact; in long, slow drags; in lilting lashes - while she's fully and shamelessly aware there's nothing virtuous about it.

Who the hell else could make it sound dignified, pretty even: ménage à trois.

Then, you’ll do your part. You’ll help interpret: another girl, gorgeous and probably unclothed, another bad decision, or two, the three of you finding yourselves back in your apartment where Irene will not hesitate to run her tongue up the side of a sweat-glistened neck, to tilt her head and whisper out a mantra of, honey, sweetie, anybody ever tell you how good you look between a woman’s legs? Or, fuck, let’s get you out of those jeans, let me take you all in, how the fuck have we not gotten our hands on you before?

Which means the question you really ought to be asking sounds more like, “maybe we can invite someone over?”

You’ll meet her eyes as they flick up - a lazy expression, easy to read. "Bingo," she’ll say, blowing smoke and even more caution to the wind.

Almost to a fault, everything she does draws attention. Every fool with a blog and a camera posted outside of an event will have her labeled on-sight. You can already see the headline - because the only thing worse than everyone thinking you're the antagonist is looking the part. The imagery, red carpet, sexy evening dress, sultry, regal. The caption, Bae Joohyun - they use her government name like they really know her - sulking in smoke, or thirty flirty and thriving? below a thumbnail of her holding the cigarette, with your suit jacket draped over her shoulders. She's a total tabloid darling. Irene the temptress, or Irene, ice in her veins, or Irene - "How does she look so fucking gorgeous without makeup?!" or "Do I wanna hate her, or wanna be her? @RedFlavor_ROYAL," or "In every shot I feel like Irene has me staring into her soul."

Add that to the fact the girl’s utterly shrouded in myth.

Everyone running amuck with speculation; she's the girl-next-door, she’s the fantasy-in-real-life, she's someone everyone could see themselves fucking - she’s the heroine they say, the villain, the perfect wife, the one-that-got-away. They never do decide.

Though there’s only one opinion she’ll concern herself with, and only on occasion: yours.

Her fingers will come in the dark to trail feather-light from your collarbone, between the rise and fall of your shirt buttons, before pressing open palmed to your chest to still right there, and she's such a pretty thing in the plain black dress, all yours and very much in the mood - which you'll already have reason to know, in part from having felt your way around her no more than a hour prior, but also just the way Irene's been looking at you from beneath her dark lashes all evening, that subtle predatory gleam in her eyes.

You’ll hold her close. Irene will have the audacity to comment, “love you,” in this delicate little whisper, quiet like it could go either way - affection or gratitude. Maybe a touch of both.

A car will shortly arrive, pulling up to the curb with snow melting under its tires, headlights in your eyes, and then finally, in no particular order, your heart hammering: the click of the lighter, the falling ash, the sweet easy laugh, the crunch of ice under foot as she steps down beside you, the soft sweep of your arm.

You have no complaints about the proposal. A lack of argument or dispute is basically the same thing as consent, isn't it? For all intents and purposes, as a whole, it's really kind of a win-win:

Irene needs variety, which you're well aware of. It's only natural for someone who can have anything they want. And, sure, you happen to be a willing participant when it comes to satisfying the occasional whim.

So - the conversation will follow you right into the backseat of the cab, simply to iron out the details. 

“Tall. Beautiful. Soft, soft, soft - like cashmere, a luxury brand," Irene will have one heel off and her knee braced up into the back seat while the other leg extends across your thighs, fingers running along your coat collar to make idle circles against the exposed skin there. "Or, at the very least, someone with a little more bend to their character - you know how those prim and proper types always get a bit lost in you.”

"And wouldn’t you know."

It’ll sound smooth, probably. Irene will roll her eyes.

“So, okay,” you'll return to her, right after instructing the cabbie how to get to Irene's place. None of the implications here are lost on you. “You have anyone particular in mind?”

"Hm, I’m thinking."

You can picture it, roughly: Irene's whole body sunk into the dark corner of the seat - one leg idling over the other. Her foot bouncing at your thigh. She has her heels in one hand, earrings in the other.

She’ll look wistfully out the window; the intermittent flashes of city lights casting her face in different hues. The curve of her jaw; the stately line of her nose; her thick black lashes - composition and subject. It's this kind of attention to detail that the cameras scramble to pick up. It’d be better if they got it for the right reasons.

You’ll pull out your phone. Start the usual scroll from the top of your contacts. The girls you know, the girls you don't, the ones who might be awake or who definitely are, regardless of time of day or night.

Irene will finally perk up, gleaming.

Someone cute, she might say, only because she'd rather not admit, someone like me. There's limits to her vanity insofar as her taste - in all sorts of things.

But she does like the idea of it. Someone young and pretty and impressionable; someone naive, or tiny and helpless; it's never difficult to find the girl who will fawn over her - all wide-eyed and doe-faced the instant Irene floats her fingers across her collarbone, smirking - when she starts at the zipper at the back of her neckline and says, "we’re going to see how wet I can get you," without missing a beat. Someone who will eventually say please when Irene gets a little stern and tells her, "ask me what I'm gonna do to you," in a rasp so smoky that it would make the cigarette seem blasé.

But that, you suppose, is the nature of Irene. A touch domineering. A little more than just a pretty face.

She always takes, but she takes gently - a push here, a pull there, she knows people will give her anything.

It will be more obvious when there's a small voice trembling between the two of you, twisted up in your sheets and simpering with the gentle sort of affection that Irene deals so expertly: two fingers sliding up, pressing down. Curling, beckoning. Slow and tender, without giving up that she's looking for any soft spot; a weak point. Some vulnerability to exploit.

It'll be right after whichever plaything of the hour pulls her lips off yours, off the length of your fingers - or when she unfastens her mouth from the hard shape of your cock with an obnoxiously loud pop: "do you guys do this kind of thing often?"

And Irene, without even an ounce of hesitation, will rip right into the sheer of her stockings, letting out an aggressively casual laugh. She’ll plant a kiss somewhere deep. Say, "oh, honey," as she nuzzles into the crease of her thigh. "We're pretty new to this too."

Everyone, just - believes her. For the same reason you suppose they believe she's perfect. She’s good, really good at all this.

In the taxi, Irene's foot will continue to tap against your leg, until you're stopping her by covering her knee with your hand. As for now, the evening will remain all but written in stone. You'll run a hand through your hair, you’ll lean an elbow against the window - the whole while, ignoring the sudden itch between your shoulder blades at the thought of something else. At the thought of all the other girls who'll take an instant liking to her. Who wouldn't. 

The light will change. The intersection will empty. The radio will turn to static.

You'll eventually offer up a name like, "Jennie Kim," among others. Moving alphabetically down your contacts list. Taking you a long while to make it through the 'K's.

"Hm." Irene's soft hum of disapproval, non-committal. "Are you asking, or telling?"

The difference won't matter. "I'm suggesting," you'll say.

You’ll watch how Irene turns the name over in her mouth a few times before smiling - how she knows, there's the smallest part of you that has her held in a certain light. "Maybe," she'll say, tapping her phone against her cheek in the contemplation of whether or not this is a tentative no or a provisional yes - when really what she'll avoid an answer with is, "aren’t we a little tired of Jen?"

Tough to say.

Good, sweet, and just naive enough to get twisted up between you, in her case. Oh, Jennie’s the type of girl - you'll stuff your cock in her pretty little cunt while leaning into her, taking her arms and pinning them to the base of her spine, so she can't reach and can't claw and can't make an utter fucking wreck of herself. The two of you have known Jennie for too long, is what will strike you then. And a moment later, the idea of sinking into her ass from behind with your palm flat and warm against her hip and your voice husky and deep in the way she likes, and saying, god, fuck, Jen, you’d let me do anything wouldn’t you, you’d let me cum in here too.

And - she would, really.

She wouldn't even complain. Her face would be pressed so firmly against Irene's thighs, and she would whimper, not beg. Even though you know it’s what Irene might prefer; how it makes her look real cute - cheeks stained crimson as the syllables roll around her tongue before being forced out into the open.

"I think she's great," you might say out loud, lowkey.

And in a voice that is louder than strictly necessary, Irene will cut in: "she lets you finish in her ass, and then not even three minutes later she'll say it was the best lay of her life, of course you do."

It’ll make the cab driver clear his throat.

"What you’re saying is ‘no.’"

Irene will frown, thoughtful, but not conceding anything - perhaps she means hold onto that thought for now. If nothing else sounds particularly enticing, we'll call it a maybe. "I’m saying: Jennie is. I don't know."

You can hear the end of her sentence: not quite good enough. Not this time around, but someday, sure, someday soon.

"And for the record," Irene will follow, casual, with a dismissive hand wave. "Just because you got to her first doesn't mean she's ever liked you more."

The few that fall afterwards will never make the cut. Irene will turn them all down. Jisoo - no, sorry, look, she's so, so pretty, Irene will be trying to explain, gesturing in a way that's hard to interpret. "But a little too stuck up for my tastes."

You've been speaking in code for years. She means: way, way, way too straight.

"The blonde though," Irene will try right after that. “Daisy, or Lily, oh god something or another, what was her name-”

"Um, do you mean Rosé?”

“Yeah.” Irene will sink back into the leather, sipping down a memory or two and shifting her skirt up the top of her thighs.

You'll consider the angle. Your options: Rosé on her knees right inside the foyer of your apartment, Irene's hands wrapped tightly in her hair, controlling the rhythm. The way she gets her fingers spread under Irene's knees and draws her forward, pushing up with her eager, prying mouth - licks and licks, nosing against the heat of Irene's pussy until she’s gasping and locking her hands around the younger girl's head to steady the jerk of her hips.

Then, you'll laugh out loud. Because you know, Rosie isn’t anywhere close to straight enough. 

And the back-and-forth of what-ifs and could-bes will follow. An endless string, a laundry list. Where Irene makes a face for every name, every suggestion: too messy, or too innocent, or too sweet, or too boring, or not nearly shy or gullible enough, or whatever other bizarre caveat she finds to slot between all of her impassioned criticisms. The cabbie will be shaking his head at some point too, because the question hangs over the taxi at large: 

What exact criteria could possibly be good enough for the distinguished tastes and sensibilities of Bae Irene?

-

(The truth is: it doesn’t go like that at all.)

-

Enter then, Yu Jimin.

The run-in starts there, downstairs, out standing in a pool of warm, yellow light. The snow flurrying about in the glow of a street lamp - melting into where her smoothed curtain of jet-black hair spills over her shoulder and trickles down her sleeve. She looks a little cold, but not noticeably shivering. There's a red flush to the exposed length of her legs, between a pair of knee-high boots and the short hem of the coat itself. The stockings underneath offer little in the way of wintery protection - nor do the little bows that rest at the the bands of elastic around her soft, pale thighs - though it's obvious to anyone who's looking why she'd choose to wear them.

An assay into form over function. She's never cared for pragmatism.

But the lines around her are pristine, a clean-cut of shadow and substance; you take a step onto the curb, feeling yourself fall right into the foreground.

Look: you know Karina. You both do. Enough to recognize where it’s calmest before a storm.

Irene eventually calls out her name into the silence, and there is a split-second where her fingers reflexively wrap around the crook of your elbow. Almost possessive.

A car rushes by. Karina turns with her ungloved hand holding her cellphone to her ear and she's fucking gorgeous as can be, always pinning you with these big, unapologetic eyes - strikingly and somewhat deceptively innocent beneath her sharp brows. A breathy huff in response; she's otherwise unaffected.

Her shoulders shrug in easy dismissal; a quirk of the corners of her mouth. She slips her phone back in the pocket of her pea-coat. "Oh, how we all doing?"

Not for long, the question lingers.

"Fine," Irene finally replies, though her voice doesn't rise above a disinterested murmur.

"Easier, right? To fight for breath down here than it is up there," she says, pointing her gaze up high into the rafters of the building, and in a lot of ways, you realize, she's just like Irene - sweet, charming, this uncanny ability to make you think she's close, when she isn't actually looking to share anything. When she hasn't exactly decided that she likes you or anything at all.

You squint slightly. Take in where her silhouette appears darker against the backdrop of city lights, blending with the velvety black, bleeding into the ink-smudged night sky.

"There's certainly something to be said for flying under the radar at these things," she continues, taking one step closer towards you as if for comfort. Or privacy - to guard against anyone who might walk by.

"You've still got it easy," Irene says, "that, and everyone thinks you're too pretty to go after. No one even seems to consider the idea, it’s insufferable."

"Jealous?" Her tone is playful. There’s a smirk she’s suppressing - until she can’t hold it in: an unexpected, stunning smile, dimple and all. This incongruously kind face.

Oh, and listen, no one gets it better than Irene.

"No," Irene exhales, hot. “Not at all.” You can see where the thin plume of her breath hangs over her like a cloud for a moment, thinking, before dissipating against the harshness of a frigid December breeze.

"Really." She smiles at you again. Makes a sound that could be a laugh, you don’t know, the wind takes it, far away.

"Are you out here waiting for someone?" you have to ask. 

"Loaded question." Karina purses her lips for a moment. Her long eyelashes blink once, twice. "Because, I dunno, aren't we all?"

"Some of us more than others." Irene speaks quietly, moreso to herself than anyone else - but somehow her voice carries.

"Cheeky," Karina says, and this time she does laugh. "No. I'm waiting for a cab. I've had one hell of a night, and no interest in spending the rest of it in some rising socialite's bed, doubters excluded, because - look, I'm happy for you guys, I guess? You're gonna get married," she claps slowly, slow and mocking, slow enough that Irene rolls her eyes, "-or, the two of you will make a statement saying that you are - either way it sounds fucking exhausting - congratulations to you both. But seriously, congrats."

This is sorta how you've always known her. 

Faintly-hinted secrets, flirty half-truths. Her love life is an utter wreck, but that’s not something you’re supposed to know. So that's all she gives, which is more or less how everyone knows her. It's the only way to survive, probably, in a world of glitter and glamour, when everyone's vying to look, to feel, to take, and take, and take. Irene knows how suffocating it can be - she doesn’t lie about it, not to you, which is the only reason you're so well-versed.

Point being, no one wants to admit to any cracks in the fantasy; the gold too shiny, the surface too slick, the mirror too smooth for that illusion to slip.

"So go grab a guy with a half-decent smile and get him to buy you a drink about it," Irene suggests, derisive, "arch your back, push your tits out, get creative. I doubt it'll be much trouble at all."

Karina looks down, back up - with a slight chew of her lip, saying, "you just have me beat in all the important ways, I suppose. You got it in the bag, no real competition."

Irene is smiling, but her expression is unimpressed; it doesn’t mean much, really, to be her friend, her colleague, or worse, her opponent. Irene is calm like an evening in July, a low, cool, languid feeling. "I don't mean to be a prick, but, aren't you a little young to be so jaded?"

"Gosh," Karina’s grin doesn’t change, but does turn a touch wicked, like she's biting back. "I'd hate to be around when you do mean to be a prick, but maybe we'll find out - you know, down the line, someday.”

Irene tuts softly. It sounds patronizing. "Please, you'll have to forgive me - for mistaking you for someone more aware of how the rest of us work."

“You're one to talk, Irene."

“Careful,” Irene warns.

"What, you gonna set me straight?"

"Right." The way the word rolls off Irene's tongue, slow, thick, bitter, like molasses; like the coffee she has when she's tired, like the cigarette she swears left and right she’s cutting out and the vodka she needs you to reach for in the upper cabinets, like the person she is after midnight when you've let her keep drinking to find the limits to her inhibition. You understand Irene too well. And no matter what anyone says, you will not have the facts wrong.

There's no kindness to the way she laughs. None.

She tilts her head to you, grinning: an honest grin, her favorite thing - inimitable, unique, and hers alone; her version of cruelty is what will always have them doubting. You hold her gaze as she adds, "of all things, right now - wouldn’t you just love to set her straight?"

-

Depending on who you ask, you’ll get different results.

Irene insists you kissed Karina first, probably out there in the snow - god knows how cliche would that be.

She also insists that it was you who suggested that “there’s a lot more sense in splitting a cab,” and then minutes later, “please, it'd be no trouble, just let us pay. Our place is five blocks that way," and Irene - being Irene - mentioning it's actually quite a bit further, but hey, it isn’t worth splitting hairs over. And it's not worth explaining - she shuts you up with another kiss, pressing her weight hard up against you, the arm she slings around your neck.

Then in a sort of mythologized version of the timeline, it's you who makes the proposition - invites Karina upstairs, with the charm that Irene knows is usually reserved for her benefit alone: that slight tick of the brow, the delicate slant of your mouth, the confidence you seem to have in thinking no one will ever say no, no matter how brusque the invitation-

"You two are unbelievable. Is this really your standard procedure?" Karina asks, once you're through the door, or maybe during a bout of smalltalk in the kitchen. Something flirtatious; and suggestive, and maybe a little offhand. A pointed glance downwards, back up. All it really will take. "You get some girl into your home and they're just so overwhelmed and dazzled and in love, they can't even make eye contact for longer than a second? Because that's quite a line," a soft huff, the exhale that seems to carry the faintest note of a sigh. You could call it wistful. Just this side of romantic; very attractive.

“That’s more or less the gist of it,” you offer.

“You’d be surprised.” Irene is lingering on it, back against the counter beside you, laughing. "Some people are more than happy to be swept off their feet."

"Imagine that. If that's how this is meant to go, then tell me," and Karina lifts her chin, a breath drawn slow and deliberate, "what exactly do prince and princess charming do next?"

Consider that Karina’s interpretation of events is closer to reality: no pretense. She is not drunk, and in this story, she never will be.

But it's the slow-burn thing, the rivals-to-lovers thing, the sexual-tension-through-conflict thing, the white-hot-blistering-rage matter gone awry. Not a series of happy accidents, but a result of intentional circumstance - this slow arc of descent. She knows exactly how Irene is tightly wound, and which thread to pull to make everything start to unravel. She'd flirt with you right under her nose - say things in this obnoxiously girlish tone, pout a lot, lean into so much innuendo it becomes impossible to miss the meaning, or the sincerity behind it.

If you had to guess - Karina’s been pining since forever, since Irene accidentally etched her DNA into the girl upon saying, carelessly, that she’d always seen some part of herself in Karina. Probably around the time Irene wrapped a palm over an expanse of bare thigh, just beneath the hem of her skirt, telling her, you're getting way too pretty for your own good.

Doesn’t matter who you are, that’ll fuck you up for real.

And it's not just how she looks at Irene when she thinks no one is watching either; swings and roundabouts, Karina probably can’t keep the thought of you sprawled out over Irene’s petite little frame, or Irene kissing you hard while wrapped around you tight. Your hand, her hand, intertwined and picturesque, sliding down Irene's stomach. Together - and so very without her - fingertips stroking lightly over Irene’s clit, gently dipping inside her.

Irene is not stupid. She picks up on everything, and there's a lot to unpack:

"Can you believe it? Minjeong just asked me if I've ever kissed a girl before," Karina had said to you once, ages ago, between a workout or dance practice, something or another - she was wearing a loose-fit tank top and very intent on showing off. She seemed then to be taking mental note of the face Irene put on, the look of someone trying to hold in an aneurysm.

“Well,” you played along, because you’re not really without blame here either. "Have you?"

"Oh my god." Karina knew what she awas doing, the playful slap to the chest, the lingering touches she’d have on you every chance she could get - total fucking coquette - anything to get a rise out of you, your fiancée. She hushed her voice down to this strategic whisper that Irene could just overhear: "of course not."

You better believe Irene broke her composure not soon afterwards, after Karina made her exit. 

"Do not fuck her," she demanded, firm, "I don't care how good you think she might be in bed, or what she would probably let you get away with."

You remember the knit of her brow.

“Do not.”

You’re sighing, profoundly. The memory - not to mention its shocking clarity - has put a smug sort of satisfaction into your bones, indulging. The nip to Karina's jaw, a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her shoulder. A hand tracing down the curve of her hips, under the guise of helping her settle between the cushions of the couch. You feel like you catch the color flooding her cheeks. Then, Irene, her pretty little shadow: the steady presence over her other shoulder.

"What." Karina sounds defensive when Irene pulls her lips away, but the hand she has buried in Irene's hair doesn’t appear to be going anywhere. "Are we going to pretend for a minute I don't see the way you're both looking at me right now?"

"Don't be stupid, darling, of course not." Irene leans up close again. Kisses up her neck, behind her ear, and coos, "the two of us, you just seemed like you were needing someone, that's all," and then whispers the words, barely audible: "I mean look, who wouldn't want the three of us right now?"

Karina hums. "Ah, so - you think I deserve to have a little fun."

"Maybe," she draws it out a little longer.

Your hands dip below her knees, running over the silk-slick surface, tugging at the frills lining her thighs - feeling up over the outline of where her body curves under her dress. Over the dark pattern printed across the front.

Karina swallows visibly, her head dropping back against the armrest, the couch cushion; by the way she shudders slightly and starts breathing, you realize that it's probably been a while since she's had much experience being in a position this helpless. You draw your fingers lightly across the bareness of her skin, right as Irene finds that sensitive spot just where her neck slopes to her collarbone. You trace along the fabric until you have her squirming beneath you both.

She sucks in a breath as Irene drags a touch right over the obvious seam, across the expanse of her hip, and despite your fiancée being a tad forward -

"Both of you should know I'm not that type of girl. Who puts out so easily-"

"Likewise," Irene practically sneers, not missing a beat and threading her fingers beneath her jaw, feeling her pulse against the pad of her thumb.

"Yeah, well. If this isn't a setup, then, what-"

“A setup.” Irene breathes the word out, contemptuous, which is almost as if she says yes, you figured it out, and she starts to lean in closer - the distance between the two of them now negligible as her mouth tightens with her derision. "That is awfully conceited of you."

"Ha."

You choose right there to run your palm between her thighs and cup at the front of her pussy through the skirt of her dress, squeezing tightly. There has to be an element of good cop, bad cop to this whole routine, and you'd be remiss not to participate in the former. Irene's glare is starting to become pretty intimidating.

"The way I see it," you begin, and it's so gentle. Easy to slip through, but easy enough to grip - no threat, or indication that she should stop rocking forward to the motion of your fingers, toying idly. "There's no catch. Only: Irene calls the shots. If you end up with a crush, or worse, think you're in love," a light squeeze to illustrate the point, the dig of nails, not too rough, but definitely drawing attention. "You've gotta walk it off.”

Karina just runs her tongue across her lips, sighing.

“No strings attached, no special treatment. Or anything."

"Oh." Karina is looking straight at you, dazed - as your fingers work harder, picking up where her hips started rolling a second before. She licks her lips. "You're telling me that I'm going to get fucked so thoroughly here, that it's gonna be a problem."

"Actually," you pull away, pushing her dress up so you can touch up ever higher this time. Rooting between her soft thighs. "I can't make any guarantees. You'll need to convince us first."

There's a laugh, from a spot inside her diaphragm - and yeah, there's no denying the reality here. She's nervous; or excited; or nervous-excited. Karina just lets it pass, an exaggerated sound in her throat, before gasping on an exhale of breath: "convince you to fuck me?"

"Between us, we've kissed our fair share of pretty girls in the heat of the moment," Irene supplies.

Karina laughs. Starts saying, "in that case, can I start by confessing that this whole exchange has left me pretty fucking wet-" 

You slip one finger down the rise of her panties, this lacy little number she probably picked out with sordid fantasy in mind. 

"Oh god," she says, voice drowned in her throat, husky, and sultry - it’s really hard not to appreciate the girl, like this - and then she closes her eyes, saying it again, "oh, yeah, like - like that. Okay, thank you."

Irene puts a hot kiss into her lips, and a subjugating silence stills over the living room, softening around her small voice, her breathing. Everything comes together so seamlessly, so effortlessly: 

The click of Irene’s heels against hardwood, these soft sounds of wet tongues twisting and bodies grinding, Karina's face, buried somewhere under Irene's chin, letting out the cutest moan. Irene's helping the rest of the dress up over Karina's ass, then up past her waist, pulling down the scalloped elastic of her stockings. She grabs hold of her hips, feeling the draw of her curves there - you watch how your other half does the thing she does best, the thing where she strips a girl down to nothing like she's doing them a favor.

"Pretty," Irene appraises her naked body - not her face, not her mind, not her ambition or the strength of her determination, or god forbid, something banal like her personality, but, "fuck, look at you, look at this figure," her palm skates along the plane of her stomach, "so pretty."

It could be the insinuation: Irene is ready to reduce the girl down to a heap of jumbled nerves; to tears, probably - given half the chance. Like she's telling her a body as flawless and well-manicured and sweetly receptive to being toyed with as hers needs to get absolutely wrecked, among other things.

(Fucked so deeply, and to the point of utter exhaustion - the point is that she forgets her own name.) 

Irene knows just by looking, her eyes tracing down each and every one of Karina’s curves like they’re taking inventory. It could be as simple as a handprint seared into her ass, a stinging red stain etched into her soft, creamy white skin, marking the insides of her thighs, her beautiful fucking tits - oh, the things the two of you could do.

"How do you want it, exactly?" Irene's eyes are dancing around her face, in her stare, darting down, then back up. "How, baby."

Karina smiles against Irene’s lips like she knows the answer, the perfect one. She must already have the script prepared. It's no stretch of the imagination: "anything, as long as it means you both keep looking at me."

Because maybe it's down to the pure physicality of it all. Something Karina's been waiting to feel, desperate to have, for some time - as you set into action, dismantling any pretense that you weren’t about to devour the heat of her aching cunt, from running touches all over her slick pussy. It’s a strong theory, you figure, from the visceral response you get when you get start to fuck her, when you slide a finger inside: tight and snug, and so unbelievably wet. 

“Oh,” she breathes out, and it sounds sated and needy all at once.

You make sure to glance at her face before pressing another into her. All the way past the knuckles. She looks lost to the feeling, the pleasure; her expression gone hazy-eyed as you start fucking into her with a few steady pumps of your wrist - slow and then faster, then faster again - fucking into her with increasing urgency.

Just to keep her gasping, panting.

Like a woman starved for it.

"God," Irene kisses softly into her mouth. Her hand tangled in Karina's hair, twisting strands between her fingers and tugging just shy of something painful, "you're really sensitive, aren't you?"

Karina nods, slightly. It’s all she can manage.

You have a soft spot for girls who will spread themselves open like they can't wait, but still end up flustered over how your lips ghost across aching flesh. Who can't even form the words - asking for this, and that, and a million little things; and look at Karina - blushing, her eyes fluttering closed, and digging her nails into the couch the moment you finally put your hot mouth on her. Her entire body is drawn taut like a live wire.

"Relax," you coax, speaking more to the muscle - her legs tensed, and knees pulled tightly together. You know just where to place your lips to make her go to pieces, but it's worth suspending pleasure - your own, and Irene's, who won't admit that this sorta turns her on too - so Karina's face might open up, so the tilt of her brow can slack, and the twist of her expression can soften. Like it's the only chance she'll ever get.

When you place your palm across Karina's stomach to steady her and look up, Irene has started peeling off her own clothes, down to nothing but the little panties underneath. That garter-belt thing that makes her ass look like she was sculpted straight out of clay - a reminder she's always worth your time, no matter what mood she's in, or whether or not she'll eventually let you take the lead. She's lifting herself on the couch to throw off the little slip of a dress, the high heels. “Baby," she purrs, teasing, maybe to distract from how she’s gone from dragging circles with her fingernails across Karina’s collarbones to kneading roughly at her tits. And she might even insert something she's never actually had a chance to confess out loud, or even consider much, like: she's been dying to know what Karina's face will scrunch up into, or what her eyes will look like, tears stained across her lashes while you fuck her within an inch of her life. The image you’ll find when you find all those spots that drive a girl wild.

Your mouth drags over the slick, her lips, her clit, and down again - as if to illustrate the point.

"That feels - so," she starts, and bites off the rest of the words.

Irene grabs hold of Karina's hands. Presses their mouths back together, and bites Karina's bottom lip. Kissing the words out of her, the sentences that start in half measures and stifled gasps:

"- so, good, oh. Do - ah, fuck. Oh, god-"

-and vanish somewhere in Irene's mouth.

"-oh, do that again. Oh my god. There. Just - lick- please, keep fucking, exactly that-"

And pay close attention, because here now is how she slips: from the image she maintains for the cameras, the audiences, her admirers, her competition, her detractors, the ones who mean it, the ones who don't mean a damn thing; the girl who shies away from anything overtly sexual, or sensual, or remotely hedonistic; and doesn't act as though she too, just as much as anyone else, needs someone to fuck her stupid - as if it's an eventuality of her own humanity, instead of a concept she's learned to scorn.

Irene picks up on the distinction, all too familiar with the look filling out across Karina’s angelic features.

She ghosts her thumbnail across Karina’s nipple. Tries out: "why don't you make her cum, baby, right here, on the couch.” A look at you, a quick tilt of the chin. Then, her tongue peeking from behind her teeth, and her voice dropping, "just so you can tell Minjeong, or whoever ends up asking - 'you have no idea how good they fuck.'"

And just like that - with Karina’s body laid out beneath Irene’s hands, your mouth - you simply fucking ruin her. 

You both do. 

Until it's only a mess of whines and shuddering limbs and that lovely look: pure agony. So helpless. So utterly exposed.

Karina hiccups something incoherent - you’re doubling down. You’re working your touches through the torrid mess between her legs. Her pussy is shimmering wet and hot and every bit as pretty as she is. Then, the motion of your tongue, the slow, heavy flick back and forth, relentless and constant - dragging back and forth, keeping her right up, riding the wave. Back and forth, back and forth. 

"Oh my fucking god." Karina can only gasp, jaw-slacked open. 

Overwhelmed and blissed-out and suddenly awash in this searing and wondrous sensation that the only real way she's able to make sense of is by twisting her hands in your hair and pulling you flush against her cunt while she cums on your lips.

"Ah - you're fucking kidding me. Please, don't stop, please don't-" Karina has her head turned. Voice pitched right into Irene's shoulder. You fuck her on two fingers until she’s got the heel of her palm pressed firm into her forehead, and she’s starting to jerk her hips into your face. Stutter her breathing, her words: “I, I, I- fucking - what the fuck, you’re making me - jesus fucking christ."

Like some delicate and intricate piece of her had just been irreparably snapped. Broken. You hear her expletive-laden screams - and think, better her, than either of you.

And all the way through every last part of it, cresting, waning, quivering, the tremble of her thighs snapped shut against your ears, the grind of her teeth, and each little choked out gasp-

“I'm… fucking cumming.”

Karina spends the entirety of her first orgasm between the two of you, heaving.

The look on her face alone, just from what parts you can see, has your lower gut clenched - it goes from anguished pleasure, mouth pulled wide and brows wound high and tight, all the way to calm and cathartic, the pretty bow of her lips settling into something manic. Eyes softening with a luster, half-closed. A mask, the afterglow: blissed-out and smiling dreamily.

How anyone could say no to a picture like this, you're unsure. Though not particularly willing to test the theory, naturally.

"That was mean," Karina finally huffs, letting a moment pass to even out her breaths. "Both of you, so mean."

"You said to," is all Irene says, amused. 

Karina looks down; lifts her head just slightly - as you bring your own mouth off her, catching her glance. Not even your palm and your fingers covered with the evidence - it's her lips that give her away, the swollen, pouting, bright pink lips of her pussy, still radiant with her climax.

She breathes, "god. Irene."

It sounds an awful lot like she's begging for mercy.

Irene hums softly. Leans in for a kiss, with her slender hands cupping Karina's face. Manages to say: "you just look so fucking hot when you're struggling. Can’t fault us for that." She reaches down, and digs her fingernail into the line of Karina's cheek - near the center, just short of the outer curve where her dimple naturally settles. She works her lips to a very soft, "ow."

"Listen," Irene says, "is there anywhere else you've been considering going? Because in the event you're looking to stay for the night-"

Karina replies, "only everywhere I still haven't gone."

Her smile looks honest. Her cunt seeping and slick - there's abundant honesty there, too. And you manage to catch the wicked glint in Irene's eye, like she's a bit obsessed with all that glisten, and what it means - that Karina hasn't felt a real, good dicking in ages. Maybe, probably, never. That she's slept with everyone and filled her quota of playing pretend: of someone just going through the motions, dragging their mouth or tongue or cunt along the most obvious, conventional routes.

It’s written all over her face: the girl between you needs to be touched everywhere, and by someone who knows how. Needs it deeper, more. Has to feel the pressure everywhere all over.

Irene asks her, plainly, “how might we get you moaning like that again, hm? We're both dying to know."

She puts her hand under Karina’s chin, tilts her face towards hers, and kisses her long and deep. Until the both of them are having trouble catching any breath. Until they have to break, only so one can take another in: inhale, exhale, and back in her mouth.

"Maybe." Karina lets go of Irene's lower lip. She sounds almost bashful, "you'll need to let me get my hands on that cock of his. Let me get it inside, want it real fucking deep inside. Tell you if I'm just, you know. Really fucking horny. Or maybe I have some hangups about sex I've never told anyone - and we have to work past that," she takes Irene's mouth into her own again.

It's the short consideration of sure, mm, why not? until the next suggestion is: "he should be on his knees, in bed, those hands around my waist, behind the small of my back and pulling me into every stroke."

“Oh,” Irene agrees, “I love that. Should I play with myself while I watch him fuck you senseless? So hard and rough - you'll start seeing stars. I wanna see him completely railing into your dripping pussy from behind, fucking you so goddamn well until you're screaming so loud it’ll wake the neighbors."

Karina sighs. “Well I’d hate to get all the way here and half-ass it.”

You barely catch it, but there's a lovely note in Karina's voice. It’s saying, and don't you dare treat me like glass, like I’m fragile.

All in all, a filthy, filthy way for a girl with virtually no ill-reputation or ill-gotten gains - no record whatsoever - to describe how she wants you to fuck her, until she’s biting down on the consonants in your name, moaning loud and unmistakably clear, and-

“-sorry, whose cock?” Irene has no intention of letting her off easy.

You draw away from the meat of her thigh, licking your lips clean, and insert mid-conversation with a husky-voiced, "hmm?"

Karina just shoots you a sharp-eyed look. "You heard."

"Only," you play dumb. You run a hand between her legs, using your palm as you go, so you can pull more sound out of her throat; the pleased sighs, a hum. Another. "The part where you want it 'real fucking deep inside,' I think I heard."

"I mean, wouldn't you?" Karina looks satisfied with that. Lets out an easy laugh and turns to Irene. "Besides, I need to know if it’s more than just pretty eyes and a handsome smile that you’ve gotten yourself so hung up on."

The tilt of your fiancée’s brow above her is noticeable and apparent. Not a twinge of surprise; more like recognition. It's Irene looking haughty - beyond the usual - wrapped up in the afterglow. It's the confidence, and not at all humbled by the reality that she is no stranger to fucking a girl this downright gorgeous, knowing the danger inherent in allowing that kind of damage, but if Irene has you figured - she's figured Karina even better: someone willing to push through the burn. Someone, she’s betting, with the capacity to handle pain like it's an artform.

“Karina,” Irene says, and she's really leaning into it, "you really ought to be more careful with that smart-mouth of yours.”

It's the absolute worst way to proposition someone; maybe second only to what Irene whispers straight into her ear:

"If I had to guess, it’s your sweet, pretty face that has everyone bending over backward just to let you fuck them, hmm?” 

You’d anticipated this much. You watch how your beautiful wife-to-be eases forward and leaves a slow kiss into Karina's throat, before adding the worst, most awful thing she can manage, “they're eating up this adorable, innocent facade of yours just as soon as you let it slip - letting you straddle their waist, and slide right on, and chase some clout out of oh, she must have this tight little cunt, or how good it would fucking feel to ruin a load just slamming these perfect tits, or. The best of the best, when it comes to pretty things with brains and mouths on 'em: 'fuck, I bet Karina has a face like an angel, she's the kind of girl who probably really, really loves taking it raw - filled and fucked as deep as she can manage'."

“She’s insinuating you’re a slut,” you offer on the next beat, down from between Karina’s knees. “Or something.”

"I put that much together." Karina has that teasingly pragmatic tone in her voice, matching Irene's level. "Your point?"

The joke is that even Irene - after she has the chance to drag her thumb across Karina's lips - looks mildly impressed.

"Sweetheart," the corner of Irene's mouth quips, as if the reason is so, so very obvious, "let’s say you’re just like me, total hypothetical. You're going to have to let us know which part feels better: the praise, or the degradation. I know it’s what makes you tick: all the attention. I know you need it. The same way I know that I could eat this perfect pussy out for hours just to get it slick, and wet, and wanting, and the thing I’m still not sure you’d be ready to learn," she tells her, a light in her stare that flicks upwards, eyes going from Karina's cunt and back to her eyes, her own mouth, and then hers, "the really good sex? Isn’t always pretty."

There isn't room for misunderstanding, let alone any mercy in it. Irene's face is dark; dangerous. Like, seriously. Karina knows better. Everyone does. You know exactly what she's doing. You know what comes next, but this time, you can't shake the feeling like-

Like Karina wants you to look.

She has her fingers on her cunt, spread, presenting - and a small shrug; her response is so fucking coy: "I guess I can't really help it. Besides, it’s common knowledge, isn’t it? The brattiest girls always turn out to be the best fucks. Honest, I get so wet sometimes, you know and then god, I can't think straight.” 

She laughs at the premise. 

“I dunno, what's a girl to do?"

You can feel the room starting to tighten up, just barely: Karina’s breath still heavy, her chest heaving, the way Irene holds her still, how her arm curls across her stomach, palm flat under her tits; that pose in particular, the power to entice.

And maybe it's the fact Irene is still making eyes at you from Karina's shoulder, the cruel bite to her upper-lip, showing how she's working at the soft skin of her neck - a smirk, before pressing into another kiss there. Your insides are running hot, a shudder racing up your spine. There’s no mistaking what she's getting off on, not just some pretty-as-paint newcomer. There’s your Irene, your fiancée - and her beautiful, adorable, awful little shadow.

-

So what if, by some pure hypothetical, this all spirals out of control?

You don't know the consequences of taking home what amounts to a coworker and screwing her with a certain reckless abandon. There’s power harassment, a toxic workplace environment, boundary issues, sexual-fraternization. So on, so forth. It's all relative, but watching Irene and Karina make their way up the stairs and admiring the things that only a woman's hips can do, swaying this way, and that - and, following the path from one tight little ass, the other, all the way up their spines - there are no such qualms to contend with, because there's absolutely zero chance that’s the thing that’ll be keeping you up all night.

Irene laments and hopes in the same breath. 

She has two pairs of panties in one hand, Karina’s fingers laced into the other, explaining with a quick squeeze, "don't tell me, baby, I already know," a wink, a laugh. She’s such a sweetheart when she means to be; charming, wooing, the coy girl Karina seems to have gotten so drunk off the idea of getting mixed up with. And yeah, when she drops them on the floor, and pushes Karina gently against the wall. Traces her finger up her jaw, then her cheek, and leans into the crook of her neck, into that same spot from earlier; yes, Karina can count herself lucky, or whatever.

"So, don't stop now, baby-" Karina's huffing - the line of her throat so taut and exposed. "You should really fucking try harder if you want me to beg."

"Honey," is how Irene responds, leisurely.

There will come a point in their intimacy, in all things considered, where this act no longer plays itself: Irene, the seductress, and Karina, a deft and innocent prey; of course you, the hammer to a nail, pushed and pulled in one direction, the next. The moments in which her lips leave the crescent of Karina's mouth - hot, hazy, and half-wet with their own spit, their tongues twisting, the muted click, and the telltale wet drag of a body pushing and straining up against her own-

Maybe in her bones, she is begging for it. Maybe, Irene hopes, she'll have to: eyes turned up, watering, tears coming hot, streaming down her flushed cheeks as she cries it from her lungs.

"I wouldn't have you beg for anything."

It's true that Irene is ninety-nine percent grace, one percent child-like wonder; she's easy to read when the mood hits her. The lines of their bodies tousling, twisting and tangling in moon-lit-darkness. There's some irony to it, only a few steps away from the bedroom. At the base of the staircase. In front of the tall windows covered with frost that serve, now, primarily to remind Karina that she's in a part of town she could never afford, in an ostentatious apartment she could only dream of; but most importantly, that the woman in front of her - with her fingers dipping down between her thighs and up again, tracing over her navel and the rise of her hip and her cleavage - can have anyone she likes, without limitation.

Karina can't deny it's everything she wants.

"Karina, I'm curious." You're easing into that spot, where the two of them have coiled themselves up - you’ve got your cock in your hand and you’re stepping out of your pants - in the hallway, the frame of the door, a heavy, long shadow cast: Karina has Irene pinned now, a wrist over her head, against the other side of the wall where the white paintwork is starting to run thin. "Didn't you say something before about how hard you wanted it? Raw, deep, I believe was how you put it."

Irene smirks. It's just the slightest sneer, until she has her hands reaching over the curves of Karina's hips and pulling her fingers into her soft ass. Spreading her cheeks. Touching up, then down, back in the same groove, this slow rhythm that builds - like they were both expecting this exact sequence of events.

You watch Irene whisper something into the girl's ear, and - fuck - the light catches her expression at just the right moment, head lolled to the side.

"Hey," Karina drawls. She lets it come out breathy - on the note, the middle and upper registers of her voice, hitting something near a perfect alto. "How about instead of having some heart-to-heart, and making me out to be some naive-ass kid, you stop asking questions and get to fucking the life out of my little pussy."

She ends it so charming.

“Oh,” you tell her, feeling how fucking drenched she is right at the end of your cock - sliding her slick up and down the length of her cunt, and knowing the feeling will likely stick to your skin and drip to the floor, all of it - "well. If that's all."

Your hand arrives on the lithe stretch of muscle between her waist, right along the ridge of her hip bone, your cock pressing onto the heat of her cunt. Karina turns her head over her shoulder so you can see it all in profile: that pout. That look. That everything.

"There you have it." Irene squeezes the flesh she's got cupped in her palms, drawing circles. "If only everyone else got to hear that sweet, sharp edge you've got underneath, hm?"

Karina opens her mouth with some clear quip to needle, but stops herself, a catch in the center of her throat, her brows shooting up. The pull of her voice is somewhere out and over.

“God, fuck-” she can just manage to sputter. “You’re- ah, ah - your fucking cock-”

Oh, it has you cursing too. You're pushing so far into her tight little cunt - the soft airy moan, that pretty sound, riding back on every last stroke until you've filled her right to the hilt.

“I know, I know - that feels so good, right?” Irene coos.

You just pull her all the way back onto your cock, thrusting deep. Base to tip. So goddamn fucking deep.

Karina probably doesn’t even mean to whimper, but the press of your hips, slowly snapping in and in, has her lungs constricted, as the pressure slides through every hot, slippery inch inside of her - this glide of agonizing intensity.

“I bet you want to just cream all over that cock,” Irene says, fine eyebrows knitting into something like contentment. “All filled up and feeling full, and just fucking letting it go - he’ll take such good care of you. He’ll fuck you so good you won’t ever get that warm, hazy, blissed-out feeling out of your veins ever, ever again, if he has his way-”

All while the head of your cock works over every fucking sensitive part of her, dragging out to thrust all the way into her soft cunt, the round of her ass bouncing back to meet each stroke. Again, and again, until you've worked through that wet stretch of muscle. And the motion isn't exactly elegant. Karina's mouth hangs wide open, catching short breaths that curl inwards when you reach the line of her waist.

“It’s so fucking good,” Karina’s sighing out. She’s all fluster, no bite.

There’s no lack for juxtaposition in the way Irene dotes on her either - these small beguiling bits of praise like, baby, you’re doing so good, these tits of yours are just, you are - just gorgeous. Mouth quirked into a tight grin as her fingers pull and twist around her nipple. The sharp yelp that comes after. The fact that she's kissing the words into her mouth on the very next whimper: “a girl like you needs the time, and patience, and opportunity to have her insides completely, totally, catastrophically ruined.”

Irene had it exactly right on the first read. She’ll say, “I told you so,” when Karina’s washing the cum off her chest or out of her eyelashes in the shower. It’s the praise; it’s the degradation; it’s you leaning down, your hands finding her hair, curling in, and getting her right up against your lips to say it quiet, low, intimate - like a lover, like she hasn't already heard it before, “such a good little slut for me.”

And the girl absolutely fucking keens.

You grip onto her hips. You pull her hair tight. Her throat bobs under your thumb and you can feel the anxiety start to throb, her pulse hot and heavy in her cunt. How it soaks the base of your cock. Jesus, you’ll fuck a load right into her. So easily. Her pussy is so snug, so unbelievably wet. Perfect enough to know if you fuck into her any faster, any harder - it’ll be just that: you'll paint right up to her cervix; you'll fill her to the fucking brim.

"Fuck, Karina, this pussy is such a fucking dream," is what you're making sure she knows, and at that, Karina just finds that bend. Arches more of herself to you, until her ass is slotted into the plane of your stomach, the head of your cock prodding, testing the limit where her cunt is hottest and wettest. "God, this has to feel incredible. Your ass bouncing on my cock" - Karina goes slack on the force, leaning forward - "as I rail your tight little cunt."

If anything, Irene is there to catch Karina's tearful, thankful gaze when she finally starts fucking crying, a litany of yes, fuck yes, yes-yes-right-there, please fuck, and a wet, dazed little "you're goddamn - you're ruining, fucking - fucking, ruining me," every other syllable broken by her shuddering breaths.

"Aw, you're going to cum again, huh? Baby-" Irene's got her head at an angle - their gazes locked, watching - and maybe Irene really gets it: how much of a big, bad crush this gorgeous fucking woman's had on the pair of you all this whole time, with all that faux-romance, and lust, and envy wrapped up inside her - but if she wasn't so obsessed with the shape of Irene's mouth, the contour of her jaw, the lean and sleek lines of her frame and the soft, round swell of her ass - she’d still be left with the shape of your cock, where it’s pounding her apart. Fucking her and fucking her up.

It's more than worth the breath to remind Karina what she came here for. Irene's fingertips brush the line of her lips, part them just so. 

“All over him, baby, let him make a mess of you. Just a total fucking mess. We'll fill you up, and fill you up, until your poor, aching pussy is full of cum," and it's probably as well: Karina does what comes most natural to her - with you three, the whole number. Her eyes flutter and go dreamy. There's not even a moment of hesitation:

"-until it's leaking down these fucking thighs-"

"You're doing so good, babe," is your supporting role in all this, murmuring encouragement straight into her ear as you fuck her to pieces. Your breath fans out against her cheek. And then, your hands make a grip under her thighs, holding her steady, making her mouth fall open - this keen, wobbly, vulnerable thing that exposes the naked girl she is, behind all the makeup, and the heels, and her seductive and all-consuming appeal, everything.

“Just so you know: it’s the best fucking part, Karina. I mean, the look on his face.” Irene laughs with her whole body, until the rich, raspy sound of it fills the hall. “The way he bites his lip when he's close, his eyes clenched - and god, I fucking love when he finally cums. It's so good, watching him. Letting him have his way. Feeling his cock throb and spill into you - hot, and still, and just pumping inside you - just so, so good.”

"Fuck, ah-" the little gasp is like she's starting to hyperventilate. 

"Because baby,” is the final nail in the coffin, hammering home, “he’s fucking you just like he’d fuck me.”

"Fucking, please, god-."

Irene's hands have her breasts in their grasp and are playing at where she’s sensitive, then pushing into the soft, delicate space beneath, thumbing the indents. "He's so fucking good, isn't he? Are you going to cream and cream all over his hard fucking cock?"

Then - and because it comes so instinctually to her. Because, actually, your Irene has a slight propensity for evil:

She slaps Karina, right across her tits. "Fucking cum on it."

One.

Tugs hard on a nipple. "I swear, every single bit of you is so goddamn beautiful-"

Two.

"That body is built, perfect. So easy to ruin. And god - what a perfect little pussy you've got-"

Three.

Karina struggles to breathe. Her voice is torn, frayed. She barely manages to utter out a very shaky, very desperate, "harder, fuck- you’re fucking making me so- you can, harder-"

Four.

The cruel contact of Irene’s palm pulls this deliciously hedonistic sound in Karina's throat, a loud moan; like she just hit the sweet spot inside that's all her nerves coming alight. Irene plants a quick peck in Karina's hair. Her temples, the ridge of her brows. Slides her thumb across her eyelashes, brushing them clean from whatever tears had sprung free. You don't even want to try, not at that moment, to try and endure the quiver of slippery muscle all over your cock as she shudders into her orgasm. It's simply too fucking much. She's too fucking tight.

"Aw, shh shh, shh," and then Irene's soft hushes are coming down from the other side of her head. Irene kisses her full, straight on her mouth. Karina is shaking, convulsing and caught and fucked from head to toe - and what she needed was someone like the two of you - to watch her cunt swallow your cock like some magnificent and unbelievable sight, taking the whole damn thing. Irene is telling her, "it's okay. You can let it go."

The silhouettes alone. From the end of the hall, and where the afterimage lingers: the smoke-frosted windows, the dim lights, their bare, beautiful forms - this picture that will stick in the center of your head, will probably haunt you-

"God, I can’t, just- ah.”

“Breathe,” Irene says.

"I'll cum again, it's too- I'm so-" Karina can only plead and sigh.

Irene shushes her one more time. "It's a lot. It's alright, baby. He's going to keep fucking you until he's ready to pull out, until he has a whole mess just painted onto your ass, and thighs, and I'm going to make sure that little pussy gets so wrecked, fucked, stretched on every last inch- until the thought of sex hurts, and then we're going to make you cum again, and again- over, and over-"

You're leaning over her, nose buried into the waves of Irene's hair, the curve of Karina's back, and the flush of skin in contrast. That's when you feel the coil in your chest come loose - unspooling, and bursting - when Karina's lids roll into the back of her head and her lips fall open with a pleasured gasp and a stammer, "y-you're, ah, both, you're so, both- oh god."

You're about to just pull her down and absolutely cream her, stuff her full - a mess.

And she wants you to-

"That feels so fucking good," she lets slip out on the cusp of a shiver, just as her inner muscles are spasming, milking your cock with the pressure from one pulse through the next, squeezing.

She’s right. It does. Her, coming undone. You, at wit’s end. 

Another breath, and Karina is managing out between these small hiccups - not as much out of breath, just dumbstruck - simply muttering, "I’m cumming, I- oh my god." 

You barely manage it; you unbury your cock from her cunt; you’re cumming all over her ass. 

A shot of white that streaks right down to her bare-slicked skin, before it gets painted down into the crease of her pussy, all swollen - wrecked and raw.

Just the way it feels on her skin is enough to earn another hushed moan from her, this sweet little whimper as she can hardly stand up straight. She lets her knees buckle, but Irene is right there, to catch. Her eyes are closed, eyelids clenching, as Irene tilts Karina's face her way, to lay one, two, three soft, adoring kisses on her mouth, the angle all wrong. 

“Mmm.” The smack of her lips. The pull of whatever breath she still has to give - right out of her heaving chest. "Sore, that, ahhh- um, thank you."

You fiancée wraps a slender hand right around Karina's wrist, and starts whispering to her, unbridled, "just had to. Had to see how you look-"

It’s wicked, for one thing. More than that, it's seamless:

While Irene still has the girl's voice caught in her throat, she reaches around the curve of Karina's hips and drags two fingertips through the puddle of warm cum that sits right at the base of her spine, glistening all over her ass cheeks and inner thighs, slipping and rolling off her cunt, down the center, running in rivulets. Your cum between her fingers is so filthy, so obscene - dripping hot - right off her reddened skin, and Irene can't possibly help it; not after a display as indulgent as that. The trembling that remains in Karina’s thighs does nothing to hide how her legs now jitter and shake under Irene's touch.

“That’s my good girl,” she whispers as her fingertips hover across the apex of her puffy lips. Over and over again, with more force, and more, until you're almost positive it's Karina that leans in a moment later, kissing the rest of her soft assurances right off her tongue.

Listen to her: this incoherent string of words pouring from her mouth, like they can't move fast enough, tripping over each consonant, "are you, oh, oh - oh, fuck."

No one else could make that kind of overstimulation feel so heavenly, you figure, the way she just properly melts. You take a step back, just to let Irene work. Just to watch. To appreciate the craft.

You absolutely get it. 

How to touch, how to tease. Firsthand experience has you know she'll ride your cock until you're throbbing and spilling cum and she'll just shh-shh, let you have it - it's okay, sweetie, just let go - until she's rolling her hips just right, or reaching a hand back to massage your balls, or stroking your inner thigh in that exact kind of spot; some method that keeps her all the way on the end of your cock, but not quite off the edge, and your cum leaking down your shaft, spent.

She’ll bite into her smirk. She’ll tie up her hair. She’ll get that serious look on her face because she knows: you’re all hers for the taking.

So she'll sink onto it, again and again, until she's fucking you with the slippery friction only your own spill might provide. "Just a little more," she'll tell you, which is absolutely a lie, "come on, just a bit harder, I'm so close." Irene does this thing - she's had years to refine and perfect - and her voice gets a husky edge to it as her teeth graze the shell of your ear; she makes a small, pained groan into the curl of your hair and breathily hums it: 'I'm almost there.'

Who stands any chance to resist?

And she's always asking you - the same way she's coaxing and promising Karina the world with just the movement of her fingers, this delectable in and out, in and out, pushing that filth up into the red-soaked lips of her pussy - "now, what did I ever do to deserve someone like you?"

Karina blinks, once - a sleepy-lidded draw that leaves her lashes, lush and long, and fanning her flushed cheeks. 

The sound between her legs is wet, squelching with your cum, with hers, the barest hint of slapping her tender skin. The beat of Irene's wrist against her thighs - like that's where she needs it most - a deep, primal rhythm, like the last thing she wants is to take a breath. It's fucking hot; her head is tilted, her jaw clenched, and Irene has the tips of her fingers twisted between Karina's legs, swirling your cum right back around in her slick cunt - those plump pussy lips that you've watched stretch out on the first press, the first and the second and the third, as Karina finds what gets her there fast, fast-fast-fastest-

"You can cum for me too, baby."

It’s not a suggestion. There’s nothing but expectation in Irene’s voice. 

“Just cum.”

You watch it knock the architecture right out of Karina's legs.

-

Indulgent, just isn’t quite the right word for it. Careless, reckless, clumsy even-

Look - the tumultuous tangle you three make is all over the fucking place.

One moment, you're at an angle, moreover twisted-limbed with Irene bent over her dresser, then propped up on top of yours the next, your forehead landing against hers, feeling the soft cradle of her shoulders, her legs around you. She has her hands wrapped in Karina's, in that muddled in between: it's a collision of sorts.

There's the chair in the corner of your bedroom that really has only ever known one purpose, a plush rug, all these surfaces, horizontal and vertical for you to take the two most breathtakingly beautiful people in the world on and let your bodies settle into the shape they've needed to ever since your fingertips met Irene's in the cab, ever since she blinked her heavy lashes at you with Karina in-tow, just shy of smiling.

And boy, do you learn that Karina likes to watch herself get fucked in front a mirror. Specifically, the tall one beside Irene’s closet. It's hard to blame her. When you hold her hips tight, and really, truly fuck her, you can’t keep your eyes off how her face twists with the pleasure; or, when you drill the length of your cock into her sopping wet cunt: the wide, glossy rim of her pretty lips pulling back into a wince - and your eyes dropping past the reflection of her shoulders, her collarbones, down to her perfect tits.

The back and forth, the up and down, the way they fucking wobble in their beautifully buxom blur.

Though the eventuality remains unchanged, spread out across your bed. Karina takes a moment, hand pressed to the mattress experimentally like it's all running through her head - this is where Irene gets all that fairy-tale-inspired romance from, really - a quick pause where your future-bride is up on her elbows and staring, watching - your finger sinks in slowly, between where she's soft and warm and wet. She's thinking, you can just read it off her face, 'oh. So that's what you'd do, huh?'

Just for demonstration’s sake, you fingerfuck her in all kinds of ways - show-off and performance and dirty and mind-blowing. Because even better than the whiny, gut-wrenching moan it gets out of Irene, Karina can't get enough of how it’s all presented.

"Ugh," she slides up next to you at the foot of the bed, helping you turn Irene on her side, "why does she have to be so pretty, it's annoying, she's- she's like, made it so fucking far by playing the girl everyone wants to wife, huh?" She's talking directly to you, even while Irene rolls her neck to press her head against the pillow. "Inspirational."

You're drawing circles into her clit. Thumbing the dip, circling in the opposite direction. Karina has her nails biting right into the crease where your knees touch. In tandem, you’ll help your fiancée reach the top of that first wave. 

Karina presses, all cheek - a very dry, "cute."

It’s so simple: you eat Irene’s cunt. You hold her down. And Karina slides her tongue lazily against the tight pucker of her ass.

The three of you know she deserves nothing less.

“Oh, christ, you have no idea,” Irene is murmuring into the pillowcase, head tilted at an awkward angle, looking at the wall, almost distant; but her legs are split wide and her hands are reaching forward to rub a circle into your cheek, "you know how sensitive-? Yeah. Like, really, super. Super, super fucking sensitive, okay? So - if you'd keep doing, uh, oh- oh…”

Simultaneous, then slow, and easy - kisses landing right onto Irene's clit. So much so, you can't help but turn a little, smiling right up at your girl as she digs her toes into the duvet and threads a hand into Karina's hair.

The thing is, with Irene: facades fade fast.

Karina gets to measure that fact up close - where the details of Irene's composure are not only sharp, but also readily and openly and emphatically pound to dust by the time the last loose curl of Irene’s hair falls over her collarbone; she ends up on all fours, spread out over Karina - pressed along the length of her stomach, spread over your duvet and fitted sheets, your hand at the base of Irene's waist and tightening into the divots. She’s so small beneath you that when you bury your dick inside her- 

“Fuck.” Her cunt is so wet. Her breath uneven - and her words are starting to slur. There’s the gooseflesh on her back that lets you know it’s all already over for her. “Okay,” she tries to steady the ache in her stomach, “okay, okay, just- right there.” 

The drag through her pussy is fucking extraordinary. It knocks the wind out of both of you; so soft to the touch, like velvet - she’s unbelievably tight. You pull her hips into you and it opens her right up. Then when you end up balls deep inside your girl a second, third, fourth time:

She simply shudders apart.

Even though you fuck her so slow, so easy - her cunt clenches and squeezes on you like Irene detests the very idea of letting you go. You don’t even need to rail her lithe body to complete and utter ruin just to feel the familiar pent-up tremor starting to build in her muscles, how she rolls her hips back just so-so. How your hands fit that round and pert little ass of hers so well, and when your fingers finally sink in, you’re pulling it all apart to get a good look where your cock shimmers with her slick before disappearing right into her tiny cunt.

Karina mutters something in her ear. It pulls on some thread, somewhere - you feel her wind like a spring, further, and further; your cock edging her so close. The smirk Karina saves for you over your fiancée’s shoulder makes you think she’s figured her out- 

“Irene, look-” 

Well, at least she’s tuning in on all the right frequencies.

"Aren’t we all about being thorough?" Karina raises a perfectly trimmed brow. She drapes her arm across Irene's neck, their lips sliding together again, and that kiss is drawn-out and languid, albeit needy. "So, say," it gets muffled against the seam of their lips, and comes up, and comes out like a slurry, "are we gonna use everything else too? Your mouth, your perfectly tight ass?"

Irene can hardly muster out, "fuck- fuck- yes, fucking, god," as she takes it, so deep. There’s enough there to make both of you cum, you’re sure.

“Who could’ve guessed - like there’s ever been a more perfect cocktease than bae-fucking-Irene," Karina coos, all lips. She plants a row of kisses along Irene's exposed throat. The tilt of her hips, as she pushes closer - as you press the head of your cock as deep as it can go. "Go on. Cum, baby. Be a good girl, a good hole to fuck, just do it. All over his big fucking cock. Let him fucking have you."

Which is probably about the same time you realize that you, Irene and Karina are all well enroute - becoming this one mind, a single unit. This plurality you know there’s no coming back from.

You look down, with a little more focus, and Irene is being pulled apart in every which way - your cock stretching her out, over and over - Karina’s fingers right under her clit, every circle making her whimper. She’s all sharp edges and delicate angles, but manages to be soft for you in just the right places.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” you tell her, shifting your hips; pulling her ass flush and filling her completely. Your grip tightens on her waist and she doesn’t flinch a bit. "It's so goddamn easy to cum in this needy little pussy of yours. All wet and slick, and, hah- just pulsing-"

Irene lets out this wanton sound, desperate.

“Oh, right there, huh?” Karina asks. It’s not quite mean, but it’s getting there, fast. “Is that how he’s going to make you cum?”

You thrust on the same angle again, the same depth - you’re hitting all her nerve endings, all her sensitive spots. There isn't even room, now, for some imaginary head-to-head, some verbal volley, the banter; what comes forward is her tiny, broken moan.

How many times had Irene done the exact same, after all. Fucked you without holding back? Fucked you over? The flood of sweet-nothings as you started to approach: honey, you're so perfect, we can go slow, you just have to ask, and if you feel uncomfortable at any point, if you want me to stop-

“Just say please, doll,” Karina tells her.

If Irene told you a quarter of what made it out of the side of Karina’s mouth, you’d have never believed it. "I can't wait to feel what that arrogant mouth of yours will do when he cums inside this cute ass-"

You watch Karina spank her. Hard. There’s a red stain in the round of Irene’s cheek, and her skin is so pale that the imprint of all five fingertips looks stark, glaring.

"Just," Karina presses the rest of herself against Irene's skin and steals a quick glance at you - this half-coy smile pulling on one corner of her lips, "thought I'd do that in the name of-"

"Mmph," Irene’s groan is long, loud, "yes. Fuck, yes- please-"

Karina immediately looks away. An effort to hide the smug satisfaction. She fiddles with the auburn locks behind Irene's shoulder.

You’ll finish the sentiment: "-being thorough," and drive your cock to the hilt. Irene collapses forward onto Karina’s lap.

The sound she makes you swear is a sob. See - for Irene, it’s only about getting control in so far as it is about getting off; she’ll take whatever comes her way so long as it’s directly to her benefit - the theatrics of being pinned, the willingness for surrender, for subjugation, for the sake of telling you, yes, push my knees, spread me apart, hold me there; look at the things you do to me - it's the Irene everyone imagines, when they see the dresses, the gltiz, the glamour, just the brief flash of her grin, or the way she holds her fingernail between her teeth. Everyone wants to put her on her heel and feel a bit powerful. To have you watch the supple arc of her neckline bend, to hear the humility slip off her lips: the notion goes beyond simple kink-

It steps out into pure necessity.

She really, really needs it, and it's written into every muscle and tendon - it's on her breath as it shudders through her whole body. The beautiful, harrowing sound. "I love the way you two fuck me," she murmurs, head buried into the crook of Karina's neck. It's the sort of line, coming from someone like her, you know could raise a few blushes - if either of you was still in the business of such things.

"Honey," her voice wavers. Then, it falters: "please."

The desperation is thick, husky, almost. Karina seems like she's breathing her in, nose tucked against Irene's forehead.

You watch how she runs her nails up Irene's sides, a hot whisper sliding over her skin. You feel it, and so does Irene, this white hot pleasure singing up from the tip of her clit and spreading throughout the soft curves, the sensual lines of her body, this tangible current, a hum, a whine. You see her strain the lean stretch of muscle connecting her neck to her shoulder.

Until her face is tucked under Karina’s jaw, with a hand reaching back and hooked around your wrist and keeping you fucking, filling her, your hips drawn tight against hers, like a second home.

In and in and in.

Fucked-out and outright to the extent she goes completely silent. Almost completely still. The moment she cums all over your waist. Mouth hung open, like she’s in pure disbelief.

It doesn’t really matter, how often or how precisely Karina has imagined the whole thing. It's still a fucking revelation the first time she gets to watch Irene cum.

“No way,” she’s almost laughing, holding Irene’s jaw with both hands. “No fucking way. All the times you- what? No. Nuh-uh. You better fucking explain why this face, you- it’s not fair, the perfect face- I swear, even mid-fucking-orgasm, you are such a fucking doll-"

There's the sheer intimacy - Karina holding Irene's lips open, dragging her thumb down along the center. Quiet and sordid curses slipping from her mouth. And the obvious, her free hand already running down the curve of Irene's spine, her ass: all this sensitive-touching, admiring, appreciating-

"Hey," Karina says, voice raspy and drunk on the sex, the premise, "do me a favor, and tell me this feels as amazing as it looks. Or maybe, for once - just for the sake of fucking argument, is it actually better for the both of us, hm?

Her eyes are half-lidded, heavy, sultry. She's arching up into Irene's warmth - until her palms are spread out against her chest, thumb sliding right over everything sensitive, and she leans right to pull the other breast to her lips, and start all over again. It's clear what she means, spreading her legs as far as she can, pinned beneath the orgasm you're still fucking into Irene. As much as her petite frame will allow.

And in case you missed the point:

"So. What are we waiting for," is what she says a breath later, matter-of-fact, not at all expecting denial. “Or am I not as fuckable as our princess here?"

There's so much wet spill around the base of your cock, and the sound Irene's pussy makes when you finally draw free - all her creamy slick mixed into your mess just fucking leaking around your shaft. Karina holds herself open for you like that, spread wide. All your attention to her pink, raw cunt; you slip right inside. 

Karina lets her arms go slack on the mattress, her chest shivering, lips locked around Irene’s panting breath.

And so it goes, and so it goes, and so it goes.

-

(To anyone taking notes - chemistry, by definition, is the sum total of a certain process; where and when energy becomes matter becomes another.

More relevantly perhaps, it is that race and rise you feel inside your chest. 

Nothing about the sensation, it seems, is too exclusive either - Irene, and now Karina, the pair of them equally devastating, all over and again. It has you in communication with a different kind of contentment: to fall apart inside their embrace in particular, and kiss them with enough breath and time to waste until the morning.)

-

“Jesus,” Karina laughs out loud, “you really believe that? You corrupting me?" she makes another scoff, both hands buried somewhere in the pockets of the sweatshirt you've lent her. "At least do me a favor and cut it out with the solemn tone."

You're leaning over your apartment’s balcony, watching an emergency plow make the slowest grind of progress up the road. It's late. And cold. Or actually - it’s early. The sky is the kind of dark midnight navy you see after all the snow and stars have run through the horizon. Time ticks on, and Irene’s inside sound asleep. A woman that small has no right to snore like heavy machinery.

So,

You and Karina happen to be two things at once: very tired, and very awake.

"What I mean is: I'm sure your manager, or your parents - fuck, someone - would fly off the handle," you say, pulling a cigarette from the pack and offer it begrudgingly. She takes the end and slips it between her lips, a little unsure. You then draw a lighter and offer it, too, and Karina puffs with all her strength. She's no expert, but it looks like the end catches and turns bright. 

A bit of color.

"My parents?" Karina flouts, sucking at it, pulling deeply from her chest - smoke pours from her nose.

She finishes with a cough. And says again:

"Um. Your girlfriend had her fingers in my ass - your cock down my throat - and we're worrying what my parents might think?"

Well. She's got you on that count.

"Not to mention: who the fuck thinks they're so virtuous-" a small chuckle as she passes it back. The cigarette is lit, bright. You take a drag. Watch her tap her feet on the snow. "That they need to do that to begin with. It's more trouble, telling me what to think and feel, as if that hasn't just the opposite effect."

“Irene’s protective, albeit in her own sorta peculiar way. So, you know, by extension, she worries-" you pull, and exhale, the smoke blowing past Karina. It gets caught in her fringe, in the wisps. You offer it back when you see her shiver. "That some shit happens, after."

"Your concern is heartwarming, truly - if you want to let me think on it, I might go and write a nice little diary entry tonight. It'll have sparkles and glitter - if you're that worried." 

Karina reaches in. Lets her fingers graze yours. Her skin is cool. 

“Besides, I don’t need a lesson in image from Irene of all people. She’s her; I’m me.”

She holds onto the cigarette between two long acrylic fingernails, tapping the end so the ash flits out onto the ice. You're caught staring, probably - the dark hair framing her face, all messy and soft, falling about her cheekbones. How that pretty pink blush in her skin seems to never go away.

Your eyes drop to where her mouth is red, a bit swollen - well-kissed; it is snowing again, after all. And it’s easy to be kind of transfixed.

"You're not, I dunno, say embarrassed?" you ask, after a beat.

"Nope." Karina swallows. Brings the cigarette to the pucker of her lips again. You watch how she holds the inhale, holds her wrist up and slacked, head tilted back a little. This exaggerated fashion-model exhale follows, all smooth.

“Because I'm not the type.”

The heavy stream of smoke then blown right into your face.

"Really, I think - sorry, I have always wanted to do that. It felt like a movie. Look," she coughs on the next breath. "I get your dilemma. But also, um-"

There are some quiet moments too, here and there: the heat between your thighs, her pressed up close. She smells like Irene's shampoo and bodywash and that just confuses your head some.

"Who’s to say I’m not just looking out for you," you offer. Every good lie is rooted somewhere in the truth.

"Don't bother," her words hit you square on. "It's about getting off right? You invite me to your bed; I’m so starstruck and enchanted by the very concept of it - Irene and her charming, intoxicating husband. Fuck, I dunno - the way the two of you kiss, look, feel: the experience that you will let me be a part of," she stops and makes another face of amusement, so fucking confident, "you let me play, too, just once, and we're all just a little happier. My version."

“We’re not married,” you correct.

“That’s the part you’re hung up on?” Karina leans over, her upper half across the balcony, staring right up at the sky. “Same difference.”

The moon finds her smile bright like nothing else. It's something infectious. Immediately, it reminds you: of Irene.

"Trust me," she goes on to say. The cigarette slips back into the space where you are connected - the lines of her fingers, her knuckles. "I had a wonderful time, but the sun will rise here, and I'm not gonna stick around to blow you while Irene burns three omelets and finds a spot for me in her fucked up game of house or whatever."

She makes you laugh, free and easy, like a gust of cold air. Something genuine and natural. And as the laugh shakes, Karina makes it impossible not to crumble farther. Not to fucking simper there like an idiot.

“I really thought she was going to make me call her mommy or something, I swear-”

"Hey, I'm sure if you had asked." A spark catches you. The flash of her canine, and those eyelashes. “She’d have done you the favor.”

"Oh, shush." The touch of Karina's fingertip against your hand is delicate, careful - unassuming. But, god, everything with her is just the right amount of heat - it melts you; and when it stops, her touch: that feeling is so cold that you just chase her out of impulse.

"What about New Year's?" you ask. There are still boundaries you really shouldn't be crossing, but here you are, straddling yet one more.

Karina's grin cracks like an old fault line. "You're not allowed to ask me out like that," she insists, batting you away - trying her hardest not to lead with the obvious. You look out on the view, watching a guy in a parka trudge over to a garbage can, a handful of newspaper bundles, then a glance back-

The slightest flush has bloomed up Karina’s face, right underneath where the makeup's been rubbed bare. It's utterly irresistible. "Go wake up your fiancée and ask what her New Year's Eve looks like. Doubt it involves me and my dumb friends."

She’s probably right.

"Karina," you start, watching her push open the balcony door with her foot and walk slowly, lazily, back into the apartment. The window rattles, and she looks back over her shoulder. The bob of her ponytail, the sweeping lashes, that perfect slow-burn smile. That’s how you end up with a title as ridiculous and reductive as ‘original visual’ or ‘the human cg’.

"You’re really going to let them in on what we all got up to?"

"Oh," she makes this low, delighted hum - it sounds so dreamy, how her voice gets the richest sort of rasp, "every last detail."

-

On Monday: the holidays are officially over.

There's a bunch of stuff on the to-do pile. A lot of loose ends you have to clean up, a ton to catch up on. Irene is judiciously ignoring all of it. She's wearing her glasses - the ones with the big round frames that should look entirely obnoxious - which means she's already decided she's not leaving the apartment; Karina's still wrapping the world at large around her finger and has everyone convinced that she's all femme, no fatale; and you - well, you're back to thinking about how to climb the ladder and maybe how to stay there.

You head downtown with a cup of coffee in one hand and a musing mood in the other.

On your phone, some more choice text messages arrive in the late AM: had a great time by the way, stay out of trouble, this sweatshirt is actually just mine now, duh. 

The selfie alongside it is pretty suggestive, but just vague enough to flirt with indecency.

She sends one more at lunch where she's gotten out of the shower, or a hot pool, or maybe a long workout - her breasts squeezed between a towel and an arm - she has the camera all zoomed in and framed tight, almost full body. If her intention is to mess with you, that's what she gets. The texts: ah, fuck off and did you have a nice date with your left hand then, thanks for reminding me, the hotel wifi is shit lmao.

The messages just keep on coming and there's really no better descriptor.

And Irene, later, in a way that's neither diplomatic nor nuanced: jesus, don't let her catch you by yourself. For simplicity’s sake. She interprets being alone with a handsome boy as carte blanche to do absolutely whatever she wants and she's vapid that way.

There’s a chance it fizzles out into nothing. An even greater chance it all goes sideways. You'll have to see what becomes of you three.

-

Okay, right - new year, new you. The resolution for the past couple remains unchanged, and unfulfilled - less takeaways and eating out; more meal prep, less calories, healthier decisions.

Irene has this cute little apron over her sweater that is fixed extra tight, the belt trailing down the tops of her jeans to accentuate her nice round hips and slim waist. She knows the nature of her charm, her sex appeal. How it occurs, almost, as if by accident.

You say something that will get right under her skin like, “looking real domestic, Joohyun,” as she slides a chopped onion from a cutting board to a bowl.

She presses her hips out just a smidge, just enough. Turns a bit as she opens up the fridge, and the smirk she has for you, that sidelong glance-

“Don’t you Joohyun me,” is her lightest rebuke. 

She twists her way onto her tiptoes to fetch at the highest shelf. The crochet corner of her sweater rides up a couple of inches, flashing a hint of the fair, bare curve of her lower back. "You can help me by grating the parmesan, hm? Into that," she gestures back at the table, pointing with the bottle of olive oil.

And so you're ten, fifteen minutes into helping with dishes, with the grunt work - with the realization that Irene is going to chop her fucking fingers off if you leave her to it unchecked.

"Actually, here," you say, "can I?"

She tilts her head, skeptical - still, a quick nod of permission - and her slender fingers surrender the knife and wooden chopping board to you. She's tapping away at her phone, finding the playlist you're both always secretly listening to.

"Wow," Irene says, low, as you start dicing mushrooms, a stalk of celery. "So brave. There’s no way I could do that. Is it safe? Are we, like, in nuptial bliss now, do you think? I fancy you, I fancy you-"

It's always this sorta-delicate dance with her: how much should you step up; how much should you put out of hand; how much she accepts versus how she pushes you aside and gets through you all the same. You're too proud, really - both of you - but fuck. She's adorable; the apron adds insult to injury; and it makes the switch in your head simple.

“I always forget how much I love this song,” she’s saying; the rolling pin she’s grabbed is a reasonable surrogate for a mic. When she’s through singing a verse, she shoves it in your face. You don’t know any of the lyrics. 

She doesn’t really care.

You have to laugh at everyone who's ever wasted the effort to theorycraft who she is behind the smoky lashes, the lowered chin, the downturned glance. All the characters and archetypes she'll wear and cast off as she needs.

"Here." She sidles up and tucks her hair behind her ear, the side of her hip grinding into your thigh until she’s pressed firm into the line of your leg. Because she needs to tell you that's way too much garlic, and she's not going to kiss you if your breath is trying to kill her first. She uses the word "pungent" a number of times, just for good measure. Go on - she’s murmuring - taste; right off her finger. If anyone caught this you’d be embarrassed for weeks

“I think, definitely, should open a bottle of wine-”

That’s how you earn all the responsibility for getting the both of you fed; she gets distracted looking through the recipe book.

But there's the way she looks up at you from the opposite of the kitchen island, face held up between her hands, fingers folded underneath her chin. "What?" she asks. 

She’s totally caught you staring.

The truth is: Irene only looks this gorgeous when it's just her. When she forgets that she's supposed to stick to a script.

You tell her as much when you end up fucking her right there on the counter.

It's so slow, atleast at the onset. Her panties pushed aside, jeans spilling off an ankle - the fucking apron managed to make it to the floor but her sweater got kinda stuck on the way up. So you're reaching through some overpriced fabric blend to pull down the wire of her bra and get your palm where she most prefers it.

"Say it again," Irene sighs into your neck, clutching to the back of your shirt - white-knuckled at the seam. "Come on, you can be so charming when you want something."

"I wouldn’t push your luck," is all you choose to tell her. 

You're hitting all the spots she wants you to hit anyway: her pretty pink cunt, slick, all wet for you already. Everything clenching as she arches her back, until she's hanging off the edge of the marble. You find it’s just enough leverage to fill her completely with your cock - stretching her out and open until her thighs bracket around your waist at the perfect angle.

"Or what?" Irene is out of breath, but hardly at a loss for words. "I know. You'll have to remind me how much smaller I am than you, right? So easy to keep pinned."

Well, if you really wanted: "Hah, ah - right." You get right next to her ear, muttering the words as deep as your chest can go - then take hold of her waist to put her in a spot she can't escape. And, by Irene's usual logic, once that happens, that's as much a victory for her as it is for you. You're being compliant, aren't you? The in and out: fucking her, filling her up, pulling your messy cock out of her pussy and slapping her clit just so she can hear how fucking soaked you make her, merely as a reminder-

"I wonder if she was even half as desperate," she moans against your jaw. "Her heart probably stopped the second you, ah - told her, what? About all of this?"

You stop fucking her, halfway.

"I’m sure you wouldn't be referring to Karina, right?" is where you glance at her. “I remember us both agreeing to chalk that up as a total absolute mistake. That was that.”

Irene just swallows, looks off somewhere over your shoulder. No one wears a blush better than her.

But she won't say it. Her honesty is such a privilege. The prodigy-type. Or at least, that's the word Irene chose. Then again, there’s you and your uncanny ability to turn a blind eye. 

To the vice, the virtue, and everything in-between.

"So, can I ask," you press your lips together, finding the point of her chin with a gentle tap - you have her looking you straight back at you. The moment could let you drive back inside and fuck her brains right out, right there, like that - right through, instead: you watch her try not to squirm. 

The tension in her upper chest, the rising heat that settles between her thighs, her weight struggling where you spread her knees, as far open as her body can allow. “How long exactly," you choose your words, careful and pointed, "are we going to pretend that she isn't texting both of us?"

You bury the question deep where she’s practically molten - hot and wet and so incredibly needy.

You do, again, and again. You pull her against you, watching that pretty brow scrunch and un-scrunch as your cock bathes in that soak. And hell, Karina had sent her a selfie today, is what she's explaining when you slow down enough - a bit of red, on her cheeks and her lips, and a lot of black, all the rest - the part about a midnight flight that's on hold until tomorrow morning. And then another, an hour later. To you both: her tits, the lace lingerie - so heavy, and soft, and easy to see yourself getting lost in-

Irene gasps at how fast you find all her favorite spots, then repeats - twice and again - hey, Karina said you're "such a cutie," and she sees her as the perfect mistress-material, don't you think? Wouldn’t it be ideal? The perfect fantasy? The perfect toy-

Obviously, that is morally bankrupt, even for the two of you. And you’re making sure she hears about it.

You ask her, point-blank: "are you really so selfish? So callous." It's ground out, slowly, against her hip, into her cunt. You've got Irene dripping wet, she's running everywhere, and you're telling her, "and this is your roundabout way of asking me to validate your twisted little ego?"

Don’t get it too confused: Irene lives for this shit; that sharp, hard-hitting tone - it drives her up the fucking wall. 

"Duh. Tell me - just a guess," she presses her hands further back, arching into each push. The slim curves of her chest are bouncing, just under her sweater. "You like to feel so guilty and morose but I bet-" she chokes off mid-sentence, you know exactly how, the exact motion that has her wanting. She gets a leg over your shoulder with no effort at all, and your fingers find their place, digging into her hips as she locks into your thrusts. 

Like fucking her is the only thing the two of you ever do.

Your whole body buzzes, it hums in resonance with where her gasps conflagrate to moans - you're pulling her slender frame down into every sloppy thrust and she takes you so fucking well.

"I bet it all sounds like, ah, the prettiest fucking music - in your head-"

“Fucking god, Irene-”

“Mhmm?” she fucking coos.

Because the things she wants to hear never actually leave your lips - your girl, fucking relentless.

Because the line between you fucking her and her fucking you becomes less distinct every time she rocks back and takes you deeper. Or when her mouth catches your next kiss a bit lazily. She takes over to swivel and slide her cunt up and around your length. So good that you have to keep her there. Hand locked onto her throat, digging a bruise or two in her collarbones, fucking her senseless against the countertop-

"Irene, fuck.” Your voice comes out thick, like gravel, and practically as an aside, “you’re going to make me-.”

Irene cuts you off, nodding, shh-shh’ing you into silence. “I know, baby. I know.” This total sigh of agreement - a hushed yes, or maybe uttering something she knows will sink right into your core, two words that sound a lot like “good boy.”

What, is that tacit approval? Probably. It’s hard to think straight.

So you bury yourself inside her, instinctually. Irene tips her chin up when she feels you paint her fucking womb. Every throb - with a fistful of her ass and your face pressed against her chest, sucking and biting and marking her anywhere, everywhere - right through her sweater. Fucking her so full that your mess is dribbling out all over the fucking floor, drip, drip, drip, and-

"Hey, I want you to know that I" - she sounds so amused as she cards through your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead - "really couldn’t ever ask anyone except you."

(All is fair in love and war, is an adage Irene takes to its logical extreme, tangled in your sheets or with a dress puddled at her ankles. A silk stocking rolling down her leg, the crochet thrown into some dark corner.

You never say yes. You never really have to.)

This all before setting her down, off the edge, back onto her feet and taking another half-step forward and having the awareness not to completely flatten her under the full weight of your body, so she can run a hand down between the two of you and her fingertips can start gathering up all the cum you've pumped inside her. Irene tells you in her sweetest lilt to pay attention as she leans back up against the counter and gathers as much into her mouth as it will allow-

The sight alone.

When her head tips back, tongue passing over her knuckles, and she swallows-

"You are so," you sigh into her temple. Her cheek. You've settled the rest to the space in between. “Absolutely unbelievable."

She reaches out and trails the tips of her fingers lightly along the rise of your cock - her softness up against your hard lines. Her eyes flash when you twitch on the fucking spot. It's so tender all coming from her.

And there, a moment or two more. You can see it in the way she has her lips tilting, dreamy. You've always known what you were signing up for - how she's thumbing the nape of your neck - what her ideal outcome was, is. There's nothing and no one in front of either of you to bar the way.

You’ll make your vows like any other.

"Well, hey," she finally says, slow and husky and curling toward you with a smug self-satisfaction.

You push her hair behind her ears, the dark brown locks. Some part of you understands, unequivocally, that she is the absolute limit of how far you would go for any other person on the planet. No questions. In a heartbeat, without hesitation.

The kiss to the corner of your jaw is unironically chaste - before she’s telling you, "shouldn’t we get a move on it, chef? There’s food to eat, recipes to ignore; aren’t you fucking famished?"

-

The bolognese reduces down to a scorch in the cast iron. Too much heat, or too long, you got too preoccupied, who knows - there's a moral lesson to ignore here if you're so inclined. So it ends up being over a tray of sushi delivery that Irene explains to you her working theory like it's high-stakes political intrigue.

"Listen," she's got her chopsticks pointed at you, "for one, Karina, to her core, is a total seductress; and she's told me already, more or less to my face - she gets off on the chase, and hates the other shit. To be involved, or invested."

“Okay then why all the go-around; the wait-and-see; what’s her endgame?”

“What’s anyone’s endgame?” Irene shrugs. “Validation." She slips a tuna roll into her mouth.

"I think you might be projecting."

"Or, I'm simply an extremely empathetic person," her sarcasm hits harder through chewing - she almost gets you, and finishes swallowing to say, "look, she's like us if we were pretending to care, okay? Just more, like - explicit about her lack of intention. So. Doesn’t matter if it's to piss her manager off. Or it's like a revenge-slash-extortion-thing against someone she either had or is having an affair with."

"An affair," you repeat, skeptical.

"It's not like it’s an unheard-of workplace hazard, come on," and then the final confirmation: "she’s just into it because it sounds dirty and sexy, okay, like everything else-"

"And you figure we should be the ones to dole it out."

"What I figure," Irene says, doing that same mental calculus she did the first time: how, where, why - it's clear. A dozen different kinds of naked are an old, tired song by now. "I want us to fuck her. However she likes, whenever she likes, for however long she likes. Let her think she’s won something, or think she has you totally fucking hooked - I don't really care. Because it would be so much more satisfying to hear you tell me about it - because the idea of you two being like that for me. It's," her words pitch up a touch. 

"That's the fantasy."

And Irene dives into the details. She explains what it could look like, all the more raunchy and ridiculous. This very specific arrangement. It makes no real sense, the conversation alone, and that, you decide - what can't be rationalized - is how she'll take it: by fucking both of you. That's the objective fact. That's the demand.

You listen until it feels less and less like the decisions have already been made.

“Okay, babe,” she’s presenting her case. “Hear me out.”

And she keeps going until you both can see it materialize: "if Karina thinks she can handle both of us, then both of us it'll be." It’s how her fingers end up buried in your boxers and around the throb of your cock. You hear the gentlest laugh Irene has as you start fucking softly into her grip, and she runs her thumb over your weeping slit until she finds you that much more malleable to the suggestion. Effortless almost, she lures the primal part of you from its confines and teases and prods at its wants and desires. Which is also how some charged vocabulary gets thrown in for good measure. Because no, no, no - she's murmuring into your mouth, tipped back, plush lips right above yours - it's not a cuckquean situation, or an open relationship, or anything like freeuse or whatever else might justify the concern. It's not even cheating, Irene’s explaining, strictly speaking, because who said you and I wouldn’t be doing it together?

(Lying by omission is the story you both live - and the difference: she's pathological. You’re just now getting the hang of it.)

"Fuck," is what you exhale out as she opens her fingers, offering. Her thumb glides across the expanse of your head, a trail of pre-cum drawn underneath a nail. And you know all the things her nails can do - can rip your heartstrings. "I mean. God damn. There has to be, like, terms."

There's still sushi sitting on the coffee table, and Irene is placing these kisses into the slope of your shoulder, your sternum, making a show of the movement, how she's traveling down, downward - to her knees. Where she finds the seat between your thighs and tugs your shorts, the fabric gathered down your leg-

"Let me handle it," she tells you, and there goes the cut of your t-shirt, shoved up to your chest. Her grip runs flat, down from the rise of your hip, fingers wrapping around, touching - the flat of her tongue laving across the tip of your cock until she decides to lower her jaw.

"Just think right now. How I want to fuck her and how I'd want you to fuck her, too-" 

Right in her warm, wet little mouth.

Jesus, her tongue too-

She has it gliding up, around and against the swell of the underside. Rolling to where you need it, the places she knows you’ve died before. Lapping up the mess she's already gotten out of you-

Like this, Irene's looking at the way that the idea strikes: you and you and you; the only person in the whole goddamn world that can handle her; you fucking know it too - it's the most perfect, hopeless kind of thing. Like the feeling that catches at the apex of your lungs. It burns in your stomach and grips in your gut. She's gone and cut out the nerves - there's the crown of your cock caught in a velvet grip between those pretty pink lips and her fingers twisting at the bottom. 

She breathes deep. Sinks her lips so slowly to the base. Anything, everything you want: to put your hands to the side of her head, to weave your fingers through her hair, and coax her, fuck her mouth like it belongs to you, all slow and hard and measured.

To hear all those wet sounds she makes as she chokes on the end of it. The gags as you force your cock into the back of her throat, holding her head tight, her hair pulled up into a fist, to have that mouth hanging around the length of you, tongue stuck to the bottom of her chin as you move her, your fiancée, your toy. To be looking her in the eye and watching her look the fuck back while she revels in every filthy second of it, not a single damn drop of hesitation or doubt.

"Really think," Irene urges, and she's all innocent when she tips her head to kiss her way up your cock.

She’s trying for some grace or finesse, or both - trying, you think, to make a point; instead, you end up watching her gulp and spit into her palm, just to obscure the sensual curl of her tongue with the sloppy-hard rhythmic stroke of her fist. "How hot it would be if you watched us both choke on your cum. Her face fucked stupid - the perfect little fuckdoll, is that not an image for the ages-"

You get a glimmer of that catlike grin - the one you would kill for a picture of. Something for the wallpaper, or the wallet; you've never met a boundary she hasn't challenged. The most depraved ideas in her head are just, as she is, a masterpiece. And so the answer has never changed - there has never been anything she's not been allowed-

"Trust me baby," she presses her cheek against your shaft. You feel her turn and run that mouth all over. The tip of her nose. Her eyelashes. The wet heat of her breath as she nuzzles the length. "Karina's all ours to share."

Her pout, right there, waiting.

You can't stop yourself from grabbing her face, the crook of her jaw, her neck and the tips of her shoulders. Until it all comes with a good, hard pull. The sound of her mouth on your cock, the blowjob she's been perfecting for years. It's starting to fill up the room, her lips wrapping your shaft - the sound of her being so obedient, the most receptive, sweet, pretty thing: letting you guide her pace until she has a steady motion going. Taking the thick base in her hands and working it over between her fingers. There's only enough room for that before you’re all the way inside her, in and out, again: the tip of your cock brushing over the softest curve of her throat.

When you take her at face value, it's fucking wild: your fiancée kneeling before you. Her chin and neck wet with her effort, lips wrapped so pretty, stuffed, used-

There are no questions. This is simply Irene, doing what she loves.

She pushes a hand between her legs and holds herself together as your hips tilt forward, meeting her halfway-

Just letting you get yourself off in her mouth like it's no big deal. It's her throat - it's her goddamn cunt and ass, and whatever else - because you fucking asked, right? Because you gave her the permission, the choice, the agency.

"Hey, where should I?" you’re muttering as you push the hair out of her face, already half-drunk on her slick lips and realistically only a few seconds away from doing some real damage.

There isn't a need; but you want her to tell you, to use her words. In her mouth, on her face, in her palm, you’ll go without thinking. You’ll cum straight onto your own stomach if it’s what Irene says. Even if she’s acting like you already have.

"Make sure you give her,” is what she garbles out around the hard line of your cock, and it’d be impossible to understand if you didn’t know every nuance to her, if you didn’t - you know - fucking love her. To have and to hold - to hold on tight and for better or worse, and this is pretty much as bad as it gets. 

The syllables come in-between hollow breaths, all wet and sticky. When Irene wrenches the fuck out of it, the base of your cock- “hm, that same sort of courtesy when, agh, I'm not around-"

Because the image alone is what matters. There, getting your cock sucked like you've earned the privilege - it doesn't have to be real, it just has to look like it's a new truth to believe in. The little motions in her wrist are just - hah, fucking unreal - and the way she sinks down lower on her knees for each stroke, from base to tip - lips pressing over the knuckles she has wet, and squelching, and twisting up and down and up-

She places a hand under your balls, the gentlest cradle, and something of your restraint finally breaks - it snaps - her insistence is ruthless.

"Yeah, god, okay- I’m just gonna go ahead-" 

There are these images in your head, of Irene: the upturned brows, the hollowed cheeks, and that slutty-as-shit smirk - and then of Karina: doing the exact same thing. Fuck, your cock is heavy, absolutely leaking cum: you can feel yourself leaking into the press of her mouth. It fills up her cheeks as she blushes into the fuck. Her lips become flush and go soft against the ridge of your shaft - her jaw slack in anticipation. 

"Your fucking mouth, Irene" you breathe out, “I'm going to cum-” 

Just at half the sentence, you're there, sunk into your fiancée's throat. Fingers across her ears and into her hair and watching her own hands pulling you, guiding you-

It’s all flexed in your back. Every muscle. Every fiber.

Irene hums onto a simple, satiated note. She always does, when she tastes it. When you dump a hot load of cum all over her tongue and straight into her throat.

(And yes, some might claim this is the death knell for all kinds of reasoning, but you’ll go ahead and admit it’s so, so worth it.)

"How thoughtful," she says, low and slow, once she's through swallowing the entire fucking thing.

The corner of her mouth tilts up. Because you're finished: two steps left in the brain from falling out of consciousness, a mess on the couch. You get to watch as she pulls you into sorts and slots each piece back to where it's meant to sit. The underwear, your pants. It's with such careful attention. Your soft cock gets cleaned with a tissue and wiped dry. A tiny parting kiss for the tip, her mouth full-on puckered, like she's kissing out anything you have left.

Though it's a pleasant daze. She prefers you soft like this, really.

All you have left to say is: "fuck me, baby." It sounds sloppy and open-ended as hell. "I guess I'll leave everything to you."

If that's a cue or sign for the evening, the only right thing: it isn't exactly misinterpreted.

-

The actual logistics don’t arrive for a handful more weeks. You find it surprising they ever happen at all.

// Karina 10:41 pm > i'm bored.

// Karina 10:42 pm > suggestions?

// 10:49 pm > have you tried looking into an incognito tab?

// Karina 10:58 pm > lol, and what is it i'm supposed to be finding?

// Karina 10:58 pm > help a girl out here.

"Send her a picture of your cock," Irene says, like it isn’t a joke. She looks up from the smutty-dash-of-romance-porn novel she's got herself wrapped in, with her best faux-serious expression. The pair of readers that usually are in her top desk drawer have made a new home perched low on her nose. "God knows she hasn't stopped leering since she found out what I'm marrying into."

"Please," you tell her, because she's full of shit. "I'm not sending her a dick pic."

Your laptop is warm on your thighs as you huddle on your side of the bed. That's the point of balance where it feels like Irene isn't trying to look. Though she clearly is. You flick up through a couple tabs just to drive the point home.

// 11:01 pm > sorry. i'm not in the business of just handing out freebies

// Karina 11:07 pm > really

// Karina 11:07 pm > thought we were making progress here

// 11:11 pm > you're funny

"Ask her if anyone's home with her." Irene dogears the page she’s reading and sets her book down. "Or ask if she's, like, tied up or something. Something edgy."

"Something edgy," you deadpan.

"Do you want me to put the readers away," Irene offers. She's wearing the sort-of smirk you always need to be wary of.

"No," you say. “God, no.”

"Ask her where she keeps her lingerie. Tell her she should be thinking about what it'd look like: all naked except a thong. With the straps digging into her. Tied up all nice and pretty-like."

// 11:13 pm > u alone right now?

"What the fuck?" Irene slugs a pillow at you. "That is the creepiest way you could've sent-"

// Karina 11:13 pm > yeah. i am :/

You and Irene are both struck a little dumb by that. 

“Sheesh, she must have had her finger hovering over the reply button.”

"Yeah," you say, eloquent. “Who could blame her, though.”

"Uh-huh." Irene exhales, staring a bit pointedly.

// 11:16 pm > cool if I come over?

// Karina 11:17 pm > and… do what?

Irene nudges you with her heel, a questioning glance: the window has just been left there wide open and hanging. She whispers like Karina can somehow hear her through the phone, "you are terrible at sexting."

“Can you fucking leave it-”

Irene rolls her eyes.

// 11:18 pm > do you need ideas

// Karina 11:19 pm > got a couple. i wouldn't be against hearing something that lets my imagination fill in the gaps though

"Text her that you're into her throat and want her to show you her tits," and Irene actually cracks a laugh as she has the audacity to make the request. She's in good form this evening; in nothing but her favorite silk camisole - the navy blue one, which pairs great with all 5’2” of the rest of her. Like the soft curves she wears and everything else isn't bad for your heart. "Seriously, I want you to-"

"How am I supposed to end it?" You ask. The tone is purely sardonic. "Babe. Baby. My future wife. Tell me. You do realize you're basically asking me to bait her, right?"

Someone will eventually put their cards on the table, and Karina, Irene, and ostensibly you will realize you’re all currently having a mental break from reality. Or something along those lines. "I mean. Could that really be a negative," she wonders with an eyebrow quirked and another gesture of her arm like she wants to showcase the night sky beyond the bedroom windows.

"How, what - babe."

"You could promise to let her sit on it."

"Is the cockslut routine an act? Like," you lower your volume, "do you really have a playbook, here?"

"So mean." Irene reaches a hand over. She has her head propped on an elbow, the rest of her sprawled and comfortably positioned on the bed. And you wonder why the fuck you feel compelled to argue a point that so obviously has already been lost. "Just go fuck her already, god damn, I dunno."

Right. So. This was the part that was kind of inevitable - and Irene's impatience aside, you probably were about to win a lottery when you showed up at her door - that golden little interaction: "hey it's me, your rival at work's future ex-husband, I guess - I'm so horny and I think you're so beautiful and wouldn't it be so crazy if we, like, boned, haha, what?"

"Just- have sex. Tell me about it after."

The novel beckons Irene back toward it. She makes herself the picture of someone perfectly comfortable with you walking right into the next most uncomfortable predicament.

The sigh. That long, heavy thing. A leadup you do so often.

The simple idea of sending Karina that sort of message sends heat, low - just under the band of your sweatpants, and right where you've got yourself in the palm of your hand and you're already wondering how this is the result, why your cock is coming to a rise already - god damn - why every thought of Karina's face, and Karina's ass, and Karina's everything, every moment her lip is caught in between those teeth is becoming impossible not to touch. "Okay," you huff, "fine. I'm getting up, I'm going now- I mean it, right now, just give me a minute, I am putting my clothes on."

"Wait," and she's saying, "wait. Wait."

And when you turn around, Irene has this cat-that-ate-the-canary grin all stretched on the canvas of her face. She takes off her readers - her elbows thrown into her lap as she goes to the very edge of the mattress, pulling your shoulders for balance. "Babe-"

"Mm."

Irene likes to get you at a low simmer. The way she runs her thumb pad along your bottom lip. And all those questions - a look into her eyes - it's hard not to fold or break - when she's holding onto that sort of expression, unwavering; no matter how her mouth seems to get soft and curious.

Her lips move onto yours, asking - a push. And your eyes - a brush against a shoulder and you've already gone a whole mile from anywhere decent. There's the touch of her tongue between your parted mouths.

"You'll be good right?"

"I mean, sure," is what you manage, watching her lips close.

"You'll fucking wreck her, and do it exactly how she needs it done." And her brow, knit. She can tell your brain is busy jumping ahead to a hundred different scenarios. "Stop worrying."

There's a brief nod of reassurance. Her fingertips dust down your chest and the rest of the way. You hear Irene tell you to-

"And give her an extra hello from me."

"Okay, I love you, but also you're insane, like certifiable."

"Shush, I know you," and Irene gives your hair a little tousle before pushing you out the door.

-

You're standing there at the front door of Karina's apartment a little after midnight, bathed in dim, orange wicked fluorescence. Like it knows your sins - past, present and future. There's no obvious answer when you go knocking, and for a half-moment, you're thinking, okay, it's alright, this is how I let someone down easy-

Until she answers and leans out, pulling open the door. It takes you by surprise-

"Well, I'd normally let you in," you hear Karina say, and a smug smile starts to cross her face, "but..."

It's about the degree to which she looks hot and a little off kilter in this tight t-shirt - a snug pair of panties around the sway of her hips - that almost sends you spinning. There's not an ounce of self-consciousness; it's like a punch to the gut.

"Aeri's date went south and she's drunk. She's passed out on her bed, like, right now, I don't think-"

There's no bra. It's hard not to get fixated on every detail. Like her nipples, practically standing out. You have an irrational desire for her to take a step back, further into the room, further out of your vision's reach-

"Uhh," you croak. And you do have the mental faculties for, uh. For telling her. "Maybe, you know, later, could be better, yeah, maybe call me."

Though, unfortunately, the suggestion falls short on delivery.

"No, no." Karina has her hands searching up and underneath your sweater. Her fingers dance flat up, right over your stomach - teasing as she hikes you back inside. Right past the threshold. Your mouth is half-caught and stupid under her, the gentle hum and pressure on her lips. "It means we need to be quiet."

She drags you another step forward, with just the hot flash of her gaze. 

"Shut the door behind you?"

"Locking it too," you tell her.

The laugh she makes into it, this one little scoff - it's an acknowledgment: an agreement. It's one of the worst fucking sounds, and the whole damn thing gets to you. Like her ass wasn't the perfect fit for the palm of your hands- like you don't want to trace your fingers under the elastic of her panties.

As if it wasn't fucking clear enough. It's the tongue in your mouth and the hands in her hair. She's kissing you soft, she's kissing you deep; her weight rests and pulls back with each swell of your ribs, pushing her fingertips down until they're skating, slow, low into the grooves of your spine. Like she's getting familiar with you again.

"Okay," you breathe. She laughs on your lips and presses forward - pulls you back, farther- "uhh. Okay."

She must see the confliction you're in-

"Hey." Karina keeps going until you've got her backed against a wall, until your thigh has pressed into the crux of hers and your hand is in her shirt. You don't miss how she lets her head tilt back when her eyes shut. It's her. There's no disputing the reality. "Whatever you want to do to me. That is all I've been thinking about. Do it."

"I- don't really-"

She makes a decent show of crossing her wrists and tugging her shirt right over her head. Tosses it someplace safe enough. "So are you just gonna leave me in suspense, or do you need my explicit, enthusiastic permission?"

Your lips draw themselves a blank on anything useful, while your heart rate accelerates.

"Here try this: you’re going to fuck me until I beg you to stop. Then you’re going to fuck me some more. Or whatever- then we can go somewhere, I don't care," she offers with a half-whisper. In all her goddamned glory - barefoot, almost bare chested - it's not like it could be any other thing.

-

You’re not exactly supposed to end up on your knees for this.

This isn't quite how you pictured-

Okay, fuck, Karina's making the prettiest noises where her spine is curling up against the wall; those sounds you couldn't even make up. How it feels like the easiest damn thing, because there isn't a question to why. Every inch of you is pressed to every inch of her. You know what you'll taste on your tongue, which of these breasts belongs in your palm and the fingerprints in the dips of her waist - her lips on the curve of your jaw - every mark and bruise on her skin, every hint of it is real; it's fucking you up because you're kissing the woman that Irene picked, the woman you met - it's how you pull yourself away-

Karina, for the longest few seconds, is shocked into stillness.

Because you could, of course, decide to give this one last shot, your head between her thighs and eat her out until she was so fucking wet your cock wouldn’t even enter the equation. This is not actually a new idea; the possibility has run through her mind enough times already.

"Yeah. That would work."

Like it's no big deal-

"Do you need instructions? I can get a bit graphic."

"Actually, you know what?" you choke a little, and - "trust me."

You stand straight up for a moment, a second, an extra fraction. You slip your cock inside her hot cunt, and, yeah. She collapses right into you. You’re holding up her just enough to fuck into - she's starting to breathe deeper, harder; you've got her pinned like that - a hand on her neck, fingers sinking into everywhere she's softest: her tits, her ass, her waist, her throat, and there is nothing that isn't some version of fucking glorious about Karina's weight grinding, heavy onto the tip and onto the ridge and down the thickest length of you-

And her face, jesus christ, her fine brows upturned, the tears heavy in her dark lashes, the little gasping-sobbing sounds that spill across her wobbling lips - this is the both the easiest and the hardest part: seeing her get absolutely fucking ruined-

(You know, god help you.)

-

Irene doesn't even have to ask. There are hickies and bruises shadowing in on your neck, your chest - these marks you never remember Karina giving you, and a ton of scratches all up your back.

"You know I was going to offer to make you breakfast," Irene says, smug, "but I'm wondering if Karina got to you first."

"What the hell do you think?" you say, dumb.

There are eggs burning on a skillet that are never going to be salvageable, no matter what Irene says. She has no respect for the process. And her voice is full of that infuriating smile: "was it everything you hoped?"

"God," you mutter, trying to mask the embarrassed laughter in your words. You can hardly move an inch on her behalf.

"At least tell me something fun, you insufferable tease," she presses her nose into your hair and tickles the spot on your side, just to be a pest.

You lay it all out for her. Everything she wants to hear.

-

Surprisingly, there’s still plenty to learn about each other; days to weeks to months. The first real thaw of the year comes, and you’re quick to fall into this odd rhythm.

Karina won't actually join Irene on set or production very often - too much heat. It shouldn’t have taken so long to figure out the two don’t belong in the same room together, and if they’d asked you, they’d know - but no one ever really does ask you. However she does spend more and more time around the apartment. In and out of your personal spaces. And maybe a bit in between, or a little underneath too: how she seems to slot herself right into every possible fold whenever Irene’s away.

Always traveling for this reason or that.

And god, the perfect powder keg Karina is - ticking, short-fused, all ready to explode. It’s ironic, you think, she’s drawn to scandal the way Irene will do anything to avoid it, and here, she's found her ultimate indulgence.

The quick lay, the time and place you know you can be patient in pulling her apart, the everything in between. 

In fact, you’ve taken to calling her "babe" just so she doesn’t think twice when she gets your cum pooling deep in her cunt, all hot and sopping. Looking like the picture-perfect centerfold. The fucked-dumb face - all twisted in your grip, flushed-red; and the musky scent of sex; the noises and her presence alone. You fuck her, and fuck her, and fuck her, rubbing a thumb across where the mascara runs thick.

To be the gorgeous girl, cock-drunk and fucked-out in your lap - so simple - so natural: Karina finds her way over more often than not.

After your shower, after your nap; your work, the bar - Karina’s never more than a text away. And you'll keep a hand around her waist as she stands around in the kitchen, stealing Irene’s leftovers out of the fridge. Karina ends up straddling your thigh right there at the breakfast table, holding onto the wood for support as she cums all over you.

The long and short of it is: 

She's fucking you. She's fucking your fiancée. She sees no problem in having her cake and eating it too. The only caveat is: Karina thinks neither of you know what's actually going on.

“You gonna say hi to Irene for me?" she's teasing one day, snapping her bra back into place. The t-shirt pulled over all that glossy-dark hair, the shimmy of her hips just to get back into the world's tightest jeans. She presses a fleeting kiss to the corner of your mouth. It's such a stark, clinical goodbye - ending with a flick of a thumb across a screen. "And oh, let her know if she ever wants me to teach her a trick or two. Anytime."

“Yeah, I’m sure she’d love that.”

Karina does the most insipid thing. She fucking winks. “I’m sure she would.”

-

"Uh, are you kidding me?" you ask Irene. 

It's late one night, and Irene is standing in the kitchen in her pajamas with a welt the shape of Karina’s lips kissed right into her jaw. A couple drinks in your system have given you both a false sense of clarity, and also an ill-timed desire to solve all your goddamn problems. You lower your voice. "In her ass?"

Irene has that all-triumphant and dopey grin that makes your heart ache for her. There's a soft curl of her hair loose, thrown across a shoulder. "I’m serious, pull her hair right, hold her wrists until her back has to be arched. Pin her to the bed," she continues to illustrate, "it's all in the finer points of how much. Tell her to count, even. I'm not joking-"

She takes another spoonful of yogurt between her lips.

"-she'll let you do anything, promise."

“That’s fucked up.”

“I know.” Irene wags the spoon at you. “It’s great.”

-

It's not only the hypothetical-homewrecking that gets Karina so torridly wet for the whole affair; when she's pinned beneath you with her legs spread and her toes pointed skyward, or perhaps later - the same day even - riding Irene's face in a locked dressing room and crying out - "ah, hah, jesus, please-"

In her head, she has you both at her beck and call. Forget semantics - Karina is a fool to her own illusion. Because in her head, not only has she managed to go toe to toe with the industry's reigning monarch, she’s managed to win.

-

You don’t exactly know how Karina ever intends to keep it casual. Because things are damn near constant:

It’s a weeknight, and the moon is high above the windows, casting a crisp rectangle onto the hardwood; it doesn’t actually matter, as far as Karina is concerned.

Irene’s on television again, the sequin in her dress clinging tight, and she’s found the gaze that never breaks for the cameras. Found the flash of her most practiced smile - that little chime of laughter she has that sounds like striking pure gold.

Then Karina: sitting cross-legged at the very end of the sofa. One leg thrown over your thigh, she’s got these nylons on her feet and she’s poking a toe into your ribs. "Isn't she stunning," you hear her muttering, "honestly. Doesn't it, like, turn you the fuck on?"

Her foot grazes your lap, all casual at first; the impossibly soft-curved heel of her sole. There are so many ways she'd prefer to pass the time and they almost all involve getting under your skin, if not just outright getting into your pants.

“Elaborate.”

"I mean listen, in your case, just knowing your fiancée is up there looking like a total angel and at the same time, thinking about you; how she’s got to be considering every which way she’ll unwind just after the showcase - at least, that’s what I’d be doing." She licks her lips, teeth. "Hell, I’m only imagining how pretty her eyes are when she can barely keep them open, and that’s enough to ruin my panties."

"Are you really."

She shifts her weight. Puts that ankle to good use. Rubbing it into the crease between your legs. "Tell me," her lips curl. She’s looking at you dead-on. "How does she usually prefer it, hm?”

Like a wildcat, you suppose, your Irene - a pretty, little predator. You could tell Karina everything, but you don’t. Instead you let her wander into the lair of her own making. Her eyes: light and curious; it’s written in the lines of her face how she's picturing it all so plainly.

“I’d guess she lets you go slow. Or hard. Or maybe a little rough and then you make her cum, and then maybe, just maybe, after the teasing; after the edging, I guess, that's when she comes in hot. I would hope."

Karina twists her foot around, swings her weight onto your lap, and sucks in a sharp breath when you reach out and grip the lean lines of her hips. It’s as easy to hold her still as it'd be to drag her across the couch and under the rest of your body, fuck the goddamn tension until there was no longer any room left for the pretty smirk in her lips. And her gasp would probably sound a hell of a lot better - than all the needling quips - a much louder and much less-pretend whine when you could throw those thighs open and really pound her wet, aching little cunt-

“Easy,” she chides when you end up taking two handfuls of her chest. "Shouldn’t you be more supportive? For god’s sake, it’s your fiancée’s moment in the spotlight, you know-"

There’s nothing stopping you from popping off the buttons of her dress, one by one by one - and kiss right there, into the swell. Your voice feels all the rougher when you respond, "and what a moment."

Her fingertips skim over the places she's been kissing you, where she's been marking and claiming and trying to, at least, to stamp you like her personal property - when the look is that serious. All cold-burn. Right through to the bone.

“So.”

You can feel her touching into your pants. The heat in her soft, silky thighs; she sits above you, keeping a leg on each side. A part of you feels trapped; another is confused why you aren't turning the tables right now - flip her and ride out her cunt on the couch. Some passing thought, or just a fraction, the only one that matters in that particular instant, wonders what Irene would do, will do - has done - in your situation. How her hips would roll. How Karina’s moan might sound when she dug a nail right into a sweet spot.

You push Karina's skirt a little farther up her body and try to gauge the moment she's finally decided she doesn't mind.

“How about you keep your eyes on her, and I'll suck your cock while you do," ends up being the short and not-so-sweet of it all. “-or maybe you can get off between my tits.”

She wraps those fingers around your base and pulls gently. It's not a decision, but merely a continuation, a culmination: a gesture made entirely to pull the response: the hitch to the throat. Her nails skim that ridgeline as her eyes track across the cut of your features. It makes you groan into her next kiss, to say, "if you wanted it so bad, babe, you could’ve just said. Would save us a lot time-"

"Are you complaining?" she husks, pulling your pants down your thighs. Your cock is in her hands and she smiles like a cat - licks her teeth when it twitches at just the slightest touch. "Yeah, I didn't think so," is how the breathless laugh leaves her lips.

You catch the quirk of her brows, her tone: straight-up, like nothing. You’re almost buying into that until she's got your shirt on the floor, those lips of hers in the divot of your collarbone, and her tits wrapped around the base of your cock, and, well, fuck-

She actually wastes no time - none at all. A couple feet away, Irene covers her laugh with one hand. There's a brass award in her other. And the television casts this soft, pale glow.

Karina tips her head, and a curtain of her dark, silken hair spills across the ridge of her breast. She runs those big eyes over you, all wide and round and vaguely-deviant. There's the perfect amount of motion, of squeeze, just a light-bit of pressure, and she's got a face smug-arrogant in an instant, knowing. Fuck, her hands on either side start pushing into the line of her cleavage as she bounces and rocks and draws every inch of your cock up through her soft tits and back down again.

"Fuck," is the harshest exhale she's ever dragged out from you.

She hums a low sound, all self-satisfied when it's her own namesake: your body wants her, like you know the full weight of her needs, your touch, how badly she's fucking craving to get off and still not admitting to anyone it might be more than sex. Like it's really as easy as her next breath, the flutter of her lashes: Karina wants your eyes, the weight of your attention and she's not going to beg for a fucking thing. The feeling, you think, is mutual.

"Irene," she says, her smile as open as it could ever get. "She's just so gorgeous, right?"

On one hand, she’s speaking between the lines. A perfect tincture of deceit - the bawdiness-by-nature: watch me, look at me - is what she might as well say - look what I can fucking do, the whole lewd display. And, god, how she knows every way to make a guy want it, like she wants you to remember it.

Because on the other, the movement is so, so direct. 

Karina twists herself in an upward tilt, just an easy, practiced thing; she lets her tits spill around your cock and through her fingers, full and soft - and her lips part, mouth slacking alongside yours, matching the sounds out your chest with her own. Like she knows exactly which slide of slippery friction will make you moan, or which pull and drag will send your teeth straight into your lip.

"Isn't it crazy," she lolls her head a little, letting her own saliva drip down the center, onto your weeping slit. "How much I want your cum filling my cunt, even knowing she's the one you'd rather put the ring on," the drag and drag and drag - her tits are fucking incredible, and she knows it. She pushes up with her fingers and gives you a long draw right through the press, right where the nerve endings run electric, right where she keeps moving, up and down, and up and down- 

“-it must be hard, I mean, jesus christ. Here I am, needy and hot. Begging you to wreck me and my only sin, hm - the sin of being second best, right-"

"Holy fuck, you're-"

"Obsessed," she says, and drops her tits against your waist again. "I know, I know. How could I not be?"

You're left muttering into the titfuck alone, watching her rub your precum up between their soft shape, feeling the slight give, how her skin goes warm. The act itself: such a simple-thing-bordering-on-the-absurd that you notice how you coil and flex beneath her curves, how she feels so soft and warm. The slight pucker of her lips every time your cock escapes her cleavage does little to help. It's probably the fault of the brain-fuck but the wet of her mouth is practically everywhere you look. You could eat her alive right here, spread her legs on the coffee table and finish with a bit of screaming, groaning and tearing, and no one would ever stop you.

But instead,

"-it's a good color on her, really; but then every color is a good color on her, isn't it so unfair?" She's taking your cock into her tits, deeper on every rock forward and back, holding them close - a gentle lock of those long manicured fingers keeping it all together. "Even wearing no color at all; you must just love how all the freckles are so easy to see," she murmurs, squeezing tight. The sound is wet, messy. A filthy chorus between her dirty words and the dirtier action, and just that glimpse of friction when she strokes down again is maddening. You're all slippery. So sticky-slick, so tight.

Of course there's not a fucking inch of a reaction out of her; you want to get off so bad-

"You could close your eyes," she tells you. "She would still be there. The sound of her laughter. The image. In that dress or not," and her mouth furls into a half-smile before she pauses. Reaches down, pulls her tits around you impossibly tight. "Just so damn pretty-"

You cum just like that: 

"Babe," is what you let her have. The soft, undercurrent hiss. "Fuck."

You shoot clean up, all thick, hot splatter.

Well, mostly up - along the expanse of her neck and throat, coating where her breasts sit so pretty against the lines of your thighs. Across her sternum and the hollow of her neck - her body's covered in your shared mess: slick-filthy-hot, all strewn across her perfect tits.

"Jesus, Karina, baby you’re-"

"Completely covered in you." She's still smiling. That deep-cut and perfectly symmetrical curl of her lips. The gorgeous fucking shade, and her chin, how her cheeks flush, just a little - they've always turned pink in the most specific places when she gets fucking cum-soaked. “I know, just look.”

And her hands slide across her chest, trailing a path through the thick of your release, spreading the glaze all down her front. Making it messy, making the exact look a guy sees once and is driven to the ends of his sanity - just to spill his load out onto her. To get her all used, and trussed up: just how she likes.

(Sanity is being generous, considering.)

You can't do anything other than what's expected: take her up in a kiss, breathe into the mess you've made on her skin. The gasp is full, surprised - just enough, maybe, to count as genuine.

Such a mess - she murmurs - um, come on then, you can do a girl a favor. Bath bomb, bath towel, bath robe - and really it doesn't have to be a suggestion.

You’ll pin her down and fuck her right over the lip of the tub if that’s what she really wants. Just being in her company is indulgent and excessive and begging you to make a terrible habit of it. Have some self–restraint, she has this tone in her voice sounding more and more like a dare. There's just enough there in her hands: one reaching for you and the other reaching into the porcelain, swirling up the lather - and that look on her face, as if to say, can't believe you have me waiting, like some desperate, depraved pervert - only it’s more explicit than that. Only it feels worse - and her mouth is moving again, speaking into the air that already feels stifling hot, words cutting through the steam: you're not very nice, I mean really, it should come as no surprise how she turns out, having this jerk for a fucking boyfriend- 

Nevermind. Not a dare, it's a challenge. She was right the first day you undressed her, the brattiest girls always have the worst kinds of fantasies, the darkest little tendrils of self-destruction. How she's laying there, asking and telling, pushing and pulling; and how she thinks she's so clever too.

Though that is no reason, she laughs, for you to think she won't love having her pretty cunt cockwarmed and spoiled for an evening or more. - And so it goes, and so it goes, and so it goes, and so it goes.

-

(Really, to Irene’s credit, she had Karina pegged right from the jump. A character study in, well, herself.

She's seen as an ingénue by the press, and an outright savant to the executives. They know her as the obvious successor. They give her the runway, they watch the leggy-girl-turn, the model-posture, chin held high and aloof, looking down at the gathered throngs of photographers.

The protégé, the goddamn heir-apparent:  

But her favorite game - that bit of innocence served on a platter, ingenuous when it comes to spinning a flaw to gold, and the deception too - Karina loves and loathes every second she spends upstage from Irene's own, hectic, international production. Because if anyone asks her, that girl would claim it's never been a competition in the first place. 

So you see, if you and yours have both decided to ruin her-

It is a disaster-in-the-making, isn’t it.)

[jj-one]

9:20 AM.

Jungkook (your boyfriend) knew exactly how to make you feel good, only he knew how to please your body.

pairing: bf!Jungkook x gf!reader genre/tags: smut, fluff, teasing, dom!jungkook x sub!reader, marking, jungkook has a tongue piercing, fingering, oral (f. receiving), mentions of crying (from pleasure), female orgasm words: 1.2k

**old repost from my deleted blog

You were excited for your boyfriend to come back home from his morning jog. You woke up after he did and he left the cutest little handwritten note on the refrigerator. It said on the note that he went out for his morning jog and is heading to the market after to pick a few things up for tonight’s dinner. You smile at his note and thought it was so sweet how he could’ve just sent a simple text but wanted to go the extra mile by handwriting a note for you. Deciding to do your own thing while he’s gone, you pick a romantic comedy movie to watch on Netflix to pass the time. Patiently waiting for Jungkook to arrive back home, you heard the door suddenly unlock and hurry to get up to go leave out of your room.

“JUNGKOOK!” You shout eagerly, almost pouncing on him once he gets through the door.

“Y/n, my baby girl,” He greets you back with a doting smile, wrapping his arms around your waist, encasing himself into you.

You wasted no time to start kissing him, immediately going in to grab his pretty face with both of your hands, crashing your lips into his. He must’ve been thinking about doing this all day because once you two start making out, he carries you straight into both of your guy’s bedroom and places you gently onto the bed.

Jungkook knew exactly how to make you feel good, only he knew how to please your body. He’d begin by peppering your jaw and neck with a plethora of kisses, leaving a faint trail of hickies behind. He’d also be rubbing your inner thigh with his large hands that always turn you on every time you look at them. The prominent veins on his hands and arms when he flexes just a teensy bit is enough to make you cum in your panties.

“I love you so much,” Jungkook murmurs against your skin, still kissing and sucking on your neck as if he’s a vampire.

“Love you too koo— fuck…” Your response was interrupted by what he was doing to you next. Jungkook’s tattooed hand makes its way down to the tight shorts you were wearing. The shorts were pink and had a cute hello kitty design on them, Jungkook was the one who bought them for you actually. He’s always loved seeing you in the clothes he bought for you over the years, acting like a little kid on Christmas.

Jungkook is rubbing you over your shorts and the friction is driving you absolutely insane. You can just feel how wet you’re becoming, the juices from your heat start to overflow; seeping through your panties and he feels you throbbing on his fingers. He’s got a sinister look on his face and you already know that means you’re in for something amazing to make your morning.

“Sheesh baby, look how wet your pussy’s getting…” Jungkook looks in awe, hissing at the sight of a giant wet spot forming in your panties after he took off your tight skimpy shorts.

Jungkook begins caressing, kissing, and licking your lower body, touching every curve and crevice of you, not missing a single spot. His touch is so gentle, so warm, so inviting. His tongue rolls along the inside of your thigh, the steel metal of his tongue piercing feels cold but the sensation tingles down your spine. Flinching from the action he performed, he notices straight away, eyebrows raised in a sudden stir of confusion.

“You okay baby?” He asks softly before continuing, wanting to make sure nothing he did hurt you.

“Y-yes, just feeling a little sensitive that’s all…” You say quietly.

You feel him smile against your soft flesh, planting more wet kisses against yours thighs and laid his head there for a while to feel your warmth.

“I could be like this all day y’know?” He basks in your presence, speaking in a mumbled tone, half his face still buried in your thighs.

“I know koo.”

Jungkook raises his head a tiny bit just to face your clothed pussy again. He couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot, bringing his face—specifically his nose, closer to you to get a whiff of your sweet aroma. He practically buries his nose into your panties and drags it down your slit.

“You smell so good..” He was intoxicated by your scent, loving the natural, but fragrant essence.

He licks a stripe to your clothed core, making you moan out loud and bring your hand to latch onto his fluffy hair. You love to play with it and make it a mess of his hair after he’s done giving you the best head of your life.

“You taste really good too babe,” Jungkook couldn’t get enough of you, he was literally drunk off your pussy.

You were so desperate for him to take your panties off as you were starting to make more of a sticky mess in them but he seemed to be enjoying it more that way. He wanted to prolong the action of coming into contact with your bare pussy. He wanted to tease you so much until you were begging for him to touch your clit. You wanted nothing but his tongue against your wet folds right now.

“J-jungkook…” You mutter so lowly, he almost couldn’t hear you.

“Hmm, what’s my name baby?” He asks while still teasing your entrance, now sliding one of his fingers inside your floral panties.

“Jungkook!” You moan louder this time, feeling somewhat better that you’re almost getting to where you want to be.

“Want you to scream my name for hours, can you do that for me babydoll?” He asks in a serious tone, pushing his finger in and out of your soaked cunt.

You nod submissively, “o-okay daddy..” arching your back against the bed from the amazing feeling, Jungkook knows exactly how to use his fingers on you.

He kept fingering you harder and deeper until you look him in the eyes and visibly start to tear up from all the pleasure he’s giving you. It’s so good but so unbearable at the same time. He made you feel like you were in heaven, crying out his name, just saying “Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook” on repeat whilst he’s finger fucking you. He’s scissoring your tight hole from the inside out and your juices were now running so far down your legs. You were super close to your orgasm and he could tell by the contorted face you were making.

“Jungkook… Jungkook.. fuck I’m gonna cum!” You scream for him, eyes rolling to the back of your head and your vision was going insanely blurry.

“Yeah baby that’s it, just relax…cum for daddy,” Jungkook coaxes you through it, encouraging you to reach your high but still adding slight pressure to your clit. You couldn’t take it anymore, just letting go and being in eternal bliss as you reached your climax. You moaned his name a couple more times and he called you his good girl for cumming when he told you to. You went back to making out and he was now massaging your boobs.

“You’re really horny today, huh?” You ask Jungkook, stifling a giggle at his overly naughty behavior.

“The real question should be when am I not horny whenever I’m with you y/n..” Jungkook shamelessly admits, grabbing your face once again to kiss you harder.

At least you can say you don’t have issues with satisfying your man in the bedroom !

[kyoghurts]

LOVER ACTS. mashle headcanon 𞥙୧

˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ being your lover and being in love comes with a habit, sprung from the ground and grows like a flower. MASHLE VARIOUS CHARS have a habit of . . .

ᥫ᭡ MASH BURNEDEAD

. . . resting his chin on your palm at any chance he sees. this guy is so tenderly and quietly affectionate especially in the physical aspect. you might say he’s a bit of a touch starved. he won’t say it, though if you ask him he won’t lie to you either. so whenever you’re both alone and doing insignificant things, you offer your hand for him to plant a small kiss and he’ll just keep his lips on your palm, or rest his chin, looking into your eyes with intensity that tells you so much. you need not ask the gods if he’s meant for you or you’re meant for him. he only has eyes for you, only you.

ᥫ᭡ LANCE CROWN.

. . . playing with your hair. or simply making it a routine to tend to your hair: comb, trim (if it gets too long), braid, and if he’s in the mood to dive more intimate: he’ll wash your hair. he’s like your personal hairdresser, he might as well be, with how good he is at taking care of them. when outside or at class, he’ll absentmindedly brush a few strands off your face or slightly ruffle them. but sometimes it gets annoying for you, and when you try to pry off his hands you’ll have yourself blessed by the airy chuckle you hear from lance. mind you, getting this kind of reaction from your boyfriend occurs once in a blue moon, so, you’ll say nothing. instead, you’ll savor every breath of it and how his hands can be so good to you (and your hair.)

ᥫ᭡ FINN AMES

. . . sending small trinkets. handmade letters, doodles from only half spending his attention to his lecturers, paper cranes, stickers, you know it. you’re pretty sure your room is going to be full with his little stuffs, and he’s not going to hide the sheer happiness he feels whenever he visits you. he’ll ask you where you put them or if he sees it displayed out in the open, he’s going to get all misty about it. and he would want to create more for you for this purpose: to show the contents of his love for you.

ᥫ᭡ DOT BARRETT.

. . . singing you crappy & cheesy love songs. oh i know this man is going to be super annoying and loud but but but— you can tolerate it. why? this guy can sing like he’s destined to step on the stage. it can also be the sole reason why you fell for him, he’s not afraid to express himself. not to you or anyone, whether you’re out in public or private, he will sing to you all the love songs he knows. and from the way you playfully shut him up with light jabs (or if you’re feeling confident in yourself, a quick kiss to his lips), it will be the key that gives way to your feelings. and well, its okay, you’re not afraid to express yourself, either.

ᥫ᭡ LEMON IRVINE

. . . recommending songs & films. even better, you both could listen/watch to it! she’ll be over the moon, painted by glistening stars of happiness, bonus points if you tell her in a novel detailed way on your thoughts after, does it remind you of something? a memory? a feeling? how and why so? you could ramble until the sun comes shining, she’ll never get tired of it, never of you.

ᥫ᭡ RAYNE AMES.

. . . spoiling/treating you with gifts. he’ll come home and there’s not an ounce of surprise written off your face as you see literal shopping bags and what’s funny is that he won’t look at you in the eye, he’s just going to shove it to you and walk away. you could go shopping together and, granted that he is perceptive, he will buy anything that catches your eye for a minute longer. never say no. you will regret it. he’s going to sulk, he’s going to ignore you until you apologize. (in the form of taking and accepting his gifts so yeah, he still wins in the end.) also uh, he also has a habit of nuzzling his head on the crook of your neck hehe :3

ᥫ᭡ ABYSS RAZOR.

. . . gazing at your eyes and complimenting them. i’m pretty sure he’ll also slip a few flowery words on every part of your face, but i will emphasize on the eyes. they’re so captivating to him, they tell a story about a kind soul such as yours, and it reminds him how he’s so loved and seen. and when you tell him he’s the reason the sparkle in your eyes exist? how it softens whenever it connects with his? the world will never know the feeling that abyss has in his heart, and it’s immense—but never heavy, its full, its floating, its beautiful. you’re beautiful, inside and out.

ᥫ᭡ ABEL WALKER.

. . . taking you to a romantic and fancy dinner on a very well-known restaurant with candle lits and everything because he is the absolute elegant of a man and he will treat you the way you deserve to be treated. like the goddamn queen/king that you are. like the goddamn your highness that you are. and when he takes you home, let the moonlight grace your face but let him kiss your lips like the world is about to end. i cannot imagine him acting otherwise. take this hc or leave it.

notes. pops in randomly hi :3 pops out and become inactive for the next few days

© kyoghurts. ★ reblogs & likes are well appreciated!

[hxzbinwrites]

Idk if you do headcanons or one shots but either or will be fine:

Can I pretty please get a Vox x Emotionless! Reader?

Plot can be whatever you want but just to (hopefully) give some ideas… maybe Vox had no interest in Reader but then uh oh she smiled! Now Vox has a crush (°▽°)

But yeah lol thank you!! Have a good day!

Vox x Emotionless! Reader | Lovestruck Fool |

Warnings ⚠️: Cussing, Vox is a horrible boss

10:00am

(Y/n) walked into Vox’s office, holding an folder with today’s date and Vox’s name on it.

“Mr. Vox.” She said, her dead eyes watching her boss turn around in his excessively large chair.

“Hm, what is it (Y/n)?” He said, giving her a single glance before turning back to his monitors

“You have three meetings today sir. 1:00pm with Velvette in her portion of the tower. 2:30pm with Valentino in the main conference room, and someone scheduled a 4:00 with you, a Mr. Alastor? Called in today for an urgent meeting.”

Vox slammed his hands down on the desk, his face glitching in seething anger. “THAT PRICK!! CALL BACK AND TELL HIM I WILL NOT BE ATTENDING ANY SORT OF MEETING WITH HIM!!”

“He called from a public telephone sir, I can’t trace the caller ID.” (Y/n) said, clearly unfazed by his temper tantrum.

“DAMN IT!” He said, punching a smaller monitor on his right,”DONT YOU EVER LET HIM SCHEDULE ANOTHER MEETING WITH ME OR VOXTECH EVER AGAIN!!!”

Vox turned around, pointing one of his clawed fingers in your deadpanned face.

“Okay sir, is that all?”

“UGH!!” He said, clenching his fists to his side,”WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?? IM AN OVERLORD, I AM THE VOX, YOU SHOULD BE QUIVERING IN FEAR!! IM YELLING MY HEAD OFF AT YOU AND YOU CANT EVEN FORM AN EXPRESSION?? ARE YOU BRAINDEAD??”

(Y/n) slowly blinks, before looking down and rummaging through the folder she still held. “Ah, I almost forgot. Mr. Alastor requested his meeting also in the main conference room. If you need another reminder about your meetings today just call me-“

She was cut off once more by Vox, screaming and yelling, throwing things hazardously across the room. “JUST LEAVE.”

“Alright sir.” (Y/n) said, immediately turning away and walking towards the door.

————

4:45pm

(Y/n) was at her desk, taking calls and rearranging Vox’s schedule for tomorrow when her work phone buzzed.

“Hello? This is (Y/n) with Voxtech. How may I-“

“(Y/n). My office. Now.”

“Sir? This isn’t your work phone number? How can I be sure that this is-“

“MY OFFICE. NOW.”

(Y/n) could hear his voice glitching over the phone before she hung up, and briskly made her way to the door of his office.

She walked in to his Vox in his obnoxiously large chair, his hands covering his screen as he sighed in exhaustion.

“Ah, sir. You called me?”

“Yes (Y/n). I have installed safety features into your desk. Don’t except meetings from Alastor. If he comes in here, press the button under your monitor. He is NEVER allowed in this building.”

“Okay sir.” She said, making a note of that on her smartwatch,”Will that be all?”

“Can you get me a coffee…?”

“Right away sir.”

————

5:00pm

“Here’s your coffee sir.” (Y/n) said, setting it in his outreached hand.

“Thank you (Y/n)” He said, taking a single sip before doing a spit take. On one of the monitors around the city, it showed Velvette and Alastor chatting to one another.

“WHAT?!?” Vox yelled, being as “careful” as he usually is, his coffee flies into the air before landing on his shirt. He hissed in pain at the hit liquid, scrambling around before tripping on the various wires around his monitor setup (that was replaced after his previous temper tantrum) and landing on his ass.

Vox looked up in shock to see (Y/n) covering half of her mouth, revealing a smile. Tears brimmed her eyes as she tried to respectfully hold in her laughter.

Vox’s face felt red hot. Out of embarrassment and admiration. Why didn’t she smile more? Oh that smile, if she could remove her hand it would reveal its full glory. Let him soak it in. Her eyes filled with life and laughter. Has she always been this….beautiful? Yes, I think she has. She has indeed.

She let out a little snort before regaining her composure, before crouching down in front of him, taking the napkins provided with the coffee, and starting to wipe off as much of the liquid as possible. He felt her delicate hands rub across his chest. He hope she didn’t feel his erratic heartbeat.

He wanted this. He’s yearned for this and he didn’t even know it. Vox’s breathing became as erratic as his heartbeat, almost in sync. He felt sweat starting to drip, wether it be from the hot coffee adorning his now ruined shirt or from the stunning woman and her hands on his chest.

Trying to get as much as she could, (Y/n) scooted even closer, not realizing her hips were hovering right over his. Vox’s mind was running wild, his screen glitching and flicking between different error signals. His hands floating near the handles of her hips. Taking a gulp, he almost put his hands on her skin. Almost. He ended up just leaving his hands there, leaving a ghostly stabilization to the assistant who was cleaning him up like a toddler who spilt his apple juice.

(Y/n) looked up at Vox’s eyes, their eyes locking onto one another. A small smile could be faintly seen across her lips before it went back to its neutral state.

She helped him to his feet, her soft hands gently pulling on his clawed ones, slowly helping him to his feet. Handing him the remaining napkins. “I’ll schedule a trip to the dry cleaners. Does 3:45 tomorrow work well for you?”

Vox sat back down, his eyes wide in shock from what just happened. “Yeah, sure, whatever. I don’t care.”

“Alright sir, I’ll get that done, and then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay…”

(Y/n) walked out, the door closing behind her. Leaving the room back in it’s inky black darkness, with the exception of the glowing monitors.

Vox looked at his reflection in the main monitor. He could see his goofy smile. His blush adorning his cheeks. His eyes lighting up like a child who knows no sin. He looked like what he was, a lovestruck fool. A lovestruck fool for his assistant.

————

Word Count: 1006

(sorry it’s so short, i’m trying to get as many requests done as i can 😭)

[kurikive]

sticky | kim minji

things between you and minji are... sticky this summer.

— childhood friends to lovers, summer trip, soccer player!reader, slowish burn, lowkey bromance, futchish READER 💜

contains : cursing, kinda slight makeoutism, a lot of bro and dude, just a little bit of angst but i promise its literally nothing, NOT proofread at all i am tireeeddd

wc: 13.7k words

inspired by : Sticky — KISS OF LIFE

You're not really sure how you got here.

You’re watching the sunset at the beach with Kim Minji, your hand in between hers and the sand below you, your face two inches from her own, your lips two seconds away from colliding.

Actually, let's rewind.

It’s summer! It's been 3 long years of being away in Seoul. A soccer scholarship was always great, and you were having a fantastic time with your teammates and classmates, but you were completely burnt out after these exhausting last 6 months.

Korea University Anam Tigers proudly win 3rd place in the U-League for the first half of the season. 5 wins, 2 draws, 3 losses. Not too bad. You did better last year, but you're sure you'll recover and bounce back during the second half. Or maybe it was the alcohol and smell of grilled beef that was making you emotional.

After you finalize your amazing speech with a broken voice and a tear threatening to leave your eye, you realize you're actually quite drunk. The applause of your teammates startles you, and they may be mocking your sentimental state with their laughs and ‘aww’s and teasing pushes, but they cheer you on anyway.

“Han Y/N!” One of your teammates, Hsu Nientsu, also pretty tipsy, nudges your left arm as you sit back down, “Don't get so sensitive with us now!”

“Our Y/Nie gets emotional when drunk, huh?” Central striker Ahn Yujin, leader of the team, pinches one of your red cheeks from across the table, action to which you groan at.

“I just…” You sigh, drowsy and teary eyes block your vision yet you can still tell all your teammates are looking at you. “I really love our team and want us to do our best…” You make a mental note to never get drunk with your team again when they coo at you for a second time.

“Well then,” Oh Haewon starts pouring you another shot (she usually would make you pour it yourself, but your flimsy arms and hung head bring out the instinct to take care of you instead), “Let's climb up the leaderboard for Leftie!” She declares as she leaves the small glass of soju on your side of the table.

You hate the nickname. Nientsu came up with it the first year of your scholarship because when you were supposed to be in central midfield you spent most of your time on the left side of the field, for some reason. Her broken Korean and teasing nature muttered the name in an attempt to mock you and everyone started repeating after. You can't complain much about it. It stuck too well.

You take the shot and grimace at the bitter taste of alcohol. You're still not used to it even after countless team dinners.

Won Haneul, your roommate, best friend and goalkeeper, laughs at your expression. The other girls have already picked up their own conversation, yet she seems very entertained at your drunken state, “Unnie, are you sure you don't want to go?” You've told her multiple times to drop the formalities, it's a one year difference; she keeps refusing.

You look to your right and you (hardly) see her looking at you worried, but still smiling. It takes a couple seconds for you to process her words. “I… I think I should go.” You slur, you're sure you'll die if you take another shot.

Haneul nods, understanding as always. “Guys, I think me and Y/N unnie are gonna head back now!” You hear your teammates complain and whine but you can't make out anything they're saying.

“I'm too drunk!” You try your best to scold them, “And I have my last class tomorrow…”

A soccer scholarship didn't mean you were just in Seoul to play soccer and get drunk with your friends. You also had to study and attend classes, like everyone else. Maybe you would've had it easier if you had chosen Physical Education as your major. But no, you had chosen Media and Communication for some reason.

At least it was the last class before break.

“Go then! Quick! Get away!” You hear Jung Sunhye drunkenly shoo you two away. It makes you giggle. You wave goodbye to your teammates with your frail arms, it makes you look like a car rental inflatable. You hear a chorus of ‘sleep well’s and ‘Bye Y/N’s.

Haneul holds you as you walk out of the BBQ place, and then a cold wave of air hits you right when you realize you have to go up the hill to get to your dorm. You don't know if the chill you get in your spine is from the cool late night air or the dread of borderline hiking while drunk.

“Haneul, I'm sorry.” You don't even want to look at her in fear of getting dizzy. You're only a few steps up the hill but you're already breathing a little heavy. However, your apologetic expression is enough for her to understand your feelings.

“It's okay, unnie!” She's such a joy to have around not only as a teammate but as a friend. You hope her kindness never leads her to getting taken advantage of. You and the other girls would ruin the life of whoever could even dare.

“I'm really grateful for you, y’know?” You probably shouldn't talk while you're rapidly growing out of breath, but you're already sentimental.

“I'm flattered.” She says with a light laugh while pushing you from behind, making it easier for you to walk upwards.

“Are you going back to Suwon this summer?” You ask after a while of more heavy steps. Haneul had also gotten a scholarship and moved from Suwon to Seoul, therefore getting to be roommates with you.

“Mhm! Gonna go see my parents.” Her voice turns a little softer and you notice even when you're mostly out of your conscious mind. “What about you, unnie? Are you gonna stay here?”

It's been three years since you left your hometown and replaced the ocean with the river. Three years since you left your friends behind. Three years since leaving your mom and dad.

Of course you missed them. How could you not? It's not like you were avoiding them, the last summers were just filled to the brim with practice and studying and everything got tangled and you didn't even leave time for yourself.

That's over, though. You can already see yourself on the shore.

And then you're at the bus terminal. Hands shaky and heavy steps, just like the ones you took walking up the hill of your dorm building. You carry your backpack at your front and hold your gym bag on your left hand. You wait in line to step inside your bus and you think you're ready to fall asleep for the whole ride.

But once you're settled in your seat, your thoughts leave you restless.

There's a fear in the back of your mind that your friends will treat you differently when you arrive.

You've been gone for 3 years, and you talk slightly less now. But the group chat is still active, and you talk with them when you're allowed the time to. It's not like you've gone completely radio silent and disappeared from their lives.

It's just scary to be back.

But the scariest thing by far is the fear of being proven wrong. The fear of still liking her.

See, ever since you were a kid running around with a ball between your feet, you've had a crush on Kim Minji.

Neighborhood pretty girl. Class president in elementary, middle and high school. Best grades in your year. The most crushable girl ever.

You remember the first day you met her. You actually think about it a lot.

You were 7, playing soccer with your friend Gyuvin on the beach at sunset hours. There was no real goal to kick the ball towards, you were just trying to steal the ball from each other and keep it as long as possible. But then Gyuvin gets a little too close to taking the ball, and in panic you pass it to your right. 

But there's no one to your right. And you realize you've just kicked it towards three girls about your same age building a sandcastle.

You see the ball roll away further and further away from you and Gyuvin, and closer and closer to the castle, and the girls don't seem to notice.

You don't know why you're frozen. You could've stopped the ball by now if you had run after it. Gyuvin notices your lack of movement and becomes the one who shouts instead, “BALL!”

It seems to wake both the girls and you up from your daze, and suddenly you're running as fast as you can to catch the ball before it collides with the sand clump. And you manage to catch it.

You had thrown yourself into the sand, and the ball gets stopped by your arms. But your head crashes into the sandcastle instead. It doesn't collapse completely, and it didn't hurt that much, but it suddenly knocked you out for a few seconds.

You hear Gyuvin’s voice behind you when your mind is back in its place. “We're really sorry! We'll help you patch it back up!” You shake of the sand from your head when you sit back up, and you can finally take a good look at the three girls.

They looked pissed.

The smallest of the girls speaks, “I guess you can help. You're lucky it didn't fall on your head.” She points at you and you feel guilt engulf your cheeks with its warmth.

“Great!” Your friend helps you shake off some of the remaining sand off of your head, “Let's get to work, Y/N!”

You're confused at his enthusiasm, you were just playing soccer with him a few seconds ago and now he wants to build a sandcastle with some girls you just met? “But… we were-”

Gyuvin cuts you off, “It's the least we can do. We almost destroyed it.” It makes sense, but you're still a little reluctant. You grab a shovel anyways.

Your friend is already introducing himself when you start digging a hole into the sand, “I'm Kim Gyuvin! What are your names?”

The short girl with short hair that spoke to you before is the first one to answer, “I'm Hanni Pham! I'm from Australia but we moved here a year ago.”

“Your parents like fish, huh?” The boy's joke makes Hanni's mouth open wide and her eyes dilate a good amount.

“How did you know?!”

“I'm Seol Yoona.” Says a girl with a voice so quiet you have to ask Gyuvin what her name was right after she said it, “What did she say?”

“Seol Yoona.” He repeats, and you get back to digging with a nod, not before you give an apologetic smile to the girl.

The last girl introduces herself, “I'm Kim Minji.” You notice three things about her. Her voice is deeper than the other two girls, her eyebrows are really pretty, and she's wearing a blue clip on her hair.

All three of the girls are pretty, but if Gyuvin asks you later who you thought was the prettiest you are sure you'll say Minji.

Said girl notices you've been doing nothing but dig since you started introducing yourselves. “What's the hole for?” She says.

“I'm gonna put water in it to make wet sand. It's going to make it easier to build and harder to collapse.” And right after you say that you stand up, bucket in hand, ready to go and fetch water from the shining ocean behind you.

But just as you're about to go, the girl with the pretty eyebrows calls out again, “What's your name? You never told us.” Right.

“Han Y/N.” You tell her with a smile.

“Han Y/N.” She repeats your name back to you, like you're not supposed to know it already. It sounds pretty coming from her. 

The sunset glow crashes in the sea and bounces back into the eyes of the girl. You see them glisten as she looks into yours. Your heart starts beating as fast as it was when you were running around earlier.

“Don’t ever play soccer near my sandcastles.”

You look like an idiot, laughing by yourself in your seat. It's already night when you feel the bus stop in its tracks. You realize it's slightly warmer than when you departed, even at these hours of the night.

You're here. And you're not laughing anymore.

Everything you dread is getting closer by the second, and you don't want to face it.

It's been three years since the last time you saw your friends, since you saw Minji. Three years of only speaking to her in the group chat. Three years of believing you've gotten over her when in reality you were just getting distracted.

Because if you had truly moved on you wouldn't be worrying about moving on.

You step out of your bus and smell the scent of the ocean. Your worries fade away for the rest of the night. You'll worry about that tomorrow.

You're home.

It’s around 10:30 P.M. Knowing your parents they wouldn’t be asleep right now. They’re probably watching replays of soccer matches or some strange animal documentary. Even after three years you can tread lightly towards your home. Not much has changed.

The street lights are dim, and the wooden floor boards of the port are not much louder than the last time they squeaked beneath your feet. You take a picture of the moon watching over the dancing waves, then keep walking.

You wish you don’t run into any of your friends on the way to your house. It’s not like you don’t want to see them, but it’s late, and you couldn’t catch even a wink of sleep the whole ride. You just want to see your parents and sleep in between the warmth of their bodies like you did when you were just a kid. You chuckle at the memory.

You step into your neighborhood. Most of the lights are turned off, but you can hear a couple of things as you walk deeper into the block. Crickets, waves, and a couple different TV stations. 

You get closer to the neighboring house from yours. Gyuvin’s house. The lights in the first floor are off, but there’s a dim light coming from the window of the bedroom facing the street. It (probably still) belonged to Gyuvin himself. You don’t really know what he’s doing at this hour of the night, but you won’t bother him right now, even when you get the urge to text him something like ‘look out ur window’.

You hear the voice of a commentator from outside the door of your house. They were watching replays. Knew it. You think about what to do next. It’ll be too loud if you ring the doorbell, Gyuvin might notice you’re here and come around to investigate, And then you get a sudden, bright idea.

You set your gym bag on the ground and start typing your mom’s number to call her, clicking on her contact when it shows up. You take a big breath and wait for her to answer, it doesn’t take her long.

“Hello, baby! What’s going on?” There’s a twinge of worry in her voice but she always answers so happily when you call her. You chuckle deviously, mischief is about to begin.

“Hi mama! I sent you guys a surprise, I’m calling to make sure if the package arrived safely. Sorry about the time, by the way.” You try to mask the smile appearing on your lips as you talk.

“A package?” She seems confused, “I.. We didn’t get anything.” She sounds a little more concerned.

“Really? Can you check the door? Maybe it came late.”

“I don’t think it’d come this late, darling.”

“Just check, ma. Please.” You hang up. You feel a little sorry for leaving your mother bothered and confused, but you try to telepathically tell her it’ll be worth it.

Your heartbeat starts picking up its pace when you hear the door unlock. You put your phone in your pocket and pick your bag up again.

 When the door opens, the first thing you notice is your mom’s disheveled hair, probably from laying on the couch and watching TV. The second thing you notice is that her eyes immediately fall on the doorstep, and she frowns when she finds nothing. The third thing you notice is that, even before she realizes you’re there, she’s already taking out her phone to call you again, but she sees a pair of shoes in front of her before she gets around to doing that.

Her eyes travel from your old sneakers to the top of your head, and then they fall back at your face. Her jaw drops and her eyes look like they hold the moonlight in them when she realizes it’s actually you.

“Y/Nie…” She’s a little breathless when she says your name, and you laugh at the sound of rustling behind her. Your dad probably heard her.

“Hello!” You simply greet. Your father appears shortly behind your mother and you send a wave at him when you see he’s making the exact same expression as her. “Am I going to be outside all night? That’s how you greet your daughter?”

Your mother throws herself at you with a hearty laugh, it makes you happy too. “When did you get here?!” She asks, a little too loud for your liking, but you won’t complain. You pull away to greet your dad, who was frozen on the doorframe.

“Just now, actually.” Your father is in shock, but he does his best to hug you back, and the hug gets tighter when he finally understands it’s really his daughter. You giggle a little at his lack of words, then tap his back a little rougher when you start struggling to breathe, “Hey! Not so tight!”

He lets go and you hear him laugh more calmly now. “Let’s go in. Gyuvin doesn’t know I’m here yet and I want to surprise him tomorrow.” Your mom closes the door behind you, and then hits you on the back, quite roughly for your taste.

“How dare you not tell us you were coming?!” She rubs the same spot where she hit you when she hears you hiss at the pain, “It was a surprise!” You argue.

“Did you have dinner?” Your dad asks already in the kitchen, and your stomach growls even before you can respond. You giggle shyly at the noise, “I’ll take that as a no.” He says, “Go sit with your mom and watch TV with her. I’ll heat up something.”

“Oh, we’re not watching anything. You’re gonna tell me everything you’ve been doing.” Your mother taps the seat beside her on the couch, which you gladly take. “How was the season?”

You’re so happy to be back.

You wake up with the sunrise.

You fully expected to open your eyes and be hugging your mom while your dad was already up in the kitchen. And that did happen, except you wake up with your back sore from falling asleep on the couch. Your dad is in the kitchen, making breakfast for you three.

You rub your eyes and yawn. It wasn’t that late, you woke up pretty early actually. 8:27 A.M. Maybe it’s because your body is used to waking up early. Your dad looks back at you and laughs at your messy hair, smiles brighter when he sees one of your mom’s arms sticking out of the couch. “Rise and shine!” He says brightly.

“Morning…” The sound of your croaky voice seems to wake up your mom, as she’s already rubbing her face.

“Smells good.” She says in the same tone as you. “Is it almost done?”

“I just finished. Come take a seat.” Your dad turns off the gas from the stove. The scent of kimchi jjigae fills your home, and it makes you feel a lot more energized even before having a taste of it.

You run your hand through your hair to try and make it more presentable. Your mother goes up to your dad to ask for a taste, he waits for her approval. You start setting the cutlery and it makes you think of the mornings before school, but rather than getting sentimental, you enjoy the moment with a smile.

“Y/Nie, do you want apple juice?” Your mom asks with the fridge open, you just nod as you sit down.

When the three of you sit down to finally eat, you start to realize how much you actually missed this. You spent your mornings in Seoul either eating a quick and not-really-filling meal, or eating an energy bar and a vending machine kimbap with your teammates before practice. You don’t remember the last time you had a hearty breakfast.

The sound of laughter and birds chirping combined with the smell of a home cooked meal and the warmth of a seaside morning couldn’t compare to any of the emotions that crossed your heart whenever you won a match. 

Your mom and dad gossip to you about your neighbors and everything you missed while you were away.

You don’t find it hard to believe when they tell you that the weird old man that used to drink his nights away at the port got arrested. One of your neighbors' sons dropped out of college to be a model, Kim Sunoo apparently. Good for him, you always thought he had a pretty face.

Supposedly, Minji keeps her title as the number 1 student even in college. You’re not surprised, but you do feel full all of a sudden. There’s just a little bit of stew left when you groan, “Ah… I’m full…”

Your mom raises an eyebrow, “Already?” She looks at your bowl and laughs, “Nevermind, you finished pretty fast.”

“Do you eat well in Seoul?” Your dad asks. You feel a little flustered at the question and stutter when you answer, “I mean… not in the morning, but I eat pretty healthily the rest of the day. Me and Haneul prepare meals when we have afternoon practice. I’d say we’re pretty good cooks.”

Your parents laugh, “I guess we’ll put you to the test one day.” Your mom nudges you, “And it’s ‘Haneul and I’, by the way.”

The correction makes your eyes roll as you stand up to wash your dishes, “Yeah, yeah, grammar queen. I’m gonna go take a shower and go to Gyuvin’s to surprise him, ‘kay?”

“Aye aye, captain!” Either your parents planned to do the same move and say the same thing at the same time beforehand, or they’re literal soulmates.

You get out of the shower and choose a simple outfit- some baggy, ripped jeans and a graphic tee that you found in your closet (you asked your mom if it was clean enough for you to wear, considering the closet looked a little dusty; she said it was fine). The shirt felt a little tight around the arms and it was quite smaller than you expected, but it wasn’t uncomfortable at all. If anything it made the outfit more interesting.

So you stand outside your friend's house, with nothing in your hands but a smile on your face. You’re not really sure if it’ll be him or his mom answering the door, but you hope either of them will be happy to see you.

You ring the doorbell, and immediately hear footsteps get closer from inside. You don’t know if your heart is going to race everytime this happens, but you just hope you get used to the feeling. The door opens and you're met with a familiar face, Ms. Kim, Gyuvin’s mom, dressed up and ready to go to work. It’s summer, though?

“Y/Nie?” She looks delighted to see you, and yet quite surprised. “You came back!”

You give her a bright smile after you bow in respect, “Good morning, Ms. Kim! How have you been?” 

She steps back in a manner to invite you inside, “Oh, I’ve been well, dear. Gyuvin told me you weren’t able to visit these past years. We all missed you very much.” Her words surprise you, and you feel a little guilt squeezing your heart for two seconds.

“I’m glad to hear that, Ms.” She walks around the kitchen, packing what seems to be a lunchbox into her bag, yet still giving you her full attention. “Are you heading to work?” You ask curiously.

“Oh, yeah.” She looks a little agitated, “They don’t give me breaks, baby. I work for the news now!”

“Oh! How has that been going?”

She stops in her tracks, “Honestly, quite great.” She says, and you both laugh together. “Does Gyuvin know you’re here? I imagine he’s who you came to see.”

“He doesn’t.” The woman looks quite surprised. “I wanted to surprise him. I arrived just yesterday.”

“Oh honey, you’re gonna give him a heart attack.” She laughs and you chuckle, “I hope not!” You say,

“He’s in his room. He’s probably still asleep, but he’ll wake up if you knock hard enough. Make sure he doesn’t think you’re me, then he won’t get up.” The woman unlocks the door, coat hanging from her arm and bag over her shoulder, when she sees you nod. “I heard you won third place this half, right?”

“That’s right, ma’am.” You proudly say.

“Go Tigers!” Is the last thing she says before she walks out of the door. What a charming woman. You smile at yourself before walking up the stairs to your friend’s room.

Knock knock. No answer.

Knock knock knock. A groan.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. A louder groan.

“Kim Gyuvin, I will bust your door down.” You yell, “You think my legs haven’t gotten stronger?”

Fast stomps and the sound of a clutter of objects falling on the ground startle you slightly. The door opens so roughly you wonder if Gyuvin himself has also gotten stronger.

“Y/N?!”

“What fell on the ground?” You chuckle. He hugs you, possibly tighter than your dad. You didn’t quite expect it, but you welcome it anyway.

He pulls away like he’s checking if you’re not a hologram. You laugh the hardest when he pokes your cheek. He looks relieved, then mad. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?! When did you get here?!”

“I got here yesterday. You were still awake, I think. But I wanted to greet you properly, and I was really tired last night.” You explain with a little bit of remorse.

“Dude!” He hugs you once again, “Bro, I can’t believe you're back!” You hug him just as tightly. “I’m really happy I’m here.”

He pushes you lightly with a smirk, “Don’t get sappy on me.” He teases, “Congrats on third place, tiger.” You cringe at the nickname and push him back.

“Eww!” You both laugh, and you notice the bundle of things he has on the floor of his room, “You dropped all that?”

Gyuvin looks back, and pushes you out of his room, closing the door in shame. Unbelievable.

You hear him pick up the things and put them back in place, until he finally opens the door again. You’re right where he left you. “Get dressed. Your mom made you breakfast.”

“Wait, help me pick an outfit!” You’ve been here for less than a day and he’s already being annoying. Like always.

“Bro, I’m wearing a shirt that’s too small for me, I am not the one to ask for fashion help.”

“That’s your fault for getting swole!” You hear him yell while you go down the stairs. Maybe nothing's really changed.

You’re back at the kitchen. You look at the lonely plate at the table, it doesn’t look very appetizing. It’s not like it’s a bad meal, it’s an omelet and toast, but when you touch it it’s abnormally cold. Fuck you Gyuvin. He was probably supposed to wake up a while ago.

You take the plate and place it in the microwave, one minute should be fine. You open the fridge and snoop around to see if they still- yup, they still have a box of the triangle juice boxes you and Gyuvin always shared at school. Apple was your favorite. You’re sure he or his mom won’t mind you taking one while you wait for the food to heat up.

You take the little plastic straw attached to the juice box and stab it into the designated hole. Just as you close the fridge, you hear the shutter sound effect from a phone. You turn around and see Gyuvin already dressed up and smiling at his phone.

“Did you take a picture of me?” You ask. The microwave beeps, “That’s your food.”

“Check the group chat.” He says as he walks past you to the microwave. You take out your phone and rest your elbows on the counter when you open up the group chat. Gyuvin named it “Beach boys”, even when he himself was the only male.

You’re immediately met with a picture of you from your side, stabbing a hole into your apple juice box. You looked at yourself in the mirror this morning, but you only realize how tight the sleeves of your shirt look when you stare at the photo. “Damn…” You mutter

“Ow! Ow! Hot!” Gyuvin yelps as he walks beside you, plate in his hands. He sits down at the table while you scroll back up to check the other messages.

gyuv | 9:44 A.M.

guys Y/N got so swole its actually insane

sully | 9:44 A.M.

Well yeah shes an athlete what were u expecting

henny | 9:44 A.M.

did she post something on ig?

where is this coming from

minj | 9:44 A.M.

Good morning first of all

gyuv | 9:45 A.M.

yeah but ud expect her legs to get bigger or her thighs idk

tell me why this absolute gremlin has bigger biceps than me

i feel threatened

this feels like a bro code violation

henny | 9:45 A.M.

this feels more like you just being insecure

i checked her ig and theres nothing?

sully | 9:45 A.M.

Vin are you hallucinating be honest

minj | 9:45 A.M.

Why gremlin

If anything the gremlin is hanni

henny | 9:45 A.M.

literally so out of pocket

what compelled you to say that

gyuv | 9:46 A.M. 

[1 attachment]

henny | 9:46 A.M.

Gyuvin is that ur fuckign house

is that han Y/N in your fucking house.

minj | 9:46 A.M.

What the hell

You | 9:46 A.M.

hi guys!

henny | 9:47 A.M.

Han Y/N are you in gyuvins fucking house

You | 9:47 A.M.

possibly

gyuv | 9:47 A.M.

[1 attachment]

guys im shaking theres a uleague third place winner in my kitchen

im so honored

sully | 9:47 A.M.

Omg she did get swole

Hiii Y/N

gyuv | 9:47 A.M.

RIGHT

IM SAYING LIKE

U DONT EVEM USE UR ARMS IN SOCCER

henny | 9:47 A.M.

Y/N when the FUCK did u get here

im gonna start vrying omg

You | 9:48 A.M.

i got here yesterday at night

i wanted to surprise u guys but ig gyuvin got too excited

pham hanni DO NOT CRY

hi sullyyy !!

henny | 9:48 A.M.

ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS

You | 9:48 A.M.

stop cursing so much omg

minj | 9:48 A.M.

This is actually crazy

How could you say nothing to us

I feel lowkey betrayed Han Y/N

You | 9:48 A.M.

IM SORRY???

so surprises are the worst thing in the world now huh

gyuvs mom was so much happier to see me than you guys fr

going back to seoul

it seems im not welcome

henny | 9:48 A.M.

Y/N actually stop playing rn

where do we meet

You | 9:49 A.M

me and gyuv will pick u guys up

were going to the soccer field

but i got money from the scholarship so we can buy stuff on the way

gyuv | 9:49 A.M.

guys just to be clear i had literally no idea she was here

she showed up at my house 20 mins ago

sully | 9:49 A.M.

Omg we can go to that antique shop thats close to our high school

henny | 9:50

literally how r u so calm abt this

minj | 9:50 A.M.

Maybe ur just abnormal

You cackle loudly at Minji's last text.

When you arrive at Yoona's house, she's already waiting for you two on her porch. She looks a little taller than when you last saw her. Her eyes light up when she sees you arrive.

“Y/N!” She runs up to you and hugs you so tightly your breath falls a little short. What's with everyone and suffocating you lately? “I missed you so much!”

“I missed you too, Sully!” You smile at her when you pull back, and the first thing she does is poke your arm. Her jaw drops in awe at the toughness of the muscle and it makes you laugh.

Gyuvin comes up behind you both with his arms open and a silly smirk, “Where my hug at?” It's quite awful. Yoona gags and sends him a distasteful look, which quickly shuts him down

You missed this. And it’s like this - full of banter and laughs - the whole way to Hanni’s house, the three of you take turns at making fun of each other, with the brief recurring tease at your job as an athlete.

Your friends like to brag about you being a college athlete, and a good one at that, but they certainly enjoyed sitting you up on a pedestal as a joke. They talked about you like you were the main star of the national team when in reality most people had little to no idea who you were even on campus, with the exception of the Yujin fans who tried using you to get close to her.

“Y/N, I promise you, when you make it on the national team, there’s gonna be a ton of fan accounts for you.” You’re in the middle of pushing Gyuvin away and blushing at his comment, about to contradict him when you hear a voice calling you.

“Han Y/N!” You don’t even realize you were already at Hanni’s house when you look towards the sound and two girls are waiting for you at the steps of a big house.

The first thing you notice is Hanni’s hair. She cut it, a fuckass (affectionately) bob that looked exactly like the one she wore the first time you ever met her.

The second thing you notice is that Minji is right beside her, already smiling at you. She stands up from the steps she and Hanni were sitting on and shakes off the dust from her pants. She wears a simple white graphic shirt and oversized blue jeans, beige puffer jacket hanging off her arms, and she looks so much taller than how she did when she was 16.

(That’s weird, shouldn’t she have stopped growing by then?)

The third thing you notice is your heartbeat suddenly racing when her eyes and yours meet for the first time in three years.

It beats at the same pace it did when the afternoon sun hit her face when you were 7. It beats at the same pace it did when you stared at her sitting by the window in middle school. It beats at the same pace it did when she sat beside you on the bus and fell asleep with her head on your shoulder.

Nothing has changed. Nothing at all.

It hits you like a bullet through your chest, but you try your best to ignore it as Hanni runs towards you. 

“You asshole!” She yells with a smile on her face, and it contaminates your lips when she hugs you. She doesn’t hug you as tightly, but it’s longer than you expected. When she finally pulls away from you you touch the short strands of hair that cover her ears.

“What happened here?” You ask, watching in awe at the striking change.

“I kind of had an existential crisis last night.” She responds shyly while caressing her trimmed locks. “Minji helped me make it look better. It did not look good when I did it. They didn’t know either!” She points at the two behind you, both of them with their jaws hanging when you look back.

“Dude, you literally look seven again.” You say. You don’t mean it in a teasing way, she genuinely looks younger, but you reconsider telling her that when she hits you in the arm. Hanni widens her eyes at the unexpected roughness, “What the hell… you did get swole.”

“Can we stop talking about that?” The topic of your arms is starting to tire you, but it’s mostly embarrassing, so you groan at the mention.

You hear Minji laugh when Hanni goes up to the other two and they immediately start touching her new hair. It makes you laugh too, but you gasp a little when you feel a hand touch your shoulder.

“Hey.” She says, her god-damned pretty eyes look at you so sweetly, and her voice is so soft, and-

“Hey!” You say before thoughts about her take up your brain and you awkwardly freeze.

She smiles right before she hugs you, and it’s surprisingly warm, but you’re sure most of it comes from your own blood rushing everywhere inside you.

Everything about her is gentle, her eyes, her voice, her embrace. It’s a complete one-eighty in contrast to the tightness of everyone else who’s put their arms around you for the past two days.

“I missed you.” She says so delicately, almost quiet, even if she says it right next to your ear. And you’re about to melt, and she has no idea, so you hug her back, a little less soft than how she does, and say “I missed you too.”

It comes out a lot more calmly than you expect it, and you internally praise yourself for not making a fool out of yourself. It’s not like you want to pull away, but you might start sweating if you don’t.

You take your arms off her back and her warmth suddenly fades away. When she looks at your face again, there’s a small grin painting her lips, “Congrats on the win.” She pokes at your shoulder and you laugh at the gesture.

“It’s only third place. I want first.”

“Oh wow!” Her amused smile makes you dizzy, “Didn’t know you were so ambitious.”

“People change, I guess.” You giggle with her. But you haven’t really changed at all.

“Well, you better get first place, tiger.” She teases and you groan even louder at the nickname as you get away from her to join your friends. Maybe getting over Minji won’t be so hard.

Getting over Minji is going to be fucking impossible. Matter of fact, you're sure it’s never gonna happen. You’re going to be 45 and still think about her, and it’s going to slowly kill you.

You stare as she holds a little cow plush in her hands, inspecting it carefully. Her round eyes shine just like the glossy buttons of the doll. You think of a believable excuse before you take your phone out of your pocket and open the camera app.

You zoom in and despise how your fingers tremble before you snap a photo of the girl, unbeknownst to her.

Gyuvin comes up behind you, his voice is quiet yet it still startles you, “What’s the pic for?”

You look at him with widened eyes and bring your hand to your chest. “Just… memories.” Truth lies within your (not quite) excuse. “I want to look back on things like this when I go back to Seoul.”

The boy narrows his eyes at you and smirks, “So sappy.” He teases, so you zoom out the camera to 0.5 and take a bad close up of his face, “Hey!” He laughs.

You get away and put your phone back in your pocket to look at more of the items in the store. Many things catch your eye, small, shiny, weird, big, you could buy it all if you had the money to.

You walk around the shop, your eyes examine all the items on the old wooden tables and your fingers lightly brush on some of the more eye-catching trinkets. You stare at the little ceramic figurines of dogs and cats and other animals and mentally consider buying the little calico cat on the far left.

There are some cute keychains with little black and white designs as you pass by. You add them to your roster too. Hanni’s voice catches your attention from a few steps away.

“Y/N! What do you think of this cardigan?” She’s in the clothing section of the store, sporting a vintage cream colored wool cardigan with little brown stripes on the sides of the sleeves. It’s a little big on her, but oversized is trendy so it’s fine.

“It’s cute!” Your eyes glance towards some of the clothes behind her, “I like that one better though.” You point at the blue-gray checkered sweater behind her and she frowns in confusion when she looks at it, “Y/N, that’s so ugly.” Guess you don’t have an eye for fashion.

“Oh well…” You sigh and keep looking for more artifacts.

As you walk around, you accidentally bump the top of your head on some of the ornaments that hang on the ceiling, the sound of multiple wind chimes emerge a little before your quiet “Ow!”, which grabs the attention of Yoona and Gyuvin.

“You okay?” The girl asks in concern, but you can hear her hold back a laugh between her teeth. Gyuvin isn’t so subtle, his laughs resonating on the walls of the shop.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You assure Yoona as you rub your forehead with your eyes closed, turned away in embarrassment. When your eyes open again, they land on an item that makes you freeze a little.

A small, pale blue hair clip. It looked oddly similar, if not exactly the same as the one Minji wore on the first day you met. The clip she lost on that same day while the five of you swam in the ocean together.

You remember her being so upset when she realized it wasn’t there anymore, so much she cried silently on the way back to your respective houses. She was over the sadness of losing it in less than a week, but it stuck with you after Hanni told you in a whisper that it was the first time she ever saw Minji cry.

You immediately take the clip in your hands, the first item you’re certain you will buy. Actually, you buy it in that same instant. Thankfully, none of your friends seem to notice your quiet purchase, too engrossed in their own item search.

The five of you spend around 40 minutes in total in that damn shop, and you could kind of tell the owner was getting sick of Gyuvin’s constant questions on how he acquired the items. “They’re mostly donations or things I find on trips. I don’t know anything else.” He says.

In the end, you bought a few more things apart from the hair clip. You did end up buying the little calico cat figurine, a silver necklace with a spiral pendant, a pack of stamps with really cool designs, and a love letter.

There was a cardboard box sitting on a chair in one corner of the shop with a sign that said “Old Love Letters, ₩300 Each”, and not only is it something you’ve never seen anyone sell before, but it’s also cheap. How could you not buy a chance to snoop around in unknown people’s love lives? 

You put your stuff in the little tote bag Yoona had bought for you. She said the design made her think of you (it had three monochrome fish painted over it).

Now you’re making your way towards the nearest soccer field. You used to play there all the time with Gyuvin, sometimes the other girls joined, or some of the other kids in the neighborhood.

The five of you walked with you right in the middle, like you were the center of a K-pop group. It definitely made you stand out to the locals of the neighborhoods you passed through, and some of them even recognized you and went as far as to congratulate you.

Did your parents tell the entire town about your rank in the league?

“It’s like I’m walking with a celebrity.” Hanni voices just as you get back from shaking hands with one of the old men of the neighborhood. As much as you enjoy the praise and congratulations, it’s a little embarrassing to acknowledge you’re gaining a lot more fame within this town. You imagine this is how famous soccer players feel everytime they go out in public.

“Microcelebrity.” You clarify, “Aren’t you an influencer?” You recall Hanni spamming the group chat one time in the first year of high school because one of her Instagram posts had gone viral. After a while of her videos getting more and more views, she started gaining a small following and could be considered a daily-life influencer.

“Yeah, but most of my followers aren’t from here so I don’t get recognized everytime I go out.”

“To be fair, this is the first time this has happened to me. My parents probably told the whole town about this.”

“Oh, they sure did. Even my mom found out.” Minji states, to your surprise. Minji’s mother was well known for not liking any sports at all, and it’s not that she hated them, she just wasn’t interested. She didn’t even know who Messi or Ronaldo were.

“Wow… I knew they liked to gossip, but that’s… crazy.” You scratch your nape shyly. Your parents are known for finding out everything, but you didn’t know they also told everything they knew.

“She didn’t really know what anything meant but she was very happy for you.” She says with a smile.

Oh! There’s a strange giddy feeling that shows up as a smile on your face you can’t hold back. You’re not really sure what to say, but you don’t even have to worry about it, because before you realize you’re already at the field, and when the boys that are playing there take notice of your presence, all you can hear is screams.

Sounds of “Y/N Noona!”, “No way it’s Y/N!”, “You’re back?!” get closer as the match pauses and they start running towards you. Most of them are your high school classmates, some are your younger neighbors or underclassmen you played with during recess.

You get closer and they bombard you with hugs and questions, with countless reminders of how much they missed you. One of them complains about you not answering his texts, and another boy defends you by excusing your forgetfulness on being busy.

“Okay, okay. I’ll make it up to you with a match, okay?”

You end up playing for two hours straight, the first half with your friends as a team, but after a while it seemed like the only one with energy left was you. Not even Gyuvin could keep up your pace.

“No wonder she’s an athlete.” Hanni says, fanning herself under the shadow of a tree that trespassed the field enclosure. Your friends were all sitting down on the ground, watching attentively at the match you played against the boys while chatting.

It was 5v1 and you were winning 4-2.

Minji watched carefully at the way you carried yourself on the field, so graceful and yet not passive at all, a different perspective compared to how you usually are.

There's a little bit of sweat that glistens on your forehead, and after playing for such a long time you only now start to look slightly tired. “I pray everyday she makes it to the national team and gets rich.” Gyuvin says.

“Same.” Hanni answers, laying down on a blanket over the warm grass and resting her head on her bag and it makes Yoona laugh when she grumbles at the discomfort of feeling all the crystals she bought on the back of her head.

The boys score another goal at you, so you decide to get serious and start playing like you would at a normal university match. Minji stares when you run faster and slide through the opponents so easily. She kind of wonders if she could calculate your speed mentally.

Field length = 55 meters, Penalty area length = 9 meters

You were around 9.2 meters from the halfway line and traveled around 18 meters in a straight line, Minji counts 4 seconds.

18/4 = 5 m/s, 1 m/s = 3.6 km/h, 5 * 3.6 = 18 km/h

Han Y/N’s speed in that one moment was 18 km/h.

The average maximum sprint speed of La Liga athletes was 30 km/h, according to an NLM article (don’t ask Minji how she knows that; she isn’t even studying medicine).

Suddenly Minji feels the need to see you play an actual serious match.

“I don’t think you need to pray.” She says with a smirk, standing up from the ground and wiping away the bristles of grass stuck to her jeans. “She has it in the bag.”

The others notice her taking out her wallet from her pocket, “Can you buy me a Fanta?” Gyuvin makes puppy eyes at Minji, even while knowing they never work on her, or anyone for that matter.

She gives him nothing but a wave and walks away, “She’s not getting you shit, dude.” Hanni kicks Gyuvin in the back with the tip of her foot and Yoona laughs at the scene.

The grocery store is not far away at all, only a block from the field, and Minji treads lightly with her mind made up on what to buy. A bag of chips and two glasses of apple juice, and maybe a strawberry lollipop for Hanni, NOT cherry, she notes.

The owner is an older lady who used to babysit Minji’s mom. She’s seen her countless times in her life so it’s easy for her to greet her brightly. “It’s been so long, Minji!” The woman greets her, her aged features morphing into a kind smile.

It’s true, it has been a long time. She doesn’t really come here that often anymore unless she’s taking a walk out of boredom or walking the neighbors dog when she’s out of town. She used to come here all the time when you all went to play soccer, but the matches got less and less frequent after you left, mostly because the only one who actually wanted to play was Gyuvin.

Minji makes her way to the drink section of the store and lights up when she sees the chilled glasses of apple juice right where she remembers them being. She was honestly surprised you hadn’t brought a water bottle with you when you left, and maybe just water would be healthier and hydrate you better, but she’d rather make you happier with your favorite drink.

(You would’ve been happy enough even if she just brought you water.)

The glass is cold when it reaches her hand, a nice contrast from the heat of the afternoon sun. She was starting to get a little hungry so maybe instead of chips she’d get a sandwich. Maybe she’ll get two.

She excuses herself in her mind, she’s not excluding her other friends! It’s just… this day is about you, of course her focus would be you. And maybe tomorrow. And maybe the whole time you’re here. She laughs at herself while walking up to the counter. She meant it when she told you she missed you.

“That would be ₩4,200 but I’ll give to you for ₩4,000 because I missed you.” The woman beams her a warm smile and Minji can’t help but return it. She hands her 4,200 won anyways and is out the door before the woman can complain. “Bye, Mrs. Do!”

Minji walks back with a smile on her face, the wind hits and blows her hair back. Some leaves and dust get blown her way too but she doesn’t have to squint her eyes because they already do that when she smiles. 

The sun isn’t as bright and the rays don’t burn her skin anymore. She hears louds screams just as she’s getting closer to the field, and when she looks through the gaps of the metal enclosure she sees Gyuvin running up to hug you while the boys you were playing with fall to the ground in defeat.

She missed your win. Minji puckers up her bottom lip and sighs, shoulders shrugging helplessly.

You hadn’t even realized she had left until you see her enter the field again, so you send her a light smile she almost doesn’t catch. She looks back to the other girls and when her eyes meet Hanni laying on the grass she realizes she forgot her strawberry lollipop. Oh well.

She sits down next to Yoona and takes her sandwich out of her bag.

“What’d you buy?”

“Just stuff. Nothing for Gyuvin.”

Yoona laughs at the comment. “The apple juice is for Y/N, right?” Minji nods as she looks at you tap the boys on the back to cheer them up, “You can have the other one if you want.”

Minji was just about to open the packaging of her sandwich when she sees you and Gyuvin walk towards her. She quickly stops her actions and takes the other cold glass from the plastic bag, struggles a little to open the lid, and just as you take your last step she holds the cold apple juice to your face, or the closest to it her arm could reach.

You’re a little taken aback, but luckily you don’t blush at her act. Instead you just smile at her, mirroring Minji’s own kind smile and take the glass from her hand. “Thanks.” You say before you take a sip.

Both of your hearts feel full, yours at the flavor of apple that fills your tastebuds and calms the thirst of running for hours, and hers at the fact she made you even just a little happy with such a small action.

You gulp down probably half the glass down and end it with a “Ah~” that makes your friends laugh. “You still do that?” Hanni sits up and rests her hands behind her on the grass.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve done that since you were a kid.” Minji says and your eyebrows raise,”Really?” All your friends nod.

“I never noticed.”

Minji goes back to her sandwich as you and Gyuvin sit down in front of the other three. You’re tired now, but you don’t wanna lay on the grass because you say it makes you itch, so you try resting your body weight on Gyuvin, to which he adamantly pushes you away, “You’re heavy, Y/N!”

“What the hell, bro. I’m literally not?” You pout at him to try and get him to surrender but he just pushes you away harder every time you try to lay your back against him.

“Go lay on Minji or something, not me.” He says as he pushes you for the last time, you hear Hanni laugh.

You look at Minji and she’s already putting away the plastic bag she had on her lap. Oh, okay, yeah, no biggie. No problem at all.

You do a great impression of acting normal and move to sit next to her. “The shadow is better on this side anyways.” You fake whine at the boy as Minji grabs your shoulder and guides you to rest your back on top of her legs.

You turn your body so that you face her and hope she can’t tell your heart starts beating faster when you notice she’s already looking down at you. It’s a beautiful scene.

Minji’s face, the green leaves of the trees behind her and the sun peeking through the gaps, the wind blowing her hair a little to the side, the way her eyes smile at the same time she does. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You answer.

Everything about this is normal! You have to close your eyes so you believe it, and you start to after a few seconds. Everything about this is normal. It feels so normal and you love it.

It’s soothing. The wind caresses your face and you lose focus on the conversation your friends were having beside you.

And then Minji starts running her fingers through your hair and you lose focus on anything that’s not her.

Your heartbeat picks up for a few seconds and then it doesn’t. And then it’s all calm again. Your eyes are closed but your mind pictures Minji so vividly, smiling at you sweetly while her eyes. Her loving eyes.

God, you hope you’re not blushing, because you can already feel yourself getting warm all over. Thankfully, the gentle breeze is there to save you when you need it.

 And then there’s a moment where everything, the breeze, Minji’s hands caressing you, and the sound of playful conversation, all merge at the perfect moment and you experience a calm that feels heavenly. Almost divine, and it sends you into instant slumber.

You don’t really remember every detail of what you dream of, you just remember it being about Minji, Seoul and snow. Either way, you know it had something to do with her confessing her feelings to you after you win nationals. You remember that you froze after she kissed you, then called your name after she saw you not move.

“Y/N! Y/N!” You hear your name being called out, then your body being shaked roughly. “Y/N!” You hear loudly before you wake yourself up.

“Sorry!” You don’t know what you’re apologizing for until your body jerks away and your forehead almost hits Minji’s. “Oh, sorry.”

“You fell asleep.” She states the obvious with a giggle.

“No shit, queen.” You hear Hanni laugh loudly at your response. “How long was I out for?”

“It’s 5:25.” Yoona says behind you, only then you realize they were already packing up and it was time to go. Where? You have no idea.

“Shit. Sorry guys.” You sit back up and stretch your muscles before you can stand properly.

“My legs fell asleep, you know?” Minji announces, and when you look back at her she has a teasing smirk on her face.

“Yeah, well, maybe blame Gyuv for that.” You answer sassily, but you can’t help but feel a little guilty.

Said male goes to grab the tote bag Yoona got you and the half finished apple juice you left behind and holds the bag it to your face while you’re still stretching, “Hurry up, girl. We gotta go to the beach before sunset.” He throws the bag at you and you catch it just in time.

“Careful! I have a cat in there!”

You arrive at the beach at exactly 6:00 P.M. and as soon as you get to the sand Gyuvin is already taking his shoes and shirt off. You look at everyone, confused on the plan you never actually listened to.

“We were going to swim?”

“Do you not want to?” Hanni asks.

“I don’t know…” You look at your friends with a sorry expression. You were already worn out from the whole match, and even after you slept a whole two hours on Minji’s lap, you still felt a little tired. “I’m kinda drained guys.”

“Bro… How could you?” Minji looks at you like she’s so betrayed and you laugh at her annoying little face that’s also so pretty and cute and annoying

“Bro… I’m sorry.” You play along. Calling the love of your life “bro” is crazy.

Okay, “love of your life” is an exaggeration (it’s literally not, in every sense of the word literally).

“I’ll watch your bags and take pics!” You tried bargaining, and they look at you like you’re crazy. “Guys, please, we can come swim tomorrow. The beach is not going anywhere considering we literally live beside it.”

Then Yoona gets real close to you and whispers, “You’ll pay for this.” then takes off her shoes.

“What the hell, man.”

Gyuvin and Yoona are already running at the sea and splashing each other, they don’t actually care about you not joining. Hanni hands you her bag with a strange force and you don’t know where it came from, “Take care of my babies.” She says.

“Your… babies?”

“My crystals.”

“Oh, right. I will.”

Minji walks up to you when Hanni walks away and hands you her jacket and another bag, this time plastic, “There’s one sandwich left in there. I told Gyubin not to eat it and I didn’t think he was going to listen but he did, surprisingly.” She tells you with a smile.

“Thanks. Very thoughtful of you man.” Alright, pack it up.

Minji sends you one last smile before she leaves and your heart beats when her eyes squint too. You watch her disappear into the waves and smile. You take out your phone and take a picture of your friends all swimming and playing in the water, their silhouettes clashing with the sun that was just about to set. It’s so pretty you make it your lock screen immediately.

You take out a blanket from Hanni’s bag, the same one she was laying on in the soccer field, and spread it on the ground to sit down. You take off your sneakers before they get filled with sand and take comfort in the warmth of the sand beneath you.

You stare at your friends for a bit, a beautiful picture presented just for you. You’re so happy to be back. Your stomach lets out a loud grumble before you even get to tear up. What a way to ruin the mood.

You take the bag Minji gave you and take out the sandwich. Ham, bacon, cheese, lettuce- oh, who cares. You take a bite out of it and it tastes like home. She definitely bought it from Mrs. Do.

It eases your hunger quite well. You hear the waves crash and Minji’s laugh from far away and, what a beautiful sound. What a beautiful person. You think of Minji and think of beautiful, not just from her appearance but her soul. What a beautiful soul.

You take your last bite and your stomach feels full, but you feel a little empty and can’t pinpoint what it is. You feel like you’re forgetting something. You reach for your new bag and search for whatever it seems you're forgetting.

Oh, right, the letter. Suddenly you feel excited.

The sun starts just in time. What a way to set the mood. You take out the white envelope and notice it still has some scent remaining. It kinda smells like something Minji used to wear, jasmine and liquorice. You didn’t smell it on her today, though.

You notice the envelope doesn’t have a sender or recipient name anywhere on it, nowhere at all. Maybe they didn’t plan to send it, or they changed the envelope at the shop. Eager to know more, you rip the envelope, careful not to damage the letter itself.

You take it out and take a deep breath to prepare yourself. You’re probably a little more excited than you should be, but whatever. You’re excited to intrude on a stranger's possibly failed love confession.

Except when you unfold the page, it’s not from a stranger.

You panic and fold the letter closed just as fast as you had opened it. You must have misread, right?

You open it again and the top says “Kim Minji, 23rd of June, 2021” like it’s a diary.

It must be another Kim Minji. There are hundreds of thousands in South Korea. It could be anyone. Anyone at all. So you keep reading in hopes it’s someone who’s not the girl swimming in the sea just a few meters away from you.

Dear Y/N,

It’s not a stranger. It’s Kim Minji. Your Kim Minji. You’re reading an old love letter from Kim Minji. You bought a love letter from Kim Minji for 300 won.

Wait, why is it addressed to you?

Now, you’re more confused than shocked. Now, you have to find out. You were going to put it down and not read it to not intrude and break your own heart, but now you have to find out why on Earth the first two words are Dear Y/N written in Kim Minji’s handwriting. So you keep reading.

Dear Y/N, I hope this finds you well. If you’re reading this, I gave this to you on the 24th or maybe even earlier on a strike of confidence. I hope you’re not keeping yourself up to read this at midnight. I wanted to tell you something I’ve been keeping for a long time before you leave for Seoul. Maybe it’s a selfish thing to do, and it won’t keep you from departing, but I think it would be worse to tell you this through text and I can’t bring myself to say it to your face.

I have feelings for you. Real romantic feelings. I like you a lot.

I like possibly everything about you and it’s killing me that I’m so scared and unable to tell you. I don’t even know what I’m so afraid of, really. Probably rejection, but even if you did like me back I still have to live without you for four years. My wish of you coming to visit me will probably depend on how harsh your rejection is, but I’d still like to see you back regardless.

When you first told us you got that scholarship for Korea University, I was so happy and proud of you. In a perfect world I would have kissed you and told you how happy I was for you and maybe even gone with you. But it’s not a perfect world and I just told you “Congratulations!” and you’re leaving tomorrow, without me. 

I’m not one to take pictures, if anything that’s you, but right now I wish I had an album full of photos of you, of us, because I don’t know how I’ll make it without seeing you everyday. I think I won’t, actually. I hope you consider letting me borrow the photo album full of the countless pictures you take, even if they’re not of you they might fill the void you leave in my heart.

Anything from you will suffice, I think, but just your memory is not enough.

I kinda wish you could stay, but I also know you’re going to do your best over there and I hope you fulfill your dream of being a professional player. When you said you were going to choose to study mass communication I thought “that must mean she’s going to communicate with us a lot!” I hope it does. I hope you don’t miss us too much, but I do hope you miss me a little bit more.

I’ve never written a love letter before, if you could even call this that, so excuse me if this is not a good one, I’m sorry. I should probably state what I like most about you, but I don’t even know where to begin.

I love the way you’re driven to do your best even at the smallest of things. When we first met, you built us the best sand castle I had ever seen in my short life of seven years. The sandcastle was still standing when we went to visit it the next day.

You do your best at school, even when it gets hard for you, and I love that you’re not afraid to ask for help when you really need it. I kind of envy that if I’m honest. I hope you become the best student in your major.

I remember the time we babysat Ms.Yoon’s daughter and you were the only one who knew how to change her diapers and at what time to feed her. I also love how good you are with kids and sometimes it makes me think of very inappropriate thoughts of building a family together, but I won’t get into that because I don’t want to be weirder than I’m already being right now.

I love the way you always try your best to make me smile when I’m upset or stressed and even just the thought of you going out of your way to care is enough for my heart to melt. When I got sick in middle school while my mom was out of town you came to my house every day and made me chicken soup. I think that was the day I started thinking of you as more than just a friend.

I love the way you look when you put your hair up in a ponytail. I used to stare at you the entire time we watched you play during recess in middle school.

I love the way you’re clumsy and you’re never embarrassed about it. You always get up when you fall and you don’t pretend it doesn’t hurt when you scrape your knees. And I love the way you still try to smile when I’m patching up your wounds.

I love the way you always want the best for us and encourage us to be ambitious. I wouldn’t be on top of my class if it weren’t for you.

I love the way you like cats and they like you back. They always hiss at me unless you’re around. Maybe it’s a sign that we should be together all the time.  

I love the way you say Ah~ when you finish drinking water after playing soccer.

I love (you) the way you love apple juice. I hope you feel the same. – Kim Minji

P.s. if you don’t i also understand and you’re free to do whatever you want with this letter.

You have no idea at what point you started to tear up, but you only realize when a tear falls from your eye into the paper and blurs the ink in the last “Minji”. 

You don’t even process anything around you at that point. All you can think about is that Minji liked you 3 years ago and never told you and now you don’t even know if she still likes you.

No matter how much you think about it, you would’ve absolutely given her your photo album, if only the letter had actually gotten to you when it was supposed to.

“I saw you open the letter from over there, I came here to be nosy.” You can’t tell anything she says because you’re so entranced but you can tell it’s Minji’s voice. You freeze when she sits beside you.

“Is it any good?” She asks before realizing you’re completely paralyzed. “Hey, are you crying?” She touches your shoulder in concern, and it wakes you up a little bit, but the only thing you can do is hand her the letter.

She stares at you for a few seconds before she finally takes the page and mutters, “Oh.”

You don’t really want to look at her, and you don’t know what comes over you that makes you turn your head anyways. The red sun rays hit her face in a way that makes her tan skin glow. Her hair is damp and her shirt is stuck to her body but you don’t dare to look.

She’s clearly just as shocked as you are to see the object in her hands. And she still looks so beautiful. “Y/N, I-” You wipe your tears and sniff before she turns and see them in your eyes.

“Was this the one you bought?” You nod, and she looks back at it with her mouth hung low. “I… was wondering where this went. I thought I lost it.”

“You didn’t send it? At all?” Minji shakes her head. Wow, this is so great. “Why didn’t you?”

“I was supposed to give it to you before you left. I was hoping it would make you stay, but then I thought I was being too selfish and… just didn’t.” There’s clearly some regret still left in her face and the wind starts to blow. You hand her the jacket you put down next to your friends’ bags. “Thanks.” She says as she puts it on. You turn away to look at the sunset and gather your thoughts.

There’s no expression on your face for Minji to read, and for some reason she starts getting worried. “Y/N… I- It’s been three years, you don’t have to worry about-”

“Do you still?” You ask while looking away at the sea.

Minji stays quiet.

“Do you?”

She still keeps quiet. You turn to face her.

“Please tell me the truth, Minji.”

There’s something about how the sun makes your eyes glow and how you say her name that sabotages Minji at not giving in.

“Yes.” She speaks out with a sigh, “I do. I still do.”

You don’t know if your heart is beating faster or slower, but you feel it beat stronger. You turn away to get your bag, Minji just watches, her eyebrows slightly furrowed in distress and curiosity. The only thing she wants right now is to know how you feel.

You reach inside your bag for something, and Minji can’t really tell what it is when you take it out.

Finally, you extend the pale blue hair clip in your hand, “I have liked you since we were seven, Minji.” The girl looks at the clip then at you, her round eyes widened in disbelief.

“Are you serious?”

You hold your hand closer to her, urging her to take the gift before you sniff once again, “I saw this and thought of you. It looks like the one you had when we first met, that’s the day I started liking you. I haven’t stopped since.”

Minji takes the clip from your hands and feels herself tear up, says nothing, stares at it, then stares at you.

“We’ve known each other for thirteen years and I’ve loved you for thirteen of them.”

“I had no idea.”

“We had no idea.”

“We knew nothing about everything.” It’s now Minji’s turn to sniffle but still smiles as she wipes away the tears that threaten to fall from her eyes.

“How could you never say anything? Thirteen years, Y/N.” Minji complains while caressing the blue clip in her hands like it’s a precious stone. “Thirteen.”

“I got distracted with soccer.” Minji laughs with you and pushes you away by the shoulder. “Every goal I’ve ever made has been for you, though,”

“That’s so cheesy.” Minji giggles to herself as she pops the clip open and places it on her hair, it snaps shut with a ‘click’. “What do you think?” She says, turning to you. She tries to ignore your eyes and how sweetly they look at her.

“I think I love you more than I love apple juice.”

That’s the last thing you say before Minji smiles and gets shy, she looks away but her hand searches for yours and you help her by placing yours over hers. She fights back by taking it back and placing hers on top of yours. It makes you laugh.

The sound of your laugh takes her attention and now she stares directly at you, a smile on her own face. Her cheeks now take a reddish color, and her eyes shine like the reflection of the sunlight on the water. It feels like a deja vu.

You think you could stare at Minji’s face all day and not complain. You think maybe she thinks so too with how intensely she’s looking at you.

You raise your eyebrow when her eyes trail down from your eyes to your lips, and she seems to notice when your lips form a smirk. “What?” She giggles at herself, her already red cheeks turn an even darker shade.

“I saw that.”

“Weren’t we about to?”

“So straightforward, You should’ve been like that when sending that letter.”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

Is the last thing she says before she leans forward, she hesitates a little bit and her eyes go from your lips to your eyes, a shine of expectancy as if asking for permission, even when she already has it.

She’s about to close the gap when the both of you hear a chorus of gasps from the sea. It takes your attention. Hanni, Gyuvin and Yoona are all pushing each other giggling and gasping, hands on their mouths. You hear a faint “It’s finally happening.”, You can’t tell who it’s from though.

Minji is visibly annoyed, yells “Look away!” and it bounces in the waves. It’s actually insane how dumb she looks, red cheeks, furrowed eyebrows, pouty, perfect lips. It takes you everything to control yourself and even then you still can’t help grabbing her face gently and turning it towards you to finally, once and for all, kiss her.

You don’t really care if your friends actually turned away or not, because you can’t really tell with how glorious it feels to kiss Minji. It almost feels holy. You feel like you died and went to heaven in five minutes.

It’s a new feeling, a new experience, and it feels so familiar at the same time. Like flowing with the waves, like dancing with the wind, like drowning in apple juice, drowning in love.

Your lips dance like that for a while. At one point Minji’s hand goes up to your face and it’s such a warm feeling it makes you smile into the kiss. You start running out of breath and you don’t even notice. You could die happily if it meant dying with Minji’s lips on yours.

But then your stupid survival instincts kick in and it’s such a shame you have to pull away.

Both of your breaths are heavy and you burst out in laughter at the same time when your eyes meet. When your laughs die down your eyes fall on the pale blue clip that adorned Minji’s head. “You look so cute.”

“Says you.”

And then you hear cheering from the beach again. “Finally!” Hanni yells. You watch in astonishment, “Did she know?” You ask Minji while the both of you watch the three of your friends jump up and down in the water.

“I have no idea. I didn’t tell her. She might’ve noticed.” The cogs start to turn in your brains.

“They all did.” You and Minji say at the same time, then laugh at the same time. What a friendship of thirteen years does to you. And when you see Gyuvin and Hanni get up from the water and get closer to you, you realize you’re about to be ambushed.

“Oh, hell no.” You mumble right before you stand up and grab your bag. Minji just looks at you confused, “Come on, get up. They’re wet.” But Minji doesn’t seem to cooperate.

“Dude!” You grab her hand and pull her up as you run away as far as possible from your friends. You don’t even realize where you’re going, but laughing with Minji while running on the sand at sunset feels heavenly.

You look back and Minji struggles to keep up. Gyuvin and Hanni don’t look anywhere close and they probably decided to just let the both of you go, so you stop running.”

“We…” Minji rests her hands on her knees as she catches her breath, “We didn’t have to run that much. I’m not the soccer player here.”

You send her an apologetic smile, “Sorry…” 

Minji now can stand up and breathe stably. She looks back and there’s no one behind. “So, where do we go now?”

“Home. You need to get changed or else you’re gonna get sick.” You walk towards her to touch her shirt, “It’s still damp.”

“Isn’t your house nearby?” She asks, “I live further away, and it’ll be night by the time we get to my house.”

You squint your eyes at her, “My clothes won’t fit on you, they barely fit on me.” You flex your bicep and the sleeve gets so tight it’s going to cut your blood flow if you keep it like that. “And I haven’t seen your mom yet.”

“And I want to have dinner with your parents.” She confesses. “My first official meeting with them as your girlfriend.” You never actually established that but it’s not like you’re going to refuse the offer.

“You’re actually so annoying, bro.”

“Says you, bro.”

“I’m your girlfriend, bro.”

“No shit, bro.” Minji holds her hand out for you to take it, and you gladly do. You start walking in silence for a little bit.

“Also, my mom won’t let us make out at my house.”

“Okay, that’s enough, bro.” You take your hand back and walk faster to get away from Minji. She immediately sprints to catch up and stick to you.

“I was kidding!” She tries to grab your hand but you refuse it and take it back. “Hey! Hold my hand!”

You look at her and wouldn’t you know, she’s making puppy eyes at you. It makes you give in, it never fails. “You’re so sticky.”

“You wanna know something?” She says as you start walking together again.

“What?”

“When you kissed me it tasted like apple juice.”

end.

🗒️ probably one of my favorite things i've written i giggled a lot and had fun writing this.. there's probably lots of mistakes here and there but i beg u pls ignore it bc im dizzy i can't look at words anymore. Minecraft coming soon! love u guys 🫂

[bunnys-kisses]

Hey bunny! Pretty pretty please could Konig serve me a croissant, also some crepes and millet-feuille? Oh and some champagne would be lovely with that 🙏💖✨

the bakery menu

there are still tons of items on the menu! feel free to submit your own! i'm happily accepting requests! as for this one, i am so happy to get a könig request! i always feel like i focus so much on price or ghost that i always forget the mountain of a man. and the prompts are very good as well! i did change croissant a little bit, still the same vibe of a prompt, just switched up the language a little! thank you for the request!

croissant ("i wonder if your father knows what happens during the off hours. if he knows you're here with me.") + crepe ("pretty girl.") + mille-feuille (“that’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl.”) + champagne (sugar daddy) served by könig (call of duty!)

cw: smut/pwp, sugar daddy-adjacent, daddy issues, size kink/difference (it's könig ofc), könig in love, dirty talk, cockwarming that turns into lap sex, unprotected sex

könig never imagined himself with another person. he simply thought that his line of work and his anxiety would scare too many people off. but you were not like most people, where most were scared by the mountain of a man with a few too many facial scars, you saw a helpful boyfriend to help you move your stuff into his apartment.

you were a total go-getter. nothing could stop you, you were brave and kind. most of all sweet and könig thought that he'd die happy in between your thighs. he hated that he had to be gone for so long.

that was where the money came in. he wouldn't call it a sugar daddy situation, that would imply there was no real emotional connection. and there was, you were already pointing out engagment rings when you were out together.

there was a definite strong emotional connection.

könig just wanted to make sure that you were taken care of when he was away. because his time away from you could be a few days or a few months, and he wanted to make sure his little schatzi was alright. yes, yes, yes, he knew you had a career, but a little (read: a lot) extra was what he wanted to give to his darling.

the other issue was your father. he was high up in the chain of command for kortac. which meant that you were off limits, but you honestly didn't care. you were a grown woman. your father agreed through grit teeth when you told him you were moving in with könig. your father couldn't stop you, and at least you wanted to live with someone who could protect you. könig was huge.

despite it all you were a happy couple, könig was in love with you. his precious little flower. he'd do anything to keep you happy. and where he took care of you financially (despite your protests), you took care of him in every other way.

one of those ways was being such a good girl for him. his hand was currently in your hair, made your skull seem small in its grasp. you knew that the 6'10 man probably had crushed someone's skull with his bare hands. but his grip on you was loose, the idea of him hurting you made his skin crawl.

you were softly licking his cock while he watched the football game. originally it was supposed to help you beloved relax after two weeks away on a mission. but it was hard to focus on his beer and the game when your pink tongue was brushed against the underside of his cock.

you were great a lot of things sexually, but you were terrible at cockwarming. anyway you tried to do it, you'd just get too excited and do more than just warm him.

"meine liebe." he said softly, "please."

you looked up at him, his cock pressed against your nose. you said, "sorry, honey. i just can't help myself."

"pretty girl." he said, "such a pretty girl."

you giggled as you gave his heavy balls a kiss, "thank you, my love." but made a small yelp noise when könig picked you up from under the shoulders and got you on his lap. you felt his erection against your clothed pussy.

"i want to feel your pussy." he said, "you look better in my lap then on your knees." his voice was such a hot rumble but it carried such a sweetness to it, you couldn't help but eagerly peel off your sleeping shorts and underwear.

you got in his lap properly, knees on either side of his large thighs and sank onto his cock like you had done a million times. you wrapped your arms around your lover and rested against his broad chest. his cock nudged against the back of your pussy and you felt content.

one of the few things that would calm you down was the heft of your lover's cock snug in your damp pussy. it was a far cry from when you first got together and he wouldn't fit in you.

könig put the beer down on the side table before it tumbled out of his hand. your pussy was a familiar presence for him. the tight fit felt good, "that’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl"

you kissed the scar by his mouth and said softly, "thank you, my love."

he cupped your behind and held you while he continued watching the game. austria was getting their asses kicked but the sensation of you seated in his lap made him honestly not care. usually he was an avid football fan, but to have his sweet girl curled up on him felt good.

you mumbled sweet nothings into his ear. he felt the pleasure grow in his gut which meant that you were getting excited too. you started to roll your hips a little, you impatient little thing.

no wonder, the austrian loved you so much.

"mmm, honey." you whimpered.

"i thought you were meant to warm me?" he chuckled softly as he held you.

you replied, "i can't help it. it feels so good. it makes me want more, more, more!" you were soaked and it drove könig crazy as well. two forces that came together.

"alright, meine liebe. i got you." he kissed the apple of your cheek. such a precious little thing."

the more you got cock-drunk the looser your lips became. it was a good thing you weren't a spy, or else a little pressure on your pussy would have you spilling international secrets!

"i wonder what my father knows what happens in the off time. what you and i do together in this little house." you giggled as you rolled your hips. your nails dug into his shoulders.

he groaned, "meine liebe." he hated being teased, but he didn't want to push you too hard and bruise your cervix. something he had done a few times already.

your thrusts were almost cute, little humps as you kept his cock inside of you. you were a far cry from cockwarming. but your boyfriend could never deny you a single thing. so he placed a hand on your hip and the other on the arm of the sofa and let his precious little flower ride him.

he held you steady as you rode him. his cock pressed against your softest areas and earned sweet little moans. your airy little moans, the wetness between your legs, the heat in your face. he lucked out, whatever god was out there blessed him with his cute little flower.

"please, honey."

"i've got you, meine liebe. my pretty girl." he purred as he knew you were getting close. you didn't last too long, he could tell by the stagger in your thrusts and how desperate your moans were.

he softly rubbed up against you as you rode him. a counter thrust to you erratic movements. you were just so painfully cute like this. you peppered his face with kisses and his heart swelled.

it wouldn't be much longer before you dug your pretty nails into his shoulders and clenched around his cock. you were trying to milk him as you slowed down. you slumped against your lover.

his cock was still painfully hard inside of you, it took him a good while to finish off. but you were out of comission for at least twenty minutes. orgasms hit you fast and hard.

but that was fine, he kept your face against his chest as you calmed down and he then grabbed his beer and took a hearty sip of the drink. he rubbed your soft hair and relaxed.

after the game he'd take you to the bedroom and wring two more orgasms out of you before he shoved all his cum into your sweet cunt. you told him once jokingly that you literally had 0% austrian genes in you, but he thought with the amount of cum in you that number was at least at 5%. <3

[kenzlie]

𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐔𝐓. - 𝐦.𝐬

summary: 𝗒𝗈𝗎 pleasure 𝖻𝗌𝖿!𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦: oral (male receiving), hair pulling, slight slapping, nicknames, small use of y/n, playful teasing, soft!matt? dom!matt?

a/n: bruh i almost just deleted this all..

you and your best friend matt were laying down in his bed watching a movie, while his brothers, nick and chris, were asleep upstairs.

it was around 1:00AM and it was quiet, the only noise was the sound coming from the tv in front of you two and the loud thunderstorm coming from outside.

in the middle of the movie the power goes out “fuck..” matt curses under his breath, barley above a whisper. matt sits up using his forearms to hold him up on the mattress, “what? are you scared of the dark?” you tease “what? no!” matt says sitting up fully now. you reach your hand over to the nightstand, searching for where you last placed your phone.

a few minutes go by and it’s still dark, the only light was the one coming from your phone, matt placed his hand on your bare thigh, the feeling of his cold jewelry sent shivers down your spine, he snatches his hand back quickly “my bad” he said, but something told you that wasn’t just a ‘accident’. you brushed it off and told him it was fine.

it’s been half an hour now and the power was still out, “matt, im thirsty” you say before the light on your phone went out, your phone had died and you couldn’t charge it, “wait let me get my flashlight first” matt told you before going to reach for his phone but remembering it was also dead “shit.” he groans “j-just grab my hand and i’ll lead you” he says putting his hand out as you place your hand in his, good thing he couldn’t see you because you were as red as a tomato, he stands up, still holding your hand, he leads to out of the room and towards the kitchen “whatcha want to drink?” he asks, “just a water” you reply, he hands you the water when all of a sudden there was a loud thunder, out of shock, you grab onto matt, holding him close “and i was the one scared” he teases, you slap his arm playfully before laughing

its’s been exactly an hour since the power went off, you both were extremely bored, “i’m gonna try to get some sleep it’s pretty late, goodnight matt” you say before turning your back towards him “your right, im gonna go to bed too, goodnight” he turns his back towards yours before you both drift off to sleep

it’s 3AM now and something or someone was cuddled up behind you grinding softly, you toss your head back onto matts shoulder whimpering softly “m-matt..” you groan, he whines softly as you can feel him growing harder “n-need you..” matt begs, he didn’t even know what he was doing, he was clearly having a dream about something, “matt.” you say a bit louder before he wakes up, he snaps back to reality and sits up fully “i am..so sorry..” he says, clearly meaning it “it’s okay you didn’t know..” you assure him as you sit up and rub the side of his face “plus, if you needed me that bad, you could’ve just asked pretty boy” you state before reaching your hand down to palm his aching hard cock through his pj pants “f-fuck” he whines clearly desperate “need y-your mouth..” he says as he grabs your wrist

you laid down between his legs, your hands pulling his pants down slowly, “hurry” he says in a pleading tone, you pull his boxers down the sound of his cock hitting his lower stomach made your mouth drool, even with no power you still wanted to make sure he didn’t go to bed hard, your hand reaches out cuffing it before you lean forward slightly, you suck the tip earning whimpers from matt, it wasn’t long before you filled your mouth with his throbbing cock, you bobbed your head not fast but not slow either “just like that!” matt moaned loudly causing you to smirk, that pissed matt off, he grabbed your hair into a makeshift ponytail as his hips thrusted up into your face “fucking whore!!” he groaned out, forcing you to take him deeper, there were a couple of tears in your eyes as he slammed his cock in and out of your mouth “g-gonna cum..” he whined barley audible, you went faster as he whined and moaned before shooting his load in your mouth, you swallowed it all not leaving a drop left “god i just know you look so pretty right now..” he praised.

a/n: i didn’t feel like finishing the rest, so here 😭

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @chrissslut @xoxo4chrisss @luvb0xoxo @phoenix062 (if i didn’t tag you it was because i couldn’t find your @)

[tender-rosiey]

“SILLY GIRL, TOLD YOU NOT TO WAIT”

— gojo, nanami, geto, and sukuna finding you asleep on the couch

a/n: f!reader also please if you have ideas throw them in my inbox <33

GOJO SATORU:

today, gojo was supposed to finish early, especially since the curse was a mere grade 2. however, right after he was done with it, he was assigned with more than 1 mission, one after the other.

so, the man who was supposed to be in your arms by 4pm is barely at the door at 12am. he opens the door muttering a small, “I am home,” in hopes of not waking you up.

he expects you to be in bed, maybe cuddling the pillows like you usually do or on the couch watching the series you two are following which he would consider a betrayal.

instead, he finds you fast asleep on the couch with your phone in your hand. a grin makes its way to his face as he nears your sleeping figure and kneels beside you.

you look like you fought a battle with your sleepiness, but it eventually won.

it’s adorable, he thinks.

now, though, nothing subjects you to sleeping on this couch even if it is expensive as hell and should be comfortable as hell too.

he picks you up gently, freezing in his place when you stir lightly in his arms. when you nuzzle into his chest, he can’t help but feel his heart burst with happiness.

he then continues his walk to your shared bedroom, placing you on the bed slowly and tucking you in. quickly, he changes and gets in the bed as well; his arms wrap themselves around you like it’s second nature and he feels you hum lightly.

“toru…?”

“I am here, sweets.”

and the smile on your face after hearing his voice makes a smile of his own appear, and gojo happily snuggles closer to you.

NANAMI KENTO:

your husband has told you multiple times to not stay up and wait for him on the days he tells you that the mission is going to be pretty long, to the point he will, unfortunately, work overtime.

so he didn’t know how to feel when he came back today and found you on the couch instead, leaning on the its arm and snoring softly.

on one hand, he feels so soft and his heart is singing, just in a really low and monotone nanami voice. on the other, he feels guilty that you had to sleep in such uncomfortable position while waiting for him.

so with a sigh, he goes to pick you up and just as he is about to slip his arms around your figure, you stir and open your eyes. you look up, eyes still half-lidded, but you can tell that it is your husband even from a mile away.

a smile makes its way to your lips instantly, “hey kento,” your hand reaches out to cup his face and you press a kiss to his nose.

nanami smiles helplessly, “hey love,” and puts his hand on top of yours while kissing your palm.

you pull him into a hug and nuzzle into his neck, “I missed you so much; how was work?”

“speaking of work,” he says and then lightly pinches you, “didn’t I tell you not wait up for me?”

“can you blame me?” you pout, “I wanted to make sure you’re safe and to be able to greet you like ‘welcome home my beloved!’, you get me?”

he chuckles lightly, “yeah yeah, ‘I get you’,” he easily picks you up making you yelp and proceeds to walk to your shared bedroom, “time to sleep now.”

“are we only going to sleep?” you cheekily say and your husband can’t help but roll his eyes.

“keep up that attitude and I assure you that you won’t get to sleep for even a second.”

GETO SUGURU:

geto is quite startled when he hears a thud in the living room, so he goes to check on the situation. maybe a small curse? but who would even enter his house with his kind of cursed energy?

instead of finding a curse, he just finds you, his wife, laying with your face to the ground and somehow sleeping rather comfortably.

quickly and barely suppressing his laughter, he takes a photo of your current situation.

“that’s going to be some good blackmail,” he thinks as a small grin never leaves his face.

now onto the next step that he still has to decide.

he can either carry you back to bed cause he is sure you will have a crisis when you see the markings on your face or he can wake you up and relish in your flustered face as you run around like a headless chicken.

he settles for gently nudging your shoulder, “y/n.”

you groan and he smiles a softer smile, “pretty girl, you fell off the bed.”

“so?” you grumble and turn away from him.

“your make-up printed on the ground.”

panicking, you sit up and look at the ground, “WHAT?!”

“you aren’t even wearing make-up,” you feel him kiss your cheek and chuckle, “get on the bed so you can sleep comfortably, silly.”

you huff and puff your cheeks while you get up and glare at your husband.

he merely stares at you with a silly smile that closely resembles the ( ◠‿◠ ) face and you simply can’t find it in you to be mad.

“you’re cute,” he whispers.

“and you’re ugly,” you affectionately whisper back.

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

no one dared to near sukuna’s throne, absolutely no one.

so imagine his surprise when he came back from his endeavors and found you, his pretty and simply irresistible wife, sleeping on it.

he has two options: either throw a pillow at you or grumble for you to wake up.

being a complete jerk, he chooses the former.

you’re startled awake and frantically look around you, “what the??”

“who gave you permission to sleep on my throne, woman?” your husband says with fake malice and you simply shrug with a smile.

“I am the queen so I don’t need no one’s permission.”

“oh? you sure got bolder; need I remind you who is the king of curses here?” he smirks lightly and you shake your head.

“it doesn’t matter, plus, what’s wrong with a woman missing her husband?”

sukuna was never able to respond, completely, well when you laid out your feelings, hence why he is silent and is merely looking at you.

you hear him click his tongue, “if you truly missed your husband then you would’ve awaited his arrival and flung yourself on him the moment he entered.”

you stand up, towering over sukuna because of how high his throne is off the ground, “last time I did that, you pushed me off and told me to ‘compose myself’, my dear king.”

he goes up the steps and slowly settles in front of you. he takes a hold of your chin and makes you look up, “my dear queen should know when her husband means something and when he doesn’t.”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @luciferspen @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies @fiona782 @ginneko @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny

copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be fed to my cat

[butteronabun]

diluc + EXES EXES EXES PLEASE (HIIII butter on a bun ^_^ i will Enable you because i have a playlist for him dedicated to this shit) + canon/modern au, etc — pick whatever YOU were thinking writing the request post + spin the wheel and pick a genre~ again, this request is an excuse to hear YOUR thoughts (i have some of my own)

extra: pick whether you want it to be she/her or g/n~ i’m fine with both 🫶

sincerely, 🥩 (who missed you and hasn’t caught up with recent posts bc i was busy </3)

wish that i had more of this borrowed time

a diluc ragnvindr x female reader exes au.

overview: diluc’s heart is his greatest foe.

wc: 3.2k

notes: originally this was 5k words but that was so much & i didn’t want to complicate this more so TAKE IT 😙 this is also a bit open-ended so feel free to interpret this however you like!! also, additional notes will be in the end, so better check that out too :)

“You’re going to break that glass, Master Diluc,” remarks Kaeya Alberich himself, who is this close to purchasing popcorn to watch the ‘drama’ that he has been observing for a while now. Weinlesefest truly has its wonders – fresh wine, good company, and a brother who definitely still isn’t over his ex, even if said brother continues to deny it. “You look under the weather. Why not take a breather and enjoy the sights? You have a loyal staff that’s willing to oversee the Angel’s Share stand for a while.”

Diluc’s cold, unwavering glare remains on that face of his. Kaeya’s almost certain that comparing his ice from his cryo vision with Diluc’s expression will have no difference at all. “I am doing fine, Master Kaeya.” He looks down at the glass he has wiped for—Kaeya guesses—the fifth time now, and picks up another one. 

“Really? But it’s becoming a little hot, Master Diluc. I’ve noticed that as the minutes pass by, the temperature of the stand has been concerningly rising as of late. Are you secretly heating up some tasty bar snacks, or is it something else?”

Kaeya suppresses a smirk when the warmth around them subdues momentarily. He has one theory that he’s sure is actually true—a theory where that ‘heat’ is coming from, and it’s definitely not the wind. 

It’s the ninth month of the calendar. Summer’s already over. So it’s safe to say that. . .

“Don’t you have other matters to tend to?” Diluc narrows his eyes at him. Oh, changing the subject now, aren’t we? “Surely, Cavalry Captains still have to scout the area for any potential threats during Weinlesefest, or have the knights really gone incompetent?”

“Oh, you. Everyone deserves to enjoy the festival every once in a while,” Kaeya raises his keg playfully. “And that includes even you.”

Diluc just grumbles at that. Still stubborn as always, but Kaeya remembers the day when the traveler told him a few years ago that Diluc, despite isolating himself during the previous festivals, reveled. (Reveled on his own, was what they clarified.) It’s a comforting thought that even such a busy man as himself can still enjoy these moments.

And Kaeya wishes he’d see it more. 

Diluc willingly taking charge of the Angel Share’s stand instead of Charles? How endearing. Is it really because he’s here for the celebration, or something else? 

(Kaeya—and he’s pretty sure, Diluc is, too—hears nearby footsteps. Familiar voices.)

Or someone else?

Whatever it is, Kaeya is fine with either. 

“Still baffles me that my suggested proposals got rejected— ah, we’re here. Oh, hi, Kaeya!” 

Kaeya sips his beer and smiles at you. “Hey.” And he watches it all unfold again. You smile back at him, before slowly turning to Diluc, who has never taken his eyes off of you ever since your arrival. 

You hide a lock of your hair behind your ear timidly. “Hi, Diluc.”

It’s really fascinating to see his brother still so soft with you. People may not notice this, but Kaeya knows Diluc best. “Good evening. What would you like tonight?”

“Ah – my company here—” you turn to the man beside you, a fellow colleague perhaps, and Kaeya seriously has to control himself from smirking. The area’s heating up again. “—would like to try some of the Fruits of the Festival that we’ve been hearing of. Is it still available?”

Diluc nods. “Yours?”

“I don’t want anything, actually—”

“Please, don’t do that,” The man calls out your name, and steps forward. The warmth’s growing. “If you think that you’re treating me tonight, then I’ll be treating you as well. Bartender, I’ll be ordering Wolfhook Juice for this lovely lady.”

The man winks at you, confident with himself, until Diluc breaks the flair by simply saying, “She’s allergic to that.”

Ah, this is great. Kaeya’s considering if he should bring Rosaria or even Lisa along for the drama. 

“W–wait, really? You’re allergic to Wolfhook?”

“Ah, D–Diluc—” As much as Kaeya relishes in dear Diluc’s jealousy, your expressions are also just as priceless. Speechless that his amazing brother still has one detail about you memorized? Pfft. Such is a man of great talent who has a knack for processing knowledge in such a short time. He’s a businessman, after all. It’s important to know a lot of things. “You still remember that?”

Diluc doesn’t reply to that question. Instead, he goes on preparing the drink with ease and in silence. Kaeya can feel the awkwardness in the air as they watch Diluc swiftly mix the ingredients, and the man accompanying you merely coughs to dissipate the tension.

“So, um,” The man starts, “I’ve heard that Starsnatch Cliff looks beautiful at this time of night. I was wondering if you’d like to stargaze with me?”

You seem sheepish. “Oh, I—”

There’s a loud thud, surprising everyone, except for Kaeya and Diluc themselves. Diluc has placed the glass in front of the man, face emotionless. “It’s late. Dangerous, even. I recommend that you postpone such a journey.” 

Kaeya hides his smile behind his keg. Oh, Diluc. Could you get even more obvious? He wishes to voice out that poor Klee and the other children might get scared because of his ‘grumpy face’ again, but it is late and they’re not here anymore, so it isn’t a valid reason to mention. 

Oh, the area’s hotter now. The man is visibly sweating under the intimidating man’s stare. “A–Ah, I see- t–thank you for that then, good sir—”

“Diluc, don’t scare him,” you scold him lightly, and take the glass. “And we’ll be fine, I have a vision.”

His stupid brother’s about to protest, and Kaeya readies himself for another session of ‘Diluc Facepalming Himself Because He Made A Fool of Himself In Front of his Ex’ when you add on:

“Though, Diluc’s right. It’s dangerous to go out right now since I’ve heard from the outriders that the concentration of hilichurl camps around that area is growing in size again. So we shouldn’t go.” You give the man his drink, and gesture him to an empty table. “And didn’t you tell me you’re tired already? Why not sit down for a while?”

Once you two are seated on a table that’s too far for Diluc’s liking, Kaeya sighs and shakes his head. Diluc glowers at him. “What?”

“Attentive as ever.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Diluc says as he crosses his arms.

“The least thing you could do is be attentive to her well–being, even though you’re not her lover anymore?” The temperature intensifies. Oops. Kaeya stepped on something he shouldn’t. But it’s always so fun to get on Diluc’s nerves. “Admit it, you still haven’t moved on.”

Diluc then retorts, “Is it so bad to care for an old friend?” “So that’s what you call her now?”

“Kaeya,” Diluc warns.

“Diluc~” Kaeya pleasantly sings. Then, his lips part into an ‘o.’ “My, I smell something burning. Are you really cooking something up?”

Kaeya doesn’t bat an eyelash on the slightly scorched bartop.

_

Diluc’s heart is his greatest foe.

He has too much love in his heart, and oftentimes, it causes him great anguish. 

He wanted to rip his heart out the night his father passed on. He wanted to stomp on it after causing Kaeya harm. 

And he wanted to abandon it, just like how you did.

“Let’s end this,” you told him one dinner, with your head dipped down, not wanting to meet his eyes. You trembled as you anticipated his response, but you didn’t get one. Diluc was left aghast. “This isn’t working for the both of us, Diluc.”

Such was the fate of a Ragnvindr who dedicated his time to protecting the city and thwarting the enemies that threatened his nation. Such is the fate of a Ragnvindr who occupied himself with the winery’s business ventures. 

Such was the fate of a Ragnvindr, who, despite having a big heart, had failed his lover. 

He wanted to say—maybe we could try again. I will be better this time. He knew he could solve this, if he could think of strategies to counterattack the abyss, or even keep his competitors on their toes with his new business plans, surely, he could remedy this. 

“I have too much on my plate. You have too much on yours. Let us end this before we affect each other.”

When your tears cascaded down your cheeks, Diluc wanted to wipe them away. But he couldn’t even move. Not even an inch. How could he, when his heart was being shattered to pieces? 

You had too much on your plate? Why didn’t you say anything? You know he’d always be here for you.

So why?

He wanted to say — then let’s face them together.

But you had other plans.

It was over. 

And he understood.

_

“How fortunate that our dear cutie decided to visit this year’s Weinlesefest,” Lisa says as she touches the petals of the cecilias. She’s here in Diluc’s garden. Lisa, for some reason, has the tendency to make unannounced visits. She smiles up at Diluc who’s observing her from the gazebo. “Don’t you feel the same way too, Diluc? That she’s here again, after almost two and a half years.”

Diluc crosses his arms. “I fail to understand why I’d have to voice out my opinions on the matter.”

“Ah, but didn’t you say something to Kaeya? Supposedly, shouldn’t you be happy that an ‘old friend’ came back?”

Diluc averts his gaze, and Lisa smiles even wider before tending back to the flowers.

“She favors these, don't they? Cecilia flowers.” Lisa sniffs one. This one smells very fresh. It’s as if all the flowers here are greatly taken care of. “Oh, this takes me back. I still recall how you and her first met. You two were so adorable! She used to chase you around, desperate for your attention. And despite your attempts to push her away, she still managed to win you over. Her blushing face was the absolute best when you gifted her a bouquet of cecilias. Really, who knew that you could get so romantic?”

Lisa lifts her head and fixates on the clouds. “She’s your first love, right? And you treasured her so.” She checks to see if Diluc’s still there, and he is. 

He’s still sulking like the baby he is.

“Diluc?”

Lisa can hear him murmur, but it’s not too audible for her ears to pick up. “I beg your pardon?”

“. . .her favorite.”

Lisa tilts her head. “Favorite?” 

“Cecilia flowers.” Diluc says. “They’re not her favorite.”

“Oh, my. So what’s her favorite, then?”

Diluc is reluctant. But he answers anyway. “Small lamp grass flowers.”

Oh, Lisa knows.

She just wanted to hear him say it.

_

No one knows how much Diluc has struggled during the first months of your breakup with him. 

He got moody, at times. Even slept in too much, which was surprising, because he wasn’t the type of person to sleep, not at all, when he had errands to run. He was a business owner by day, and a vigilante by night—he shouldn’t coop himself up inside his quarters all the time just to let his broken heart weep.

So even if those days, those weeks, those months, were nothing but unimaginable suffering – Diluc had to rise. Someone still had to face the darkness for the dawn.

The overseeing of the winery and the scouting of adversaries were great distractions to someone like him.

But he couldn’t deny the fact that whenever he was resting, or even had one moment of leisure, those thoughts canw creeping in. How were you? Where were you? Are you faring well? Do you still yearn for him, as much as he yearns for you?

Are you as ruined as he is?

Diluc didn’t expect that breakups could get this hard. He thought the drunkards in his taverns were over exaggerating it a bit too much because of the alcohol, but now, he could understand.

( He didn’t resort to alcoholism, though. )

He really tried to get over you. He really did. He really tried to forget. 

But how could he, when he cherished you so?

How could he, when his heart continuously ached for you? How could he, when he longed for you desperately after you left Mondstadt.

_

( ”There are plenty of fish in the sea. There are lots of daughters from various nations wanting to be your wife! Why not choose any of them, to fill that hole in your chest?”

The last time a patron told Master Diluc those exact words, he nearly banished them from his tavern. )

_

Moving on was not an option here, it seemed, when everything reminded Diluc of you. 

He saw you everywhere. You liked talking a lot, and he liked listening to you, even before you two were dating. Every experience, every anecdote, every musing, and every vent — he remembered it all. 

Diluc knew what type of coffee you liked. At first, you weren’t such a big fan of them, but you found one that suited your taste. ( “Just one cup is enough, though. Two or more will make me palpitate!” ) Pepperoni became your favorite pizza topping when you ate with Jean when she invited you for lunch out of gratitude. ( “Cheesy spinach is a close second!” ) You liked reading books and seemed to get lost in them a lot; you even excitedly discussed your reviews to him of the novels or pieces of information you’ve read. ( “Like can you believe it?! He had a twin brother all along!” or “Now I understand why you have such a big chair in your office! It’s because it signifies your status! ” )

You were so endearing. Diluc really, really loved every bit of you and made sure to give you the love that you deserved. He tried his best as he could to provide you with the affection that you needed.

Yet it still wasn’t enough.

Because if it did, Diluc would still be here at his dining table, reading his documents and sipping coffee with you. If it did, you’d still offer Diluc one slice of pepperoni or cheesy spinach pizza after your lunch with Jean. If it did, you would still bother him underneath the sheets until late hours into the night regarding the mundane and the interesting.

Move on, they said. They were all growing concerned.

Move on, a rational part of him also said. It was for his own good.

But he had always been stubborn.

_

( 

“Master Diluc’s single?! Again?”

“The most eligible bachelor’s throne is his once more.”

“Back off, even if the Master’s single, he won’t give you no heed. Just give up.”

“Come on, support me a little! I just want to give him a good time. Don’t you think I have a chance?”

“Not one bit, lass. Not one bit.” )

_

Weinlesefest is in full swing—

“Yet here you are, moping.” A green bard sits on the pier beside Diluc, who’s currently throwing rocks onto the surface of the water. “Master Diluc, shouldn’t you be out there and celebrate? Or did you choose to stay here because you haven’t scored a date?”

Diluc narrows his eyes at him curtly, before throwing another stone into the water. 

“A silent treatment for me, I see,” The bard strings his lyre, “But I have no worry, for you’ll answer me eventually.”

Diluc sighs. “She’s occupied as of the moment.”

“Oh~? I see that the tables have turned, then?”

Diluc scoffs. Of course he also knows about what had happened before. “Really. What’s your purpose for being here? And stop with your rhyming. It’s annoying me.”

The bard snickers. Stroke a chord it seems. “It’s the second to the last day of this festive event, and I’ve yet to see you participate. Minus the fact of taking care of the Angel Share’s stall, but you must at least do something that’s not related to work.”

“It’s in my blood to dedicate myself when it comes to work.” Diluc throws another stone. “I have no other choice, Venti.”

“Yet here you are, skipping stones?”

“Here I am, skipping stones.”

The bard sighs sadly. As he kicks his legs back and forth, he says - “Do you remember the Thousand-Wind Wine Razor made with the Traveler?”

“Of course. The barrel they used belongs to my winery.”

There’s another silence. Then Venti speaks again. “The wind is many things, you know. It can bring back the soul, and especially, preserve memories—you know of the fact that dandelion seeds are added last as a way of capturing the wind at the very moment when the barrel is sealed. Meaning, the memory of that ‘moment’ is stored in the wine, for all eternity.”

“And your point is?”

“Let yourself be happy this once.”

_

After the citizens of Mondstadt welcomed the Anemo God, they all felt the gentle breeze kissing their skin as he graciously made himself present into the wind. The children cheered, and the adults raised their cups for a toast. Everyone was having a splendid time.

“To the Anemo Archon!”

You, however, have just finished preparing for your departure back to Sumeru. After packing your belongings and making sure you didn’t leave anything in the inn, you had to go find your companion — who’s still probably busy trying out new drinks. 

You sigh at that, a little amused. You also resign to this fate. The journey to Sumeru will have to wait until later. Plus, you haven’t even properly said your goodbyes to the others, so, there’s that. 

A polite cough echoes behind you. You turn around, and your heart flutters at the sight of a familiar man. Diluc.

“May I request a bit of your time?” He asks, always so gently.

You’re pleased and surprised, of course - because it’s Diluc. Diluc, who’s obviously seeking you, even if he’s made clear that he’s occupied with duties of the winery. 

You want to humor him a little bit, so you snicker. “But what if I don’t want to?” You gesture to your satchel. “I’m preparing for my departure, you see.”

Diluc already knows that, doesn’t he? He doesn’t even react. “If that’s the case, then I respect your decision.”

Oh, that’s a bit disappointing. You kind of want to slap yourself for that. You should’ve just accepted Diluc’s request instead of pulling stuff like this. Why play hard to get, when Diluc’s already—

“But I beg of you,” Diluc adds, and you blink. There’s determination in his eyes, and your heart skips a beat when you notice that there’s also something else. “Before you leave. . . please, spend time with me. All it takes is just a short moment with you, and I’ll be content. I won’t ask for anything more.”

—making initiative, huh.

How can you say no to that?

You smile at him—a little bit too tenderly. “Alright then, Diluc.” You lift a hand, gesturing for him to take it. “Lead the way.”

supposedly this was seriously longer, it had more plot ( i indulged on this way too much when i was writing this but had to omit a lot of stuff because i was getting overboard + wanted to more focus on how diluc interacts with his ex / what he feels about his ex / what he felt without his ex asfghjfk also, here's one screenshot before i deleted this part; i wasn't rlly kidding that it had more substance and it was originally angsty:

anw. shoutout to my bestie who brainstormed with me abt ex diluc hcs it was so fun. lemme share to y'all what we talked abt: 1) we thought that diluc is the type of person who’d date to marry, 2) his heart is so so freaking loyal he'd still pine for his first love, and 3) he falls hard and is stupidly sentimental plus. if he did have an ex, the breakup will def bother / ruin / devastate him, especially when he loved that person sm :(

[chosopie]

SUGAR BABY - TOJI FUSHIGURO

Toji loves a woman with big bills.

You came from a family of lawyers who owned a big law firm in the city. Your whole life had already been set the moment you were born, and like the rest of your family, you became a lawyer who could easily earn six figures like it just falls from the tree in your huge backyard.

Currently, you were still in law school when you met Toji from a bar.

“Where do you think you’re going, bastard?” The security yelled, using all his efforts to push the big muscular man away from the door. “If you’re gonna drink here, make sure you can pay the fucking bill.”

“I’ll handle it,” you tapped the security guard, waving your card at him. “It’s on me.” You winked at Toji, and in return, he flashed you a wide and cunning grin.

“Damn, lady. Do I know you?” Toji asked.

“No, but let’s change that.” You smile back.

Every Friday night, you’d meet up at the same bar and you’d always treat him to drinks and food. As you both grew closer, you’d meet up at other places like the mall so he could watch you shop.

“Do you want anything?” You’d ask while your eyes remained fixated at the handbag you were checking.

“Why do you ask? Are you going to buy me something?”

“Yes. Just show me,” you nonchalantly said like you could buy the whole store with the wave of your black card.

Toji’s eyes widened and his mouth hung open. “Anything?”

“Yep.”

In the end, you ended up buying a Rolex for him.

“How could I ever repay you?” Toji thought.

There was one thing Toji was proud to offer you—his cock. He was very much aware of how much he was packing. He had a generous length and girth that would surely satisfy you once you get used to its size. It was a perfect gift for you.

His offer was to let you use his dick to get off. He became your sex toy or personal dildo. You’d ride him at your own pace while all he did was watch in amusement. He would occasionally run his big calloused hands over your waist or help you go up and down on his cock when your thighs start shaking form exhaustion.

“You like being used like this?” You teased.

“Yeah, so when am I getting my car?” He groaned as you rode him at a slow and agonizing pace.

“I already told you, the newest model will be coming next week. Be patient or I’m not letting you cum anymore,” you warned him through gritted teeth. You hissed at the feeling of him stretching you out.

Other times, he’d pester you in a special way in order to get what he wanted. His face would be buried between your thighs, tongue slowly lapping at your wet cunt like a kitten.

“Baby… my co-worker Shiu has these new Ferragamo’s. Can I get those too?” He lowly said, his breath fanning your pussy.

“If you can make me cum four times then, maybe I’d let you.”

With his skilled tongue, he was able to fulfill his task, leaving you breathless and shaking.

When you would come home stressed from work, you’d let him fuck you and do all the work. Toji was a person-pleaser when it came to you. It wasn’t just for the gifts and money, but also because he was a sucker for your sweet praises.

“This fine?” He picks a medium and consistent pace, giving you room to ease up around his dick.

“Mhm,” you’d hum in response, your eyes closed as you quickly fell into a relaxed and satisfied state.

Toji was quite the company. He was a pretty thing to look at and his dick worked magic for you. You were definitely going to keep him around for a long time. After all, he was quite the investment.

[teddybeartoji]

lets pretend that i didnt lost this and had to retype it

listen me listen me right !!! back to wolf toji and bunny reader with shiu as the caretaker that lets toji get away with too much but also loves spoiling you bc your just so sweet and adorable

one day, shiu comes home after running errands and tells you and toji that he got a collar to help with toji's biting problem since he knows the both of you will be going into heat soon and he doesn't want toji biting you like a chew toy

toji's grumbling, snarling at shiu that he's not putting on a damn collar but he's confused at the tiny pink thing shiu pulls out. its a cute pink collar, thick but with soft cushioning on the inside a big heart ring in the front. probably for a leash or something, but toji knows that thing isnt going to fit on him.

"it's not for you, mutt," shiu grins playfully, ignoring the glare toji shoots his way at the nickname. instead, he walks up to you and clicks the collar on you, stroking your hair as he coos at how pretty it looks on you !! "its so that if the big guy goes into rut while im away, he wont rip into your throat because he can't think with the right head," shiu jokes, flicking tojis nose.

but a week had passed since then and you had come to like the collar. not just because of how toji would tug on it to pull you into a kiss or how shiu would tug it to get your attention on him when you were fixated on something else. no, it just looked pretty on you!!

one day ur left at home with toji while shiu goes out for the day for business stuff, whatever boring things he had to do. that poor man didnt realize you were going to literally get turned into a creampuff with in 30 minutes of him leaving

toji is INSTANTLY on you when he realizes shiu is gone. poor thing is too rut-brained that he cant even figure out how to get the collar off so he's just gnawing on it, sinking his teeth into the leather as he growls about how stupid the collar is for covering up your pretty neck from him, that shiu doesn't know what he's talking about, all while he's ripping off your clothes.

shiu told the BOTH of you to let him know if either of you go into heat so he can come home and be a good caretaker and make sure you both are still eating and drinking water and that toji doesn't accidentally bite his cute lil' bun too hard anywhere. so, he expects you to tell him to calm down and wait for shiu to get home like a good little bunny, but instead you just look at him over your shoulder with the cutest little pout and tell him 'jus' the tip won't get us in trouble, right?'

and he tries, he tries soooo hard, just fucking his tip in and out of you but then you get pushed into your own heat and you go from reminding him only the tip to 'why aren't you putting in more?? do i not feel good enough??? why dont u wanna be all the way inside me toj???'

and he's shutting you up with one thrust to push all the way inside, shushing you through huffs and growls, telling you he'd stay inside of your sticky cunt for the rest of his life if he could, that you were so hot and wet just for him and he never wanted to pull out of you, keep you nice and stuffed full of his cock and cum until your tummy gets a little bigger from how full he's pumped you with his seed

cue shiu coming home to the two of you fucking like animals (hehe) on the living room couch, your face pushed into the cushions and ears flopped down while your little cotton tail is swishing around like crazy, hearts practically in your eyes when you realize shiu's home, because now he can watch and see how good toji is, see that the big wolf should be able to bite you because hes so good, he's fucking you so deep.

plus, you'd look even prettier with toji's bite on your neck instead of a collar :33

I AM LOSING MY MINDDDD

LUNNNIEEEE????!!!!?!?!??!!!????? HAKDJSJWJFVDKDNEJ YOU'RE AMAZING YOU'RE ABSOLUTELY INSANE AND I LOVE YOU. FIRST OF ALLLLL OMFG I JUST KNOW SHIU COULD NEVER SAY NO TO YOUU AAAUUUUGHHHH YOU FLUTTER YOUR EYELASHES AT HIM AND HE'S ALREADY FOLDING (AND TWITCHING IN HIS PANTS)(HE'S SO WEAK)(HE'S SO HOT). SECOND OFF AAALLLLLLLL... "GET TURNED INTO A CREAMPUFF"😭😭😭PLS THAT MADE ME LAUGH SO HARD I ADORE U SO MUCH<333

AND MMMMMMMMM TOJI'S DIRTY TALK ALWAYS FUCKING KILLSSS MEEEE FFFFUUUUUCCKKKKKKK "HE'D STAY INSIDE OF YOUR STICKY CUNT FOR THE REST OF HIS LIFE IF HE COULD" 🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴 WHATTHE FCUUUKKKKK WAIT ANDAND THE MEAN GRIN HE'D GIVE SHIU??????? HE CAN SEE THAT SHIU IS HARD JUST FROM WATCHING TOJI FUCK YOUR BRAINS OUT AND IT'S ALL JUST SOOOOOOOO🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴

THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR THIS FUCKIN GMEAL IDK WHAT I DID TO DESERVE YOUU HOOLY FUCKKKK<3333

[gamblersdoll]

𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄, 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐁𝐎𝐘!

you take off yuuji’s cowboy hat, that means you have to ride him, right?

small mentions of roleplay, groping, reverse cowgirl, sexual tension.

yuuji always did like halloween as a kid, he found it pretty cool, and being the curious one he is, he always did a costume at least everyday. whether it was batman or robin, a supervillain he found cool at times, or just a character from a game, he always dressed up every day of october.

today, he was a cowboy. he felt it was like a calling or something, considering he grew up in the southern parts of japan and he also happened to grow accustomed to the south. especially since nobara was southern as well.

the difference between you both were you really only dressed up on the night of halloween, thats what you really were supposed to do. but, you indulged in his shenanigans, feeling his hands slip around your hips and his breath fanned over your head. “you from ‘round here?” he asks in the most southern accent hes ever picked up, a smile pulling at his lips.

a smile pulls at your lips, too. a smirk pulling as well and you turn your head to the side a bit. “i sure am, sir.” you say, feeling him get closer and get close in your ear. “ha’nt seen you ‘fore, either.”

he flips you around, tilting your head up and he licks his lips. “yeah, sweetheart?” he says, biting his lip when you pull his pink cowboy hat off his head and plop it onto yours. “i reckon that you musn’t do that, unless you want to ride somethin’.”

“well, i reckon that i do, mister.” you tease, his lips pressing onto yours and his hands slide down your back to your round ass and gropes the flesh, lips attacking your neck.

you moan, his hands scooping you up and having you ontop of him once he lays himself down on the bed. your hips move in circles in his lap, feeling his growing erection as he paws at your breasts. “youre makin’ me so hard..”

“yeah?” you giggle, licking his lips and pulling his cock from his confinements. your body flips around and you hover over his leaking cock. he groans, squeezing your cheeks in his hands as he lies back.

he helps you slide down, his thick, veiny cock stretching you just a tad. you both groan in the feeling of him sinking deep, your hips already knowing to sit back on him and your knees already prepared. he mumbles a ‘ you okay?’ and you nod. eyes rolling back, you circle your hips and start to lift yourself half way until you slam yourself back to his base.

“oh, damn..” he moans, a hand over his eyes and he bites his lip.

you moan, too. his cock twitching slow and feeling himself brick up even harder than usual.. “like that, baby?” you ask, the bed springs creaking just a bit. you place your hands on his chins, steadying yourself as he slightly fucks up into you.

“yeah, just like that, pretty.” he praises, a hand coming down and slapping your ass. he opens his eyes, watching your cunny pull up and how he stretches between your folds. its a sight to see, for him. his pretty baby fucking her cunt onto his cock, taking it well.

you lean forward more, your back straight and chest pressing against the bed as your hips do all of the work now. “gunna make me cum..” you whine out, his hands resting on the shelf of your ass. “so close, ‘dori…”

“yeah? me too..” he retorts, eyes rolling back for a second and his hips take over, stilling your hips so he can fuck up into you. “oh, shit, oh shit, fuck!”

“yuujiiiii!” you moan, an arm reaches back and takes his hand into yours. “thought— i was doing all the work?” you surprisingly moan out, drool soaking into the sheets and tweaking with your own nipples.

“cant help it, cant help it, oh fuuuck!” he grunts, not sure why his body was moving on its own. his cock twitches when you clamp down, his legs tensing up. “you really cummin hard, baby.”

how he knew you were about to cum before you did was beyond you. but he was right, your squealing muffled by the thick sheets he had bought for the both of you. your legs shake, his thrusts becoming more rapid and fierce as he reaches the end of the tunnel to bliss and paradise, a shout from his lips as he creams himself inside you.

translucent white and a thicker creamy white seep down his shaft, coating his heavy balls as you both recollect yourselves. his eyes snap to you, pulling you back to his chest by his hand and tossing the pink cowboy hat to the side. “you ‘kay?” he asks, holding you to his chest.

“mmhh..” you shuffle, your knee almost hitting his junk.

“watch it—“ he hisses, moving before you could potentially knee him in his balls and tip. “just relax, i gotchu.”

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x Dc AU: Not exactly a meet cute between Jazz and Jason.

Jason's had a long night of beating the shit out of a gang that dared to sell in his territory, the last thing he needs is the Bats on his tail. He can always sense them when he leaves Crime Alley- they watch for him. Waiting for him to fail. It pisses him off.

So Jason shakes his tail, he's pretty sure it's the demon brat, parks his bike, removes his helm and heads into the loudest bar he can find, ditching his mask along the way. There are no camera's and there was no one watching, so Jason just looks like any other angry frat guy at the bar. Well, he supposes that the Leather jacket might be a stand out.

He grabs a drink, and looks at the time. Jason just needs to wait out the chance that a baby bird saw his bike and hope that curfew kicks in before this has to be a 'conversation'. Besides, the music is good and despite all the people, the crowd is pretty behaved.

"Hi! I'm so glad you're here!" A woman approaches, he can tell she's had a few drinks from her walk but her eyes scream sobriety and fear. She's tall in her flats, her hair looks disheveled (from dancing maybe) and her outfit screams 'this is the one fun black top I own'. She's beautiful and her approaching him might've been a wet teenage dream if his suspicions weren't immediately raised.

"I certainly am here." Jason replies, a smirk set into his features easily and as he straightens out his back he can see the three men watching the back of her head like predators. They're wearing super lame white hoodies and coats, like they're organized somehow.

"That's why you're my hero! Always ready to grab me at a moment's notice! Any chance you'll be good to leave after you finish that drink?" Her eyes are pleading but she keeps the same happy smile and joyful tone the whole time.

"Nah, no worries about the drink. It was cheap and I was just getting bored with it anyway. " Jason explains, setting his glass down on the counter. He's mentally photographed the three creeps, "Did any of your friends also need a ride home?"

"Nope! They all got in an uber... without me. So they'll be just fine!" She explains and there is an anger in her eyes that clearly meant she was telling the truth. Her hands are straightening out his jacket collar, making it look like they're more comfortable with each other than just strangers. She lays her hands flat on his chest once her task is completed and Jason feels his throat go dry.

"I'm always telling you to find better friends. Now c'mon, I parked out back." he wraps an arm around her waist, though its not tight, and peers over his shoulder. These guys weren't going to leave without a fight it seems, Dumb, Dumbie and Dumber are all watching her with evil in their eyes.

The two of them walk out and before she can even say thank you, the door swings back open and she's sucker punched one of the assholes and Jason's pulled his gun out for the other two.

"You gents are gunna go home, or you're gonna end up in the dirt. Pick." Jason growls. Not taking him seriously at first, he shoots one dudes foot and the last one standing looks like he might pass out. He picks up his fallen comrades and backs away into the bar.

"For ancients sake those dudes were trying to traffic the hell out of me." She sighs, and Jason holsters his gun.

"Yeah no shit. You okay?" Jason inquires.

"I will be. I'm Jazz, thanks for saving me Hood."

"I'm no-"

"You're literally leaning comfortably on Red Hoods motorcycle that still has his helmet perched on it. No one would do that unless they were suicidal or him." She challenges, but then a look changes in her eyes and she almost looks nervous "But still, do you uhm, wanna get out of here?"

He blinks. She was trying to pick him up? AFTER finding out he was a crime lord??

The answer is that yes, Hell Yes, Jason does want to get out of here. None of the Bats will bother him while he has a civilian, not at the diner he takes her too and certainly not while he's taking her back to one of his safe houses.

Jason had expected one of his siblings to show up in the morning and cause a ruckus. He hadn't planned for a dude to let himself into his kitchen screaming about government agencies tracking Jazz down that wasn't related. Turns out it's her brother and he's floating and no he's not going to explain why he's there or how he found them.

Jazz has a lot to explain to the both of them and it starts with "So I can admit that I have a thing for motorcycle guys-"