#but if you’re like me and can’t do either. well we’re kind of fucked

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

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Yay! 162:

---

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Because we’re temporarily sharing a bed?”

Buck nods. 

“No, man. We aren’t Charlie and Frank,” Eddie assures him. “But if we were, you’d be Frank.”

“WHAT?” Buck bursts. “Why would I be Frank?”

Eddie shrugs it off easily. “You read too much to be Charlie.”

“Are you claiming illiteracy, Eddie?” Buck challenges.

“No,” Eddie shakes his head. “Just less literate than you. Please take that with offense, if possible.”

Buck smirks. See, this is why he asked. Not because he was actually worried. He just… He just needed the reminder that… That, fuck. No guy, no girl - no one - is worth sacrificing any time with Eddie. No one is worth asking Eddie to leave his home. No matter what.

“Well,” Buck smirks. “Just keep this conversation in mind when I shit the bed later.”

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “You’re disgusting.”

“Apparently you think so, Dayman.”

Eddie’s lip quirks. “You want to watch that show? Poop episode?”

Buck nods. “And the waterpark episode. With liquor.”

Eddie nods. “Whatever you need right now.”

And that sort of does it for Buck. 

He steps forward and hugs Eddie. Tight. Because hasn’t this been the whole damn point? Buck just wants to do whatever Eddie needs. And Eddie gets it. Is the same way. This is who they are. 

Eddie squeezes Buck tightly. One of his hands rests a little higher on Buck than usual when they hug. His fingers warm the bare skin on the back of Buck’s neck. Buck closes his eyes. He lets his head slump forward, just a little. His body starts to relax, like Eddie’s touch has changed a setting on his internal operating panel. 

“Thank you,” Buck whispers. 

“Yeah,” Eddie replies. Like it doesn’t even bear mentioning. “Do you want to talk more about it?”

“No,” Buck replies firmly. 

They don’t part from each other. 

“Buck?” Eddie asks after a moment.

“Yeah?”

“Is it because I’m staying here?” 

Fuck. Fuck. The last thing he needs is Eddie feeling guilty about anything else. 

“No,” Buck replies. “It’s because he’s a jackass and I don’t like being given ultimatums.”

Eddie pulls away from him finally. 

“No, Buck,” he says. “Come on. You can’t break up with him over me.” 

“I broke up with him over him,” Buck counters. “He was being paranoid and unreasonable.” 

“Still,” Eddie sighs. “It’s not… You can’t do that. You-you should fix it.”

“You’re ready to go back?” Buck asks.

“That’s not the point.” Eddie shakes his head. 

“Yes it is,” Buck says. “That’s exactly the point. I… I want you here. We didn’t do anything wrong. So do you really want to leave and for me to go apologize to him because he was being an ass?”

Eddie thinks about it for what feels like close to a minute. 

“No,” he admits finally. “I don’t.”

Buck feels a jolt of relief. He can’t quite say why. Maybe he should want to fix things with Tommy. Maybe that should be more important than Eddie’s prolonged sleepover. But it’s not. It’s not. 

“Then let’s forget about it for now, okay?” Buck asks. “Please?”

Eddie nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

🛏️

Watching TV doesn’t quite go the way Buck thinks it will, liquor or not. 

They try sitting on separate chairs. This clearly doesn’t work for either of them. A few shots of tequila later, and they’re on the floor side-by-side again. Pinkies buzzing in proximity, but not quite linked. 

At one point, Eddie twists his back in an uncomfortable stretch. Yeah, the floor kind of sucks. Buck needs a damn couch. 

“We could, uh, move,” Buck suggests. 

“Move?” Eddie echoes. 

“Upstairs,” Buck clarifies. Then he blushes, realizing how it sounds. “Uh, I mean, we could play it on my laptop. From bed. We’re going to end up there anyway in, like, forty minutes.”

Eddie checks the time and whistles. “We’re getting old.”

“All the more reason to be comfortable,” Buck replies. He has no idea why he’s pressing. Really. 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “I could go for that.”

So they migrate to bed. Buck props the laptop up on a raiser he has from when his leg was in a cast and he did a lot of computer use from bed. They prop themselves up on a collection of pillows, leaning into each other ever so slightly. 

And then…

Well, okay…

It’s not so much that Tommy was right. 

Tommy wasn’t right. Plus he’s an ass. So two faults for him.

But… Okay, maybe Buck can see where he was coming from. 

Because they’re a little buzzed. And they’re laughing at the show. And they’re leaning into each other. And they’re hands are brushing under a blanket. And nothing about it feels like two friends sharing a bed because it’s the only possible thing to do. Nothing about it feels like just friendly at all. Eddie slides his hand into Buck’s, and their fingers lace together, and it feels like something more. 

Buck doesn’t really know what to do about it. He doesn’t know what it means. And he doesn’t want to question it. Because he likes it. A lot. He likes it far more than he’s sad or mad about Tommy. 

So he just keeps holding Eddie’s hand. And neither of them says a thing about it.

iv.

From there, it only gets worse. Or better? Better, for sure. Just, not for Buck’s clarity. He has no idea what’s going on. Truly, none. But he’s loving it?

He just can’t say so. Because that would feel like jinxing it. He doesn’t want to jinx this at all.

It becomes a routine. They get back from work, they eat dinner together, they watch TV in bed, they fall asleep touching. Holding hands becomes an arm looped around a shoulder. Which becomes a hug. Which becomes limbs tangled together. A head tucked into a chest. A hand sifting lazily through hair. 

It’s not overnight, of course. It takes weeks.

[selectivechaos]

i tend to disregard and invalidate own experiences with mental and physical pain.

especially because:

worse and more significant pains

abuse and other traumas taught me to.

am saying: validate your pains. even if you were told to ignore, push past, others had it worse, sensitive, annoying, or just plain wrong about your own experiences. 🌹🌹

but really, headache ain’t going to go away if you ignore it. the fact that your ears doing something weird ain’t gonna disappear just because you can’t explain to doctor, and they dismiss or don’t have word. the fact that legs ache ain’t gonna go away just because it’s ‘your fault’ because over-exertion, or because of a ‘normal thing’ like work rather than illness in itself.

also also. it easy to treat it as ‘unexplained aches and pains’ even when i know full well that the root cause is years of intolerably high anxiety, and cortisol levels in body like.

but i’ll keep calling it unexplained and saying am just tired because it’s easier to say i ‘just am’ than to think about how trauma stays in the body. how i feel scared when cold, and cold when scared. and weak after a flashback.

really if i recognise sensations in body and link them to emotions (or vice versa when that’s easier) then can understand better. i don’t necessarily need an objective understanding of The Body for this particular purpose; i just owe it to self to listen to subjective experience of own body.

owe it to self to stop with the ‘funny so weird’ at body when it in real real pains. 🌹🌹

[luvyeni]

❛COCKBLOCKERS❜ ( 00' liners )

authors note. based on a dream i had 😊 enjoy !

p. roommate!00' line x fem!reader w. 6.4k+

— 𖦹 warnings. unprotected sex, multiple sex scenes, oral ( f. receiving ), dirty talk, haechan is a munch, size kink ( jeno duh.)

— 𖦹 ( living with four boys isn't easy for your sex life , but luckily your roommates are here for you) !

“Do you even masturbate?”

Living with haechan for almost 2 years, you were pretty used to these questions — to the point were you don’t even flinch at the questions anymore. “Of course I do, i'm human haechan.”

“Yeah but i've never caught you, and i've caught just about everyone who lives in this apartment.” He was referring to your other roommates; jaemin, jeno and renjun — who were also used to his antics. “That’s because jaemin has a exhibition kink and jeno is a himbo so he forgets to lock the door, I've caught both of them multiple times.” Jaemin shrugged, smirking. “Can’t say you’re wrong.”

“Im not a himbo.” Jeno looked up from his phone. “Whatever you say, renjun is the only one I haven’t caught, because like me he’s smart enough to lock his door.” You said, speaking of the boy who finally exited his room. “What about locking my door.” He said. “She talking about when you masturbate.” Your eyes widened at haechan completely taking what you said out of context.

“W-why are you talking about that?” he cough, rubbing the back of his red neck. “Haechans bitch ass took that out of context don’t worry.” You threw the pillow at the boy, he dramatically fell back. “So where do you do it?” He asked, picking the pillow up. “In my room or in the shower, jesus haechan not everyone gets off in the open spaces.” You said.

“Wh-why are you guys having this conversation right now?” Renjun finally asked the right question. “Because jaemin and haechan think she’s asexual because we’ve never seen a boy come in and out of this apartment for her, and she never leaves the house.” You scoffed at jeno, meanwhile renjun regretted asking the question. “In other words, she’s not getting any dick.”

You scoffed, and that totally wasn’t your fault. “Well im sorry but not many guys like the or are comfortable fucking in a apartment when you have a mans voice yelling ‘yn where’s the chopstick for the ramen!’ or ‘yn how do start the washer!’ You mock their voices. “it’s kind of a turn off.”

“But that doesn’t stop you from leave and getting some.” Jaemin said. “You would think, but it seems like everyone on campus seems to think we’re in a big poly relationship, thanks to haechan being the alcoholic he is.” You said, remember the party a year ago. “What did I do?” You scoffed. “You got on a table and yelled it in front of half of the campus.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Yeah, so thanks to you 3 cockblockers im reduced to using my fingers as a form of release.” You stood up. “Is this conversation done now, can I go to my room?” You didn’t wait for a answer, you just kept walking. “3 ? What about renjun? Jeno asked. “He knows where the chopsticks are, he also knows how to start the washer and hold his alcohol.” You walked past the boy, smiling. “Good job renjun, for not being the reason im involuntary celibate.”

He watched you walk all the way to your room, closing your door. “Why does she always defend you?” Haechan said, renjun shrugged. “Does she want to fuck you or something?” Jaemin laughed. “More like he wants to fuck her.” Renjun felt his face heating up again, quickly walking back to his room.

“Well no shit look at her, who in this house doesn’t want to fuck her.” Jeno shook his head. “Don’t try and judge me jeno, you were the first one to say you wanted to fuck her.” Jeno stood up, putting his phone away. “Yeah I did, and I still do.” He said. “But I don’t act like a bitchless loser either.” He picked up his gym bag. “Hey! Im not bitchless.” The boy fought back. “Whatever you say, maybe don’t ask her if she’s asexual or training to be a nun and she’ll fuck you.” He left out the house.

“Haechannie.” Jaemin stood up, “Don’t give up, she’ll come around and find something appealing on you." He looked the boy up and down, patting his shoulder in a comforting way. “maybe.” He left leaving the boy to pout in the livingroom.

“Well shit, now im horny.”

There was a knock on your door, you looked up from your show playing on the computer as the door slowly opened, renjun popping his head in. “I just wanted to see if you were still up, and to not let what haechan said bother you, it’s okay if you don’t do that stuff all the time.” He said, you smiled. “Whatever comes out of haechans mouth will never make me upset, he’s harmless.”

He chuckled, “More like demented, but I get it.” You laughed in return, making him smile. “Is that it?” you asked and he nodded. “Yeah, im going to bed, i'll see you in the morning, goodnight.” You waved. “Goodnight renjun.”

“Stupid fucking professors.” You dropped your bag on the ground in anger. “Whoa.” Jaemin stood in the kitchen. “What’s wrong with you?” You opened the refrigerator door, grabbing a beer. “Oh you must be stressed, it’s 12 and you’re drinking.” He said. “I am.” You cracked open the can, taking a big gulp of the beer, sighing.

“My professors moved my essay date up until this week, because she won’t be in next week.” You took another sip. “how is it my fault her sister is going into labor, does her sister have incompetent husband.”

Jaemin saw how angrier you were getting with every sip, deciding to intervene. “okay love that’s enough.” He took the can from your hand. “You’re stressed, drinking isn’t gonna solve it.” You sighed, rubbing your temples, leaning over the counter. “I’m gonna drop out.” He laughed, knowing you didn’t mean it. “You’re adorable.”

You glared at him as he stood next to you, the dishes he was doing long forgotten, instead he was staring at you. “Im about to break down and that’s all you have to say,  im adorable.” He nodded, you pouted. “Don’t make that face, you’re making it hard for me.”

You tilted your head in confusion. “What do you mean?” You eyes widened as he got closer and closer — pressing you against the counter. “It’s hard to not want to not stick my hand in these sweats of yours and help you distress — I hate seeing you all stressed.” He was extremely close, his nose brushing against yours gently.

“Jaemin.” You sighed, grabbing his bicep. “We ca— you’re stressed aren’t you baby?” He said, you nodded. “This is what I do when im stressed, I get off and I know your little fingers won’t pleasure you enough.” He said. “I didn’t want to say anything yesterday cause I didn’t want to get haechan started, but I hear you sometimes, when you’re touching yourself.”

eyes widened in horror — you couldn’t believe he heard you. “Oh my god.” You whined. “This is so embarrassing.” You covered your face, but he quickly removed your hands. “Don’t be, those pretty gasp and whines coming from your room are like music.” He said. “But I know it’s not enough is it?” His fingers danced along your waistband. “Not enough to make you satisfied?”

You moaned softly, he smirked. “Listen to you baby, I know you want it, just let me help you distress.” He said, pulling at the waistband letting it snap at your waist. “When im done we don’t even have to talk about it.” He said, but you could hear the condescending tone in his voice. “But you might want more.”

You thought about it, what’s the worst that could happen, it will be awkward for a few days then you’ll go back to being normal — you could do that definitely – you once avoided renjun when you walked on him in the shower, and then you went right back to talking to him like nothing happen, and he let it go like nothing happened. “Princess don’t think too hard, hurt that pretty little head.”

You sighed — his hands waiting at your waistband waiting for you to give him the go. “And it won’t be awkward?” He nodded. “We won’t speak of it if you want” He reassured, kissing your forehead. “I just want to help you.” He whispered. “Just wanna make you cum.” That did it for you, you grabbed his wrist, guiding his hand into your sweats. “Please touch me.”

He smiled, cupping your clothed heats. “Sh-shit.” You moaned out. “You’re soaked through your panties pretty.” He toyed with your folds through your underwear. “Ja-jaemin.” You sighed, he smiled. “N-no teasing.” You whined, he chuckled. “Okay baby I won’t, I wont.” He said moving your panties to the side, running a finger across your folds. “So wet baby, your pussy is so desperate for me to touch her.”

He pressed a finger at your hole, slowly sinking it in. “Jaemin-” You moaned as his thick finger stretched you out. “Such a tight pussy, poor baby hasn’t had anybody touch her like this in a while has she?” You moaned, shaking your head. “You want another.”

“y-yes.” You moaned as he added another finger, stretching your cunt out more. “Sh-shit your fingers are amazing.” He smirked. “Yeah?” He asked, moving  his fingers in and out of your hole. “My fingers stretching your pretty pussy good?” You nodded, moaning out as his used the pad of his thumb to rub your clit. “Fu-fuck im gonna cum.”

“Go a head, you deserve it princess, cum on my fingers.” He fucked his fingers into your hole faster. “Cum for me.” He said and on his command you came all over his fingers. “Fuck!” You sighed as he stroked your clit with his thumb as you came down from your high. “Jae.” You gasped, grabbing his wrist,  stopping him. “I-I came.”

He chuckled stopping his movements. “You’re evil.” You breathed, he laughed. “But it was fun watching you struggle, and you feel better don’t you?” You nodded, “I do, thank you.”

You both were bought back to reality by a cough. “Want to come back to earth, you’re in the kitchen.” Jeno said, looking at the scene in front of him. “With your hands stuffed in her sweats.” He held his bag in his hand. “Right.” He took his hand out from your pants. Your face was heated with embarrassment of being caught — jaemin on the other hand couldn’t care less. “Thanks to someone I have something take care of.”

Your eye widened — jeno scoffing in amusement as you both watched jaemin brought his hand covered in your juices to his mouth, sucking on them, humming as he exited into his room to do the obvious.

You and jeno stood in a silence — a awkward one before spoke up. “I’m sorry you had to walk in on that.” You stood on the balls of your feet, looking down. “We all need to distress sometimes, next time it should be in your room though, haechan could’ve walked in and that would’ve been— tragic.” You said and he nodded. “also please don’t tell him, I don’t want it to be awkward, renjun either.” He gave you a salute.

“My lips are sealed.” He said, you nodded. “I owe you big time, thank you so much.” You said. “I'm gonna go, see you after your class.” You scurried away to your room, his eyes followed you the entire time.

“Shit.” He sighed to himself, how was he supposed to focus in class with the scene of you moaning while his friend fingered you in his head; and his cock hard against his jeans.

Luckily a few days past and the kitchen incident was never brought up, it was kept a secret between you, jaemin and jeno — like it never happened, well expect when it happened again when everyone wasn’t home again, or when jaemin would look  at you with fuck me eyes that made you flustered, but no one even noticed — at least that’s what you thought.

“I know it’s in here.” You rummaged through his dirty clothes hamper — any other time that would’ve gross you out, going through a grown mans laundry, but your favorite black bra, was in there and you needed to wash it, you were going out on Saturday and you needed it — it made your tits look the best.

“Excuse me.” A voice made you jump turning around. “Shit jeno.” You sighed, calming down. “You scared me.” He lifted his eyebrows in confusion. “I scared you?” He said. “You’re in my room, going through my dirty laundry and I scared you?” He laughed amused.

“Your laundry?” You said, standing fully up. “I thought this was jaemins, it was near his beds.” You said. “Because his bed is closer to the door where I had it because I was gonna wash them later.” He pointed to the closet. “his is in the closet.” You wanted to shrivel up and die. “I'm so sorry.” You quickly put the stuff that fell out, putting it back by the door.

“It’s okay.” He said, sitting his gym bag down. You opened the closet, where his hamper was. “Oh.” You bent down going through, huffing once you realized it wasn’t I there either. “I has to be in here.” You whined.

Jeno couldn’t help it — he is only a man, and you were wearing those shorts that made your ass look so good, he couldn’t help but stare, his cock hardening in his gym shorts. “how was the gym?” You asked as you went through the hamper. “Good.” You didn’t hear the subtle change in his voice.

He was slowly losing it, the way you kept having a conversation with him, with your ass basically in his face, if he looked hard — which he already was, but if he looked harder, he could see the outline of your pussy — you weren’t wearing any panties.

“Fuck.” He cursed, finally snapping. “You have to be doing this on purpose.” He said darkly. “huh?” You turned to him confused. “I mean what you’re looking for can’t be in there, the hamper isn’t that big and you reached the bottom already.” He said. “So you have to know what you’re doing.”

“Do-doing what?” You said , slowing backing up as he stalked you, his eyes low and full of lust. “showing that ass of yours off.” He backed you up against the wall. “I can see your pussy through these shorts.” You bit your lip. “I-im sorry.” You looked up at him your lashes.

He grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. “If I let you go this time will you owe me?” he smirked. “You still owe me for not telling haechan and renjun about you and jaemin.” He said. “should I tell him then? What about when you both did it again on the couch?” How did he know about that. “how did you- you might want to keep it under wraps, but jaemin loves to talk.” He said, his hands squeezing your waist — you whimpered.

“You know I was pretty pissed, finding both of you in that kitchen?” he said. “and when jaemin told me again I was livid.” He pressed his sweaty body against yours, his musky smell from the gym radiating off of him, it was your favorite smell on him. “Wh-why?” You stuttered, he smirked. “Because I wanted to be the one to taste that pussy first.”

You felt his words in your cunt, this was the second time one of your roommates was pressing you against a surface, confessing a dirty thoughts that they had of you. “You’re so hard.” You felt his hard on against your pelvis, twitching in shorts. “Yeah I am, cause of you baby, you gonna help me?”

You weren’t gonna pass this up — you weren’t dumb. “Yeah.” You said , he quickly grabbed your shorts, pushing them down  to your ankles. “No panties baby, you’re really looking to be fucked like a whore.” He tapped your thighs. “Jump.”

He grabbed both of your thighs , his cock was now sitting under your ass. “gonna stretch this pussy out.” He held your body in one arm, quickly undoing his shorts letting them fall to the ground. “Je-jeno please fuck me.” Your voice was whiny, your fingers locked around his neck.

He lifted you up, grabbing the base of his cock holding it as he sunk you down on it. “Sh-shit you’re so fucking tight.” He groaned. “So tiny , you’re pussy is struggling to take me.” You moaned, closing your eyes as he slowly sunk deeper and deeper into your wet cunt. “Of fuck! You’re so big.”

He finally bottomed out, his hand against the wall above your head as he calmed himself down. “Fu-fuck this pussy is gonna make me cum early.” He slowly began to move, his cock hitting all the right spots as he held you against the wall. “Oh my god.” You gasped.

He began to move faster, your head knocked against the wall. “fuck!” you screamed. “Baby, these walls are thin and anyone could walk into the apartment and hear you getting your pussy fucked open by me, unless you want haechan and renjun to know how much a whore you are, cause im pretty sure jaemin already knows, then I suggest you try and shut that pretty mouth of yours.”

His words made you clench around him. “Fu-fuck baby let up, or im gonna cum inside your pussy.” He groaned. “unless that’s what you want.” You moaned out, yanking at hair on his neck. “Pl-please.” You whimpered.

“Fu-fuck you want me to cum inside you?” he grunted, his hips snapped harder against you. “Breed this little cunt up.” He hummed, biting at your neck. “yes!” You screamed. “please cum inside me.” He groaned, his pelvis hitting your clit, along with his cocked continuously hitting your cervix. “Fuck im gonna cum.”

Before you could even warn him again, you came, he felt your cunt spasm around him. “Sh-shit.” He groaned, looking down where your bodies connected a white ring formed around his cock base. “Oh fuck, your pussy is magic -fuck- im gonna cum.” He moaned. “Fuck im cumming , im gonna cum.” He groaned, then you felt his cum leaking into  your womb.

“Shit.” He sighed. “Hold on.” He held you in his arms, sitting down with you in his lap, his cock still inside you. “im gonna pull out now.” You nodded , and his lifted you up, his soft cock slipping out of you. “That felt good.” You said. “Yeah?” He said, you nodded. “I need to shower now.” You got up, he held your arm. “You got it?”

You nodded, legs a little wobbly. “Do you need help?” He asked, your turned to him. “Are you really gonna help or do you want to have shower sex?” He smiled cheekily. “will you let me fuck you if I help you shower after?” You shook your head. “Fine.”

“Wait what were you even looking for?” He asked, taking his shirt off, throwing it in the hamper. “My black bra, im going out on Saturday and I need it.” You said. “The one that makes your tits look good.” You gave him a side eye. “Don’t look at me, of course I look at your tits.” He said, looking down. “Here it is.” He held it in his hand, throwing it in his hamper. “I'll wash it for you.”

“I better get my bra back lee jeno.”

You sat at your desk, finishing up the essay that stressed you out earlier in the week. “finally.” You finally hit the send button. “I hope your sisters husband has a horrible day, cause why are you going on maternity leave for her baby.” You pushed your glasses against your face. “Hey.” Jaemin knocked on the door. “Next time you fuck jeno, don’t leave your shorts in the room.” He tossed them on your bed.

“Thanks.” You said, it almost didn’t phase you showing him the computer. “Look I finished the essay.” You said. “From the other day?” he asked, you shook your head. “I guess my fingers really did wonders didn’t it.” You rolled your eyes. “get out of my room jaemin.” He smirked. “Im just saying , these fingers are magical, look how fast you finished that essay.” You picked up the plushie haechan gave you for your birthday about to chuck it at him, but he quickly shut the door.

“Dumbass.” You turned back to your computer, going over your syllabus for the upcoming week. Your door slowly creaked  open,  you thought it was jaemin, so you picked the toy up, your arm up ready to throw it. “Stop fucking around jaemin.” You threw the toy. “Jaemin?” you swiveled around in the chair, facing the person. “Was he just in here or something? Why are you calling me jaemin?”

“Oh shit haechan my bad, jaemin came to return something to me , and he was fucking around so I had to kick him out my room.” You quickly explained , he walked into your room, you noticed him stumble a bit — he was drunk. “I thought he was fucking around at my door.”

He hummed sitting on your bed, the toy in his hand, his cheeks a dusty red from the alcohol. “Did you have fun with mark and Johnny tonight?” he nodded, you hated when he was quiet, it seemed uncanny. “I did, but it was ruined.” He said. “Ruined?” you questioned. “How was it ruined?”

“I figured out I must be the problem.” He said. “What do you mean hyuck?” You turned in your chair facing him. “I might bit be as witty as jaemin or as strong as jeno or even as smart as renjun, but I thought I at least had some good qualities.” He said, picking at the hair of the toy.

“donghyuck what are you ta– oh.” It finally it you. “Shit, how did you find out?” You said. “I heard jaemin talking about it when I walked into the house.” He said, finally looking at you. “Are you upset?” He scoffed, smiling to himself. “Did you fuck renjun?” You looked at him weird. “no.”

“Good, I refuse to lose to renjun.” He said. “Why are you in a one sided competition with renjun, he hardly comes out of his room?” You said. “Because you don’t see it, but I do, I am man, I saw that jeno and jaemin wanted to fuck you and look what happened.” You rolled your eyes. “You’re deranged, renjun doesn’t want to fuck me.”

“well im not missing my chance and letting him win.” He said, sinking to his knees. “W-what are you doing?” You asked , as he crawled to you. “What does it look like?” He tapped your legs. “Im gonna eat you out.”

He pulled your legs apart, you were only in a oversized shirt, and some underwear. “H-haechan.” You covered your clothed heat. You’re drunk.” He scoffed. “I'm fully aware about what I want, and what I want is to eat your pussy.”

He moved your hand. “Fuck, you smell so good.” He inhaled. “Can’t wait to eat you out.” You chewed on your bottom lip. “hyuck, you’re drunk, you need to sleep.” You said, but he wasn’t listen. “Please, I really want to.” He looked up you, a look in his eyes. “Please.”

He kissed at your thighs. “See I am fully aware.” He kissed your clothed cunt, you sighed, your hands flying to his hair. “You taste so good.” He said licking your folds. “Let me take your panties off and get a full taste.” He said, his voice sounded so breathy, almost like a whimper — it turned you on even more. “that’s all I want, you don’t have to do anything in return.”

“Fu-fuck okay.” You moaned, he smiled kissing your thighs once again. “thank you.” He quickly grabbed the waistband of your panties, you lifted your hips — holding on to the arms of the chair as the air from your aircon hit your cunt. “So pretty.” He said, dipping his head back into your thighs.

“Fuck , such a pretty pussy.” He licked your now exposed folds. “sh-shit haechan.” He sloppily made out with your cunt. “it feels so good, doing so good.” Your praise went straight to his cock, his cock twitched against his pants, he hummed against your cunt. “fu-fucking good boy.”

You tugged at his hair with one hand, holding the arm of the chair, pushing him deeper and deeper into your cunt. “Hyuck, fuck!” You yelped. “Fuck im gonna cum.” He pulled away, his lips and bottom lip covered in your juices — his eyes completely blown. “Please cum.” His fingers strung at your clit, he looked up at you. “I want you to cum in my mouth.” He said. “Please I want it.”

“Fuck im cumming.” He put his mouth back on your cunt, your legs tightened around his head, cumming — haechan catching all of it, getting even more intoxicated. “Haechan.” You whined as he cleaned up his mess, pulling away. “Did I do good?”

You ran your hand through his messy hair. “yes, you did.” He smiley like a fool. “You like being called good boy" You smirked. “Are you- are you a sub.” He pinched your thigh, you hissed, tugging at his hair. “im not a sub.” He said. “Just being called good boy by you turns me on.”

“So it’s just me?” You smirked, he could hear the condescending tone. “If you tell anybody then I’ll deny.” He said. “Too bad the entire fucking apartment heard it, keep it down.” Jeno stood in the door. “and I still got to fuck her first.” He closed the door. “now you have to let me fuck you.”

“Haechan get the fuck out my room.”

“You are right.” Jaemin ogled your bust. “Huh?” You said sitting in the front seat of the car, renjun driving since he was the only sensible one. “Your tits do look good in that bra.” Renjun looked at the boy through the mirror — he wasn’t dumb, he knew what was going on, he seen the changes happening, the sexual tension that was constantly lingering in air when you were around — it kind of made him jealous.

Renjun had always thought you were pretty , he was newer to the apartment, but he was constantly nervous whenever he tried to talk to you — often opting to stay to himself in his room. “Stop looking at my tits jaemin.” You said, turning around where the three boys were. “be on your best behaviors, no getting sloppy drunk, im not dragging you home.” You said, but they weren’t paying attention, you shook head turning around.

“My tits seem more important.” You said to yourself — renjun slammed on the breaks, quickly putting his arm out to stop you from  hitting your head on the dashboard, the guys in the back not so much. “Shit im sorry I thought I saw a cat in road.” Renjun said, as the guys in the back moaned and groaned in pain.

You turned to him, where he was smiling to himself. “We’re here anyway.” You said, as he parked the car. “Go drink it off, not too much though.” You said, climbing out the car. “I swear he did that on purpose.” You heard haechan mumble as you all walked into the bar where your other friends waited. “Thank you.” You turned to renjun. “F-for what.” He smiled, you laughed. “Don’t mention it.” He followed behind the guys where Johnny and mark were.

“What!?” Your friends looked at you with jaws dropped. “All of them?” jinhae asked. “well not renjun.” you said taking your sip of your drink. “but yes.” You said. “And they all know about it?” You nodded. “I mean they’ve all seemly walked in or found out in someway.” You said. “And they’re okay with that?”

“Do they really have a choice, im not really looking for a relationship and they can easily stop if they want, im not going to them for it.” You shrugged. “Wow you lucky bitch.” Dayhun said. “We can barely find a guy who can find the clit, and here you are getting good dick by 3 guys who actually want to fuck you.” You turned to where they were, all of them looking directly at you. “Hi.” Haechan waved beaming, jeno slapping the back of his head. You turned around laughing at them.

“Are you a loser?” Jeno slapped the back of the boys head. “Stop waving.” The boy rubbed the back of his head. “Will you guys stop hitting me, i am in pain!” He shrieked, Johnny  and mark caught on to the tension. “What the fuck is going on with you guys?” Johnny said. “There’s this air around all of you guys, and I can’t tell if it’s hostility or- it’s sexual hostility.” Renjun spoke up.

“Sexual hostility?” Mark questioned. “Why?” Renjun got up to get himself another drink while they explained to the two boys. “Hey.” You stood at the bar. “Hey.” He smiled, ordering his drink. “Are they drunk yet?” You asked. “Not yet give it another 20 minutes, we’ll be dragging them out of the bar.” You shook your head. “Great.” You said, the bartender returning with both of your drinks. “here for her drink too.”

“Thank you, you didn’t have to.” he held his hand up. “I wanted to, go have fun with your friends.” He said, turning to make his way back to the boys. “What were you guys talking about?” jaemin asked. “nothing I just bought her a drink.”

“what?” Johnny smirked. “You fucked her too, lucky bastard.” Renjun rolled his eye. “No im not fucking her.” He said. “you mean they’re all fucking her, but not you.” Mark said with wide eyes. “Like is this voluntary or does she find something wrong with you?” Renjun cursed at the boys as they busted out into laughter. “I’m leaving all of you here watch, you bastards I hope you all get an std and won’t be able to have sex at all.”

And of course you had to end up dragging haechan out of the bar — jaemin and jeno dragging their bodies behind, stumbling. “Stupid fuckers who can’t hold your drinks.” Renjun held the door open as you dropped Haechans body in the back seat, letting them all crawl into the back. “Thank you love.” Haechan slurred, you shut the door climbing into the passengers seat— renjun into the drivers.

The ride home was nothing the sorts of good, jeno and jaemin arguing drunkenly about random shit, and haechan dry heaving complaining about having to throw up. “junie think you can speed up this car, before I take the wheel and crash it.” He nodded, pressing on the gas.

You guys finally got back to the apartment, renjun dragging haechan by his collar. “Be more gentle, im sick.” He whined. “And who’s fault is that, renjun opened the door to haechans room, pushing him inside closing the door.

“Hey yn, come.” Jaemin slurred. “Let’s go in your room.” He smirked. “If think you’re getting fucked tonight think again.” You took his hand off your shoulder. “go to sleep and sober up.” You said, he pouted. “Jeno, lets cuddle.” You shook your head, watching jeno push at the boy. “No you have a boner, im not cuddling with you like that.” He said , you closed the door huffing. “see why I don’t go out with them often?”

Renjun stood up against the wall. “This will be last time I go out with them two.” You said, walking into the kitchen, renjun followed behind. “Here.” You reached into the fridge pulling out two beers. “For your help in getting them to bed.”

He took the can from you, you opened yours taking a sip. “I think staying home is way better anyway, my feet are killing me and this bra is uncomfortable.” You bent over taking your shoes off, giving renjun a  perfect shot of your boobs. He took a sip of his drink, trying to look away.

“Don’t wear things that make you uncomfortable.” He said, you smiled. “look at you being all caring, this is the most you’ve said to me in a week, I was certain you hated me.” You walked into the living room sitting down on the couch. “I don’ hate you.” He said.

“Could’ve fooled me.” You said. “I don’t really, Im just nervous.” He said, you cocked your head to the side. “Nervous?” You questioned. “why are you nervous?” He said too much , he sat the beer down. “Maybe the drinks from the bar and that beer is too much.” He felt the heat rising to his face. “Im talking too much.”

You chuckled, he smiled before chuckling too. “No tell me why are you nervous?” You said, putting your hand on his thigh — he knew you meant it in a comforting way, but his cock clearly didn’t get the memo, twitching against his jeans. “W-well because you’re you.”

“Im me?” You questioned, he nodded. “You’re pretty and smart and you don’t care about what people think and you're hot.” He covered his mouth, he swears he’ll never drink around you again. “fuck im an idiot.” He said. “No it’s cute, you’re cute.”

You hissed again, the pain in your shoulder increasing. “it’s time to give this bra up.” You sighed, rubbing your shoulder. “Let me." He said. “Oh you don’t have to, once I go to my room it will be off.” You said, but he stopped you.  “im good at these things, trust me.” He said. “fine.”

You turned around, your back was facing him. He moved your hair to the side, bringing his hands to your tender shoulders, rubbing — you sighed as he magically worked on your shoulders. “Fuck that feels good.” You whispered.

He was bit his lip, but you sounded so pretty, your moans going straight to his cock. “You have like magic fingers or something.” He hummed, sliding your bra down your shoulder, your neck fully on display — ready to be kissed.

“You feel better?” He said you nodded. “You’re a god send.” You said, his hands lingered on your neck. “Renjun.” You were about to turn around and question him, when you felt his lips against your neck. “Im sorry.” He whispered. “I just don’t think I can handle myself anymore.” he left little kisses along your shoulder blades, nipping lightly making you shiver. You turned around, slamming your lips against his.

You climbed into his lap, unbuttoning his shirt — reaching behind undoing your bra. “fuck you’re so pretty.” He groaned, you sat directly on his cock. “m'so hard right now.” He groaned, you grinded against him. “fuck, please don’t tease me.”

You got up, he undid his pants lifting his hips up, leaving them at his ankles. You lift under your skirt, pulling your panties down, climbing back into his lap, you grabbed the base of his cock, sinking down on it. “shit.” He sighed as you sat down fully on his cock. “Fuck you’re so tight.” You moaned out, holding his shoulders for support.

“Y-you’re so big.” He groaned. “Fu-fuck yn, please move.” You began to move your hips, up and down on his cock — he held your hips, guiding you. “your cunt feels so good.” He groaned, throwing his head back in pleasure, he felt like he was in heaven, the way your cunt fluttered around him, squeezing his cock beautifully. “Oh fuck -fuck- im gonna cum.” He groaned. “Im not wearing a condom, get up, im gonna cum.”

But you don’t listen, you keep riding him. “Fuck, yn please.” He groaned, trying to hold off. You tug at his hair, whispering in his ear. “Fuck, please just cum.” You moaned. “Please im gonna cum.” He cursed, fuck you were killing him. “Fuck!” He groaned, shooting his load into your cunt, triggering your own orgasm. “Sh-shit renjun!”

Your legs trembled as you rode out your high. “god your beautiful.” He pulled you into a kiss — out of all of them he was the only one to kiss you.

You both later went to bed, and you didn’t wake up until the next morning when you heard them fussing in the kitchen, you groaning as you stomped into the kitchen. “What the fuck is going on?” You yelled. “Where is the coffee? I need coffee.” Haechan groaned.

“And that’s why you’re raging early in the damn morning.” You opened the cabinet, slamming it. “Why so loud?”  Jaemin rubbing his temples. “Im pissed.” You sat down at the table. “Why did renjun not make you cum?” You eyes shot open. “Are you people just waiting by for the next time I fuck one of you?” You said.

“I did make her cum.” Renjun walked out of the room, his bag on his back — seemingly the only one with his life together. “You could’ve too had you not been drunk out of  your mind.” He said, jeno and jaemin snickered on the side.

“I want to smack that smirk off his face.” Haechan grumbled, as renjun walked out of the apartment satisfied. “Don’t get all pouty, you’re still my good boy.” You teased. “Yah, I said don’t talk about that outside of the bedroom.” He said. “Wait does that mean I was the best?”

“Yn don’t answer that.” Jeno said, jaemin agreed. “please don’t.” You turned to the other boy who was waiting. “Answer it , I can take it.” He said. “You can’t bitch about it.” Jaemin scoffed. “He’s gonna do that anyway.”

“Just answer it.” He said, “no you weren’t the best at fucking me.” He frowned. “We told you.” Jeno said. “Are you serious? How could you be so cruel and say that?” He whined. “Be calm.” You said. “You didn’t even let me finish.” He flagged you off. “I don’t want to hear it.” He said.

“Was it jaemin?” Jeno asked. “No.” Jaemin didn’t seem so surprised. “I guess I gotta keep trying.” He said. “That’s the spirit.”

“Then who is it?” Haechan spoke up. “renjun or jeno?” he questioned. “if you say renjun im gonna kill myself.” You shook your head. “well if would’ve let me finish, you would’ve known that you and jaemin weren’t even in the race.” You said. “Why, are you that biased?” He argued.

“No dumbass because you two didn’t actually fuck me.”

©️LUVYENI

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 16: DP in 1 hole - Mafia!Stucky

Summary: You were adamant about proving Steve wrong and doing something you’ve never done before.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, threesome (f/m/m), double penetration in one hole, size kink, dom/sub, sir kink, masturbation, dacryphilia, multiple orgasms, overstimulated, teasing, kinda mean!steve, discussion of safe words, praise kink, creampie

masterlist 📚 

kinktober masterlist😈 

AO3 Link 

“Just…Just do it; I can’t take it, I promise. Please, sir!” Each word you sobbed seemed to stumble into the next as you begged so quickly, wiping your tear-stained face on the muscled shoulder. The man beneath ran his fingers over your scalp to try and calm you, ignoring the fact that his cock was still pressed so deep inside of your cunt that he was knocking into your cervix with each breath, let alone thrust. Bucky was holding you tightly from where you lay draped over his muscular body, both of your chests rubbing against one another, and from this position, it meant that the Brunette gang member could look over your shoulder to the other man on the bed.

“Oh baby girl, you sound so pretty when you’re begging like that”, Steve mocked with an air of arrogance, loving that your reactions were becoming more pathetic. One of his big hands was wrapped around his cock, pleasuring himself as he squeezed your arse cheek with the other. He had the perfect view from where he knelt in the centre of the bed, with Bucky and you led out in front of him; even though your back was facing him, he could see where your face was turned to the side, see the tear tracks down your cheek.

He couldn’t blame you for having this reaction; this had been going on for hours, and you’d been so good for him, but sometimes he and Bucky wanted to play, push you to your limits. In doing so, you became increasingly more pathetic and submissive, whimpering and needy for more until either Steve or Bucky enough was enough.

“You’ve done so well for us, Doll”, Bucky praised with a smirk as he kissed the back of your head, which, in turn, earned an eye roll from Steve as he knew his best friend was just trying to give you all the compliments so you’d cling to him more. “How many times has she orgasmed for us now, Stevie? 5? 6?”

Steve couldn’t help himself as he spanked your arse cheek, watching the jiggle of the muscle and the way you initially cried and jolted at the action but then moaned and perked your arse up to receive another one. Bucky also groaned at the impact as your walls had clamped down around his cock so tight that he almost came. Steve chuckled under his breath at the glare from Bucky, who had been trying to edge himself for the last half an hour and knowing what Steve was like, he wanted to see just how good his will strength was.

“She’s came so many times that she’s made a mess over the bed, haven’t you, Baby? And yet, you still want more? I don’t think you can handle any more, especially both of us”. Steve licked his bottom lip as he eyed your pretty hole, even wondering himself if this was even possible; yes, he’d seen it on porn, but two cocks in one hole? “We’re so big anyway, Honey; there’s no way you’ll be able to take both me and Bucky.” Steve taunts and earns even more of a desperate cry, more tears streaking down your cheeks.

“Pl-Please, Sir! Just try; I can take you both; I know I can”. To try and prove some kind of a point that you were not done with the fucking, you pushed yourself up slightly on Bucky’s chest and began to ride his cock. However, you were exhausted, and your cunt was puffy and sensitive, so it was more of a gentle roll than a harsh ride.

“That’s it, feel so good on top of me, Sweetheart”, Bucky groans, both hands on your hips to try and guide you slightly, completely forgetting about the double penetration idea for the moment all thoughts turned to the steadily moving wet warmth that moved around his shaft.

Steve’s arm wrapped around your chest from behind so that his hand secured around your jaw, pulling you flush against him; his mouth dipped to the shell of your ear, teasing with his teeth and causing a gasp to escape your lips. “If it hurts, what are you going to do?” he asks, his voice full of authority that was usually just saved for when he was at work.

“I’ll say my safe word”, you immediately answer, clarity clearing in your mind as your movements slowed, knowing that this discussion was necessary.

“Good girl. Now if my cock doesn’t fit next to Bucky’s, you’ll continue to be good, aren’t you, and not complain. We’ll just continue playing like we have been, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir, I understand”, you say without any sort of whimper or stutter noted as your eyes finally blinked open. Bucky smiled warmly up at you, which caused your hole to clench at just how handsome he was, but before he could react, Steve was releasing his hold on your face and pressing against your shoulders until you were lying flat against Bucky again.

You stopped rolling your hips and waited patiently for the next steps, which were Steve’s fingers. He didn’t need to use lube just yet as the blonde leader gathered some of your fluid from where you and Bucky were connected onto his index and middle finger. Ever so gently, he ran his fingers around the rim of your hole, near your perineum, as this was the area presented to him and where he was hoping to slip his cock into eventually.

With Bucky still inside, Steve ended up teasing him and stroking the two of you. Adding extra pressure, Steve slipped his fingers into your hole, following Bucky’s length until he reached the first knuckle. You were snug around his fingers as he managed to push in a couple of centimetres further until nearly to the second knuckle.

Steve pressed his hand on your lower back as he observed you taking a deep breath to keep all the muscles between your legs relaxed, which made it easier for the man to continue to stretch you.

“That’s amazing, Baby, you’re taking my fingers so well. Look at that! Taking two of my fingers and Bucky’s cock, aren’t you our special girl”. Steve’s praises helped to keep you relaxed as you smiled and warmed at the words he was saying like he was stroking the happy part of your mind.

Bucky bit his lip at the sensation, which was difficult to explain. As Steve stretched your hole, it made everything feel tighter, and just as he pushed deeper, he also had the stimulation of Steve touching the sensitive part of the underside of his cock.

“Just going to stretch you a little bit first, then I’ll add another finger”, Steve explained as his eyes trained between your face and pussy. He moved both of his fingers in semi-circles, trying to see how far your walls were willing to stretch.

Holding back a groan, he could feel how much you were trying not to clench and knew if they did succeed with this, he would lose his mind. He just hoped he didn’t cum as soon as he penetrated, which was a similar thought that Bucky had.

Scissoring his fingers around Bucky’s cock, Steve shifted closer so that a third finger could be added alongside the other two. You desperately moaned in Bucky’s chest, fingers digging into his shoulders, leaving nail crevices in his one fleshed shoulder.

Steve remained still for a few seconds, allowing you to adjust before moving in and out slowly. “Fuck Steve!” It wasn’t you who moaned but Bucky who had closed his eyes to try and concentrate on not cuming before the action had even begun. It felt so good to have his cock inside your puffy tight hole, but then to have fingers as well stroking along his shaft was unlike anything he’d experienced before.

Looking over your shoulder, you took a deep breath and tried to sound as confident as possible, the tears having now stopped as you remained calm. “Please, Steve, I can take it, just try”.

Steve ignored your pleas to hurry up and continued to stretch your pussy, twisting and spreading his fingers to give his cock extra space. Even though he was three fingers deep, he and Bucky were not exactly small in the cock division. This was why this fucking session had been going on for so long because they spent so much precious time making sure you were adequately stretched to take one of their cocks, let alone two at the same time.

There had been plenty of times where one of them had been fucking your cunt and the other in your arse but nothing to the extent of two cocks in one hole.

You sighed as Steve finally pulled his fingers out and reached for the lube, coating his cock thoroughly before wiping a generous blob onto your pussy. Moving his entire body closer, Steve began to prepare for the insertion.

“Remember: Safeword”, Steve said loudly enough that you glanced over your shoulder and nodded. “Take a deep breath for me, Baby”.

You did as instructed, filling your lungs to the brim with oxygen before slowly breathing out of your mouth, which is when you felt considerable pressure between your legs.

As Steve was so thoroughly lubed, his cock nearly slid in the wrong direction, so he had to push the tip of his cock hard against Bucky’s shaft and then knock his hips with a deep thrust. At first, he wasn’t sure he would get it into your pussy with how much resistance he was met with, but then it nudged beneath the rim and was welcomed into the dangerously tight warmth of your cunt.

You had expected it to hurt in some way, but to your happy surprise, all it initially felt like was the deep burn that came with stretching your cunt for a cock, just with increased intensity. It was an odd sensation to experience, like you were going to break at the first stretch, but as your body relaxed and more of his cock pushed in, everything was just thigh highest level of pleasure imaginable.

The screaming moan you released echoed around the bedroom as Steve’s cock penetrated until he, too, was caressing your cervix with the mushroom tip of his dick.

Bucky's hands were massaging over your arse, hips and back as he tried to keep himself under control. Having Steve’s cock moving against his but pressing hard with the limited room, the difference in textures between your gummy walls and the solidness of the shaft. The tightness was another experience, almost like a pretty vice trapping his cock to perfection.

“Holy shit, Baby! That’s it; stay nice and relaxed for us. I'm just going to let you get adjusted for a moment.” Seeing his and Bucky’s lengths fitting into one hole, Steve was mesmerised. He even contemplated reaching for his phone and taking a picture to show you the wondrous thing your body could achieve.

With your cunt stretched so far, Steve and Bucky were adamant that they could feel your pulse fluttering through your walls. Not only this, but you’d squirted over Bucky from just the stretch.

You knew that you were too squished between them both to take over right now and ride their cocks and also the exercise that your body was going through; you weren’t sure you even had the energy to push off of Bucky’s chest to find a good position.

Thankfully, Steve was more than prepared to fuck for the three of you. His two meaty hands joined Bucky’s over your hips as he ever so carefully began to rock his hips in the smallest of motions so that only an inch of his cock was moving in and out of your cunt.

As more of his length edged out before being pushed in, your entire body seemed to just give up with the tension running through it with the anticipation of the double penetration. Your limbs went slack, as well as your jaw, as your mouth opened in a perfect circle to allow the animalistic grunts and moans just to seep out.

“You sound so good when you moan like that”, Bucky gasped as he tried to fuck up with Steve, causing your body to jolt with the movements.

Soon, they were both fucking your pussy, Bucky, at a slow pace that allowed his cock to brush over all of the hyper-sensitive nerves of your g-spot and with the pressure of Steve’s cock pushing on him, you could feel every since ridge of Bucky. Steve, on the other hand, was able to fuck you with a bit more intensity, sweat beginning to drip down his temple, but he couldn’t give a shit about that right now, not when his girl was taking him so well. 

“I’m so proud of you, taking both of us so well; you feel so fucking good”. Steve’s voice sounded almost as desperate as your begging did earlier as his eyebrows knitted together with the pleasure taking over his body.

Bucky was watching Steve, feeling his length fucking against his, the tightness of your pussy, the moans you were all sharing; he knew his orgasm was impending. Steve could see this from how Bucky’s hands slackened, and the grunts stopped as he tried to concentrate on not orgasming.

To be truthful, Steve was also near his orgasm, and you’d been in a constant state of cumming since both cocks had slipped inside, the coil in your abdomen tight and fluttering with involuntary contractions around their cocks. Releasing the hold on your hip, Steve reached over to grab Bucky's jaw, forcing him to look up at his boyfriend and boss.

“Cum for me, Bucky, I know you want to. Let’s fill our girl up together, yeah? Make her drip with our cum, that’s it, fucking cum for me, Bucky”.

Steve tightened his hold on Bucky’s face and slammed into you with an increased pace that your eyes rolled back just in time for Bucky to cum, hard.

“Fuck! Holy-Shit-” Bucky cried out, his body withering beneath you like he wanted to arch his back but couldn’t be with you on top. You could feel the wetness and warmth of his seed as he spilt deep inside you.

“Good boy, look so pretty when you cum. Don’t you think so, Baby?” Steve asked you, but you weren’t paying attention, not when you were deeply lost in pleasure. Steve’s pace increased further as he fucked his way to orgasm a few seconds later. More cum filled your pussy, mixing with Bucky’s as it began to drip out of you. Steve’s head tilted back as he thrust through the orgasm until the shivers ceased, and he could take a minute to catch his breath.

Sitting back on his heels, Steve’s cock slipped out of your cunt first, swiftly followed by Bucky’s, meaning the blonde had the perfect view of your pulsing, gaping hole as it leaked with their seed, dripping out onto the sheets below.

Despite being half asleep due to exhaustion, you managed to whisper, “See, I told you I could do it”.

[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.)

[6esiree]

Gen Z Things With The Hazbin Women

WOO, I finally did something with the women! Just like last time, all of these quotes were taken from Instagram 😭

Charlie:

The Hell-Quake

“Imagine all the titties that were bouncing during the Hell-quake earlier?” You say, slowly turning to Charlie, your face at level with her chest.

“I, uh—what?” Charlie stutters, a blush creeping up her neck.

“Including yours,” You unashamedly add, laughing as she clamps a hand over your mouth.

“Oh my goodness, you’re so embarrassing,” Charlie says, but she drags you away to your shared room anyway, charmed.

Vaggie:

Got a Girlfriend?

“You got a girlfriend, Vagina?” You approach Vaggie, who’s been sitting by herself at the bar for a while already.

“Uhh, it’s Vaggie,” She blinks, confused over your question. “And no…”

“Well, you do now,” You say, snatching her hand without hesitation. “Get your ass up and hold my hand.”

“What happened to hello, how are you?” Vaggie squeaks as you drag her off the stool, but she isn’t complaining, either.

Niffty:

The Breakup

“How did you get dumped?” Niffty asks you, patting your cheeks dry with a tissue, but she’s struggling with all the moving you’re doing. “And why are you laughing while you’re crying?”

“I’m sorry, but he bought me the shoes I wanted then told me to walk out of his life,” You sniffle, another bout of laughter coming over you.

“Wait, that is kind of funny,” Niffty says, retracting the tissue from your face before the corners of her lips starts to twitch upwards.

Alastor was looking for Niffty, but as you both laugh like maniacs on the couch in the parlor, your face red and puffy from the tears, he slowly backs away.

Cherri:

Late-Night Texting

“U always smiling,” You text Cherri, a smile growing on her face as she reads it from her notifications. “U be making me smile and shit.”

“Aww, I’m glad,” Cherri texts back, trying to think of something sweet to add, her fingers typing away.

“Ima fuck the shit outta u tho,” That makes Cherri erase her text, rolling her eye with a huff.

“Alright, goodnight.”

Rosie:

A Love Poem

“Oh, isn’t that just lovely?” Rosie hums, taking a sip of her tea as she watches a cannibal recite poetry to their lover.

“You like poetry?” You ask her, and she nods, basically granting you an opportunity to fuck with her. “Here, I got a little something for you.”

“Sugar is sweet,

lemons are sour.

Spread thy legs,

and give me an hour.”

Rosie starts choking on her tea, never anticipating that you’d say something so crude. When she notices the smug look on your face, however, she grabs your chin and leans over the table, smiling at you with those razor-sharp teeth of hers.

“Oh, darling, just a measly little hour?” She says, her lips a few centimeters away from yours. “We’re going to need more time than that.”

“Hey, wait a minute, I was just joking,” You squeak, but it’s too late. She tosses you over her shoulder and leaves the room with you. “Rosie!”

Lute:

Beauty Comes From The Inside

“I would call you beautiful, but they say that beauty comes from the inside,” You pant, trying to find a way to escape Lute, who has you pinned to the ground.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Lute says, annoyed, thinking that you were trying to insult her. “Ugh, never mind—do you yield or not?”

“Hey, you didn’t let me finish!” You say, smiling wickedly at her. “I can’t call you beautiful because I haven’t been inside of you yet.”

“Training is over,” Lute quickly says, relinquishing you and flying away before you can see the blush on her face.

Emily:

You’re Fine Art

“I don’t really interact with winners all that much,” Emily confesses, fidgeting as she sits next to you. The two of you just started dating. “So, I’m sorry if what I say or do isn’t all that great, romantic-wise.”

“That’s okay, I’m not any better,” You shrug. “I mean, I come from a generation that says the freakiest shit to their partners.”

“Oh? Like what, exactly?” Emily asks, leaning in, curious to know. When you ask her if she’s sure, she eagerly nods.

“I know we’re not supposed to touch fine art,” You start, slightly leaning in and grabbing Emily’s chin, her breath hitching at the action. “But someone’s gotta pin you up against the wall and nail you, right?”

“That is…wow,” Emily stutters, her eyes nervously darting to the side as you wink at her, a wonky smile on her face. “Wow.”

Velvette:

Wise Words From A Young Person

“Life is like a weiner, sometimes it gets hard for no reason,” You say between sips of your morning coffee, trying to comfort Velvette, who was complaining about something that happened. “But it won’t stay hard forever.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Vox coughs, setting down his toast, while Valentino chuckles away next to him.

“Okay, why did we agree to let them in our group again?” Velvette asks, scooting away from you.

Carmilla:

The Passport

“Uhh, why are you handing me this?” Carmilla asks you, her eyes darting between you and the passport in your hand.

“You must understand, I just really love Latinas,” You say, shaking the passport, asking her to accept it. “Come on, you gotta let me in!”

“This is why you called this meeting?” Carmilla sighs, rubbing her temples.

“Just one date, that’s all I’m asking of you,” You say, but she shuts the door on your face before you can add anything else.

Sera:

Uppies, Please!

“Look, I’m not trying to, uh, offend you or anything,” Adam starts, scratching the back of his head. “But do you ever get annoyed by how freakishly tall Sera is?”

“Oh, I love me a tall woman,” You say, leaning onto the table and perching your chin on top your palm. “My favorite thing to do is look up at her and, like, do this,” You lift your arms up, making grabbing motions with your hands, “And say, ‘Uppies please!’”

“Does she actually pick you up?” Adam blinks, unable to imagine Sera doing such a childish thing.

“Who is this ‘she’ you two are discussing?” Sera asks as she steps into the room.

“Uppies, please!” You say, and with a practiced motion, Sera picks you up. She’s horrified because her body moved without thinking.

“Holy shit! I’m using this as blackmail,” Adam stupidly announces, taking a picture before Sera can put you down.

She throttles him before he leaves the room, however, a squeaky rubber duck-like noise escaping his throat.

[itsmarsss]

Vulgar Display of Power [Miguel Diaz x fem!Reader] (Cobra Kai)

You can never fucking beat him in a fight and it's getting frustrating.

Request: omg more miguel please!!! smutty if u can xx already dating if you want? Fic title comes from my (second) favorite Pantera album. Word count: 4,350 Warnings: SMUT. established relationship, theres plot but it only serves to justify the sex lol, i use present tense in this, degrading, first time sub!miguel kind of, handjob, fingering, oral sex, penetration (p in v), semi-public sex (i guess? no one's around but the location isn't exactly private), a lot of use of pet names (baby, babe, love, mi amor), so much swearing. obviously no one is a minor here I don't mention much context but can be read as hs senior year or later, doesn't really matter. if you're a minor kindly keep away from my blog and this fic please

“Fuck!”  You yell out as Sensei Lawrence announces Miguel’s win. In turn of your frustration, Miguel sports a grin that playfully mocked you.

Now don’t get it twisted, you’re not a bad fighter. You’re not even a good one- you’re great. The best, except for…

“Diaz! Good one.” Sensei Lawrence praises.

“Nice, dude!” Hawk comes to fist bump him.

Tory comes to you. “Girl get it together! You’re better than that!”

“I’m fucking trying.”

Miguel hears the two of you talking and decides to insert himself into the conversation. “Come on, it’s not a big deal.”

“I say this with love but it is a big deal and I’m gonna find a way to beat you.”

“Okay. Whatever you say.”

[. . .]

“Hey,” you hear Miguel call from behind you, turning around for a split second to look at him before getting back to packing your stuff to leave the dojo. 

“Hey.”

“So, are we still on for tonight?”

“Yeah. I just wanna go home first and take a shower.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Hey are you okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“Something seems… weird.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, babe,” you tell him, bringing a hand to his face and lightly tapping his cheek.

“You sure?”

“Yes! I just said it is!” You realize you blew up at him for no reason, immediately feeling bad for it and apologizing, not managing to look at him. “Sorry.”

“See? That’s what I mean!”

“I really am sorry.”

“Okay, but something’s clearly wrong.”

You stay silent, and he walks up to you, cornering you so you’d face him.

“What’s going on?”

Honestly, you don’t want to tell him. Because it would sound stupid. Because it is stupid. You don’t even exactly know why it had gotten so under your skin this time. 

“It’s fine. I’m just a bit off today.”

“You don’t have to talk about it, but you don't have to lie either.”

“Fine. You wanna know what’s wrong? I’m frustrated because you keep beating me.”

“What?”

“Every single time we’re picked to fight I just can’t fucking beat you. And yes, I’m glad you don’t go easy on me, cause that would be like a million times worse, but I'm frustrated with myself. You’re the only one I've never fully beat in a match. The closest I’ve ever gotten to that was a tie.”

“Well most of the time it ends up in a tie.” 

“Yeah but none of the time did it end with me winning.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this.”

“Of course you don’t. I just feel like if I still can’t beat you then have I really been getting better?”

“What? That’s nonsense, babe. You know that, right? Of course you’ve been getting better. We all have.”

“See I told you it would be stupid. I don't even know why I'm feeling this way.”

“That’s okay. We can just sort that out.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll ask sensei for the keys.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna stay here and fight and we’re not gonna leave until you win.”

“That’s really not what I was trying to get from this-”

“What, are you scared?” He knew just how to tug on your strings. 

“Oh fuck no.”

“Then we’re doing this.”

“But what about the date?”

“We can go tomorrow. If you need my help today, I'll help you today.”

“Okay.”

[. . .]

“Alright, ready?”

You only nod your head yes, too focused to even speak.

“Okay. Round one.”

You get a couple punches in, but he’s faster than most of your hits. He wins..

You huff, annoyed. “Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Okay that’s it. Again.”

This time, determination runs through your veins, as tired as you were. Every single moment of feeling weak or inferior or as though you were seen by others as basically the female equivalent of Miguel, and not yourself, not someone capable of being better than him in any way, channeled into this round. 

And you won. This time, you fucking won. 

“Wait that’s three,” you realize.

“Yeah! You won!” Miguel celebrates.

“What?”

“You won, babe!”

“Oh my God. Holy fucking shit. I won?!”

He laughs, coming up to you. “You did.” He places a quick kiss on your lips, but you’re taken over by the adrenaline, pulling him back to you by the collar of his shirt when he went to pull away, tangling him into another kiss, deeper and more passionate this time around. “That was hot,” he comments, as you finally did let him part ways with you to breathe, your bodies still flushed together. 

You feel your cheeks burn at his comment. “I just kicked your ass,” you joke.

He doesn’t even seem fazed by the comment. “Yeah you did,” he grins.

“I did not expect that to unlock some sort of loser kink in you.”

“Hey! That’s not what this is!”

You lift an eyebrow, amused. 

“What, you’re telling me it’s a crime if my insanely hot girlfriend looks insanely hot while kicking my ass?”

“Should I kick your ass more often then?”

“You’re welcome to.”

“You’re so weird.”

“Shut up,” he retorts, finally having enough of the playful bantering, unable to wait a second longer to have your lips on his again. 

Miguel pulls you even closer to him- if that were even possible- by pulling on your waist, not wasting a second more before diving in again, pulling you into a kiss that is much more feral this time around. His actions scream that he wants you, and the high from having reached your goal and beat him in the last round mixed with the lust forming in you from seeing him so affected, so attracted to this, it feels good.

You suppose some people would maybe come into an issue if they found themselves in your place. Men aren’t exactly known for being great at dealing with women being better than them in… well, anything. But Miguel acted genuinely proud of you. Hell, he’d canceled your date night to help you with this because he realized it was important to you. And more than being supportive, he was turned on by your display of power. 

His kisses start trailing out of your lips, to your jaw, to the space below your ear. “You did so well, love. You should get something in turn, huh?”

Your mind was getting a bit foggy. Still, you join in playing his game. “I suppose I should. What are you gonna do?”

“Whatever you want me to,” he breathes out. Oh. That was definitely new. 

“Whatever I want?” He only nods, looking up at you, waiting to be told what to do. Holy shit, that was hot. “That sounds good.”

“Just tell me, please, I’ll make you feel so good, I promise,” he pleads. It was almost pathetic. You decide you’d never get enough of hearing him plead like that. You loved the times in which he was more dominant, but you could definitely get behind this too, no issues whatsoever.

You pretend to think. “I don’t think I will.”

“What? Why not?”

“I want you to guess.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I- Uh- Ih-” he takes a deep breath. He liked that. You smiled. “I can do that.”

“Good boy,” you try, hoping he didn’t find it weird. 

Apparently, he didn’t. “Fuck. Fuck,” he lets out in almost strangled sounds, wordlessly dropping himself to the floor. He looks up at you with doe eyes, as if pleading for permission. You smile at him, signaling everything was okay. You cage his jaw with both your hands, and he closes his eyes for a moment, letting you play with his hair.

“You look so pretty like this,” you coo, and he feels it down his spine, his eyes fluttering open. 

“Sit.”

“What?”

“Sit,” he repeats himself, but it isn’t demanding. Not this time. 

“I heard you.”

“Sit, please, baby.”

You grin. You didn’t know you’d like this this much. “Of course, baby.” You sit down on the bench, legs closed. He parts them confidently, eyes not leaving yours as he does so slowly, positioning his body between them. With his face mere inches from yours, he looks up at you again. 

“Do you want me to kiss you?” He guesses. His cheeks red, he clearly looks embarrassed. It turned him on and it turned you on too. 

You nod eagerly, signaling he’d guessed right. He smiles and closes the distance between you, pulling you down and attaching his lips to yours. It starts out slow, tender, experimental- testing the waters. He grows eager pretty fast, though, kissing you harder, his hands traveling to either of your thighs and planting themselves there firmly, squeezing in a way that makes you gasp slightly in surprise. 

He pulls away just to tease you about it. That’s the kind of little shit he is.

“What was that for?”

“Nothing.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” 

“Not this then?”

He squeezes your thigh again and you try to act unbothered.” He notices though, pleased with himself.

“Oh shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He pulls you into a kiss again with no warning, more feral than before, his hand traveling upwards, inside the legs of the shorts you were wearing. 

“Take it off,” you pant out, a stern tone overtaking your words, and he complies without questioning. You smile, pleased with that. You lift your hips slightly for him and he throws the shorts somewhere on the floor behind you. 

He stares at your underwear for a few moments, as if lost in a trance. You laugh. “Hello? You here?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”

“Used to what?” You move a hand to caress his face. 

“The fact that I’m the only one who gets to see you like this.”

“Aw, do you like that, baby? Does it turn you on?” You ask, your tone almost mocking him.

He only nods his head yes, looking embarrassed.

“That’s good.” You make a show to slowly take off your shirt, a sudden surge of confidence running through your veins at his words, discarding it along with the shorts behind you.  His eyes widen and he mumbles a few words, the volume of his words so low you couldn’t make it out for the life of you, before he just surges forward again, not aiming for your lips this time, but for your jaw. 

“What was that?” You manage to breathe out as he continues his trail of kisses along your jaw.

“What?”

“If you’re gonna talk you’re gonna let me hear it. Got it?”

“Oh-okay.” He continues to place quick, slight pecks along your jawline, but you know exactly what he’s doing.

“You’re not distracting me from that. I wanna know what you said, baby. Wanna hear you.”

“I said- I said uh-“ he gulps. “It’s dumb.”

“That’s okay.”

“I just said ‘fuck me’.”

You let out a small laugh. “Oh. It was dumb,” you mock him again, and you can see he didn’t expect that.

“What?”

“I though you wanted to fuck me,” you joke.

 He doesn’t take it as a joke. “I do. I do I just meant- it was just-“ oh. This was for real. 

“I know, love. I was just teasing you. Okay? You’re being so good to me.”

His eyes almost sparkle at the praise. 

“You know I think I changed my mind.”

“What?” 

“Maybe I should fuck you.”

“What do you mean?”

You look down on him and smile, a genuine sweet smile. “Get up.”

“But-“

“I thought you said you’d do whatever i wanted you to,” you fake-pout. 

He doesn’t say a word before standing back up. You do the same, keeping your body flushed to his. You slowly turn the two of you around, cornering him until the back of his knees hit the bench and pushing him to sit down on it. 

Standing in front of him, you tilt your head to the side as you take in the view. He looked disheveled as ever. You loved it. “I think you’re wearing too many clothes.

“I- I can take it off.”

“Yeah I think you should.”

“What… what do you want me to take off?”

“Let’s go with the shirt first, baby. How about that?”

He nods furiously. “Yeah I can do that,” he takes his shirt off in a millisecond, throwing it with your clothes on the floor. 

“Oh, you look so pretty,” you coo, stepping closer to him and lifting his chin up to look at you. You make your way around the bench to be behind him, and you can see him gulp in anticipation. Fuck, you were loving this a little too much. You trace his biceps with your finger. “Your arms, I love your arms, you know that? So big and strong,” you exaggerate, and he quirks an eyebrow at the suspicious comment. This doesn’t sound like it was getting to a nice praising place. “And your body, I mean your abs. Your thighs, your thighs are so pretty, baby,” you crouch a bit, still behind him, wrapping yourself around his back so you could snake your arms to his thighs, still only tracing them with a single finger. “So how come you lost to me like a bitch?”

That seems to remind him very well of what was happening.

“It- it was one time.”

“One time you lost to me. But you’ve barely ever won, have you?”

He stays quiet. 

“Come on, baby, talk to me…” you pout, snaking your arms around his torso and kissing his neck.

“N-no.”

“Did you like that you lost to me baby?”

Quiet again.

“Did it turn you on?” You whisper in his ear and you can feel him take in big a breath. .

He couldn’t even look at you .

“Oh, pretty boy, I wanna hear your voice!”

He gulps again. “It- it turned me on,” he confesses. 

“I never knew you were into this sort of thing.”

“Me- me neither.”

“Do you like it when I’m stronger than you? When I tell you what to do?”

You remove yourself from his body entirely, and he whips his head at record speed to look at you, desperate for your touch again. You circle the bench once again, standing in front of him. You grab his jaw and lifts his head up to look at you, your other hand messing with his hair. “So pathetic. I’ve barely done anything to you and you’re this hard.”

You finally sit yourself down on his thighs, legs on either side of his torso, and he immediately and instinctively grabs your ass ‘for support’ as he’s always insisted with a grin. 

“You’re so fucking pathetic you’ll do anything I tell you to. Won’t you?” You pout, tilting your head.

“I’ll- I’ll do anything you want.” 

“That’s a good boy,” you mess with and pet his hair again. You loved it when it was just long enough for his curls to appear. 

He shivers. “Can you say it again?”

“Oh, no can do, baby. You’ll have to keep being a good boy to earn it.”

“I’ll- I’ll be a good boy, okay?”

You nod silently, your arms draped around his neck, and you pull yourself closer to get access to his face. You kiss along his jawline slowly, paying extra attention to the spots just under his ears, which made him shiver like crazy. When you find it sufficient, you move down to his neck, and he lets you, tilting his head to the side. You kiss down his neck, trying your best to not leave any marks. He’s still shivering now, and you know him well enough to know he’s okay, but can’t resist teasing him a bit more. 

“Oh no, baby, you’re trembling! Is everything okay?” You feign ignorance.  He doesn’t reply. “Aw are you too horny to speak to me? Is that the issue?” You mock.

He lifts his hips for some friction, an involuntary tell that he was enjoying this too. “Aw, do you like it when I’m mean to you? Huh?” You lift his chin again. He begrudgingly nods his head yes. You smile and move your hand from his chin to his cheeks, squeezing both off them. “Does my baby like it when I’m in control? When I handle you like this? When I call you names?” 

He tries to reply, but can’t really with you squeezing his face like that. 

“Oh I can’t hear you baby!” You let go of his face. “You’re gonna have to say it again.”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I- I like it when you’re mean to me.” 

“I know, baby boy. I can feel it.” With no other warning, you palm him through his shorts. He was impossibly hard. Knowing he was liking this was for sure improving your confidence. The moment your hand meets his crotch his breathing becomes unsteady and he thrusts his hips up again, wanting more. You start kissing along his neck as you keep feeling him up through the shorts, and then he is gone. He lets himself let out delicious moans you would play on repeat if you could, tilting his head back to grant you better access to his neck. He wants more, and you know he does. But you want to hear him say it. 

After a few minutes, he does. 

“Please take it off.”

You press a gentle kiss to his neck, containing a grin. “What are you talking about, babe?”

“My shorts, take them off, please. Please, take them off.”

You press a quick peck on his lips this time. “You beg so pretty, baby. I think I’ll need more of that.”

He looks confused.

“Anything I tell you, right?” 

He nods. 

“Good. Eat me out.”

His eyes widen at the bluntness of it all. And then he realizes what you meant by needing more of his begging: you weren’t going to solve his little problem all that soon. 

“I- yes. Yeah.” 

You pull yourself off of him and he stands up as quickly as humanly possible, grabbing your hand and yanking you to Sensei’s office, rushing to move everything that was on his desk. You catch his drift and pull yourself up to sit on it. You’re so enthralled you don’t even really have the time to rethink what you’re doing and where you are. Miguel gets himself on his knees, and the sight of it from above is breathtaking. 

“Are you sure you wanna be on your knees? They’re gonna hurt.” You ask him, seriously this time.

“I don’t care,” is all he says, dismissing the thought. He pulls you closer to the edge of the desk, and you let yourself lean back on your elbows. He brings a hand up your thigh and takes off your underwear, you lift your hips up to help. 

He brings both his hands to your thighs, slowly pulling them apart, opening your legs. 

He wastes no time before diving in, startling you when, in a second, his head is between your thighs while his hands squeeze them hard and his mouth is suddenly on you. 

He moves his tongue up and down your clit, occasionally circling around it. Now and then he takes a long lick, from your hole to your clit, letting out a moan from time to time as he tastes you, and he picks up on the shaky breaths and loud moans you let out at that (and the way your hands fly to his hair, slightly pulling it.) 

He moves his tongue to your hole, licking and kissing around it before getting it inside.

It makes you almost want to scream out his name. 

“Oh my god. You’re being so good to me, baby. Please don’t stop-” 

You can feel his smile. 

He takes one of his hands off of your thigh and moves it to thumb at your clit as he keeps fucking you with his tongue. The feeling is heavenly, but you can’t help but want more. 

“Your fingers.” Is all you say, and he gets it.

Normally in a situation like this he’d be teasing you in some way, but right now just the thought of upsetting you with that and having you leaving him to finish himself off, or something down that lane, got him quiet. 

He changes what he’s doing, going back to flicking your clit with his tongue, and slowly inserting one of his fingers. You decide you want to tease a bit more. “That all you got?” You challenge him, knowing exactly what you’re doing. He inserts another finger, not taking the care to do it slowly this time, and he pushes them deep inside you, curling them upwards to make sure you felt it.

You let out a moan that’s so pornographic you’re almost embarrassed at it, but you can feel him grin at it, pleased with the reaction. He keeps on, but at a slow pace. In other instances, you didn’t mind some slow, passionate sex. You loved it, even. But right now you wanted to be fucked.

“Harder.”

He pulls his head up to kiss you. You let him. As you make out, your taste still on his tongue, his fingers thrust harder, deeper inside you, making you moan into his mouth, which Miguel seemed to enjoy a little too much.

You can feel yourself brimming an orgasm, and your words become nonsense as he keeps on, your noises becoming so higher-pitched you can barely register you’re the one making them. 

“Fuck I’m gonna cum. Baby, I’m gonna cum. Holy fucking-“

It hits you suddenly, killing your train of thought. Your body trembles as he keeps thrusting his fingers into you, letting you ride out your high. He laps it all up gladly, but you pull him away, your clit oversensitive. 

That doesn’t mean you didn’t want more.

“Everything okay?” 

“Yes, baby. You were such a good boy. But I want you to fuck me now.” 

Miguel was still not used to you being this blunt. And honestly neither were you, for the matter. The words just kept coming out. 

“What- what do you want me to do?” 

You get close to his ear and whisper. “Whatever you want, baby.”

His eyes widen. Whatever he wants. 

 He pulls you off the desk and wordlessly takes you back to the locker room. He leaves you for a second to retrieve a condom from his bag. A prepared man, you’d say.

You manage to take a better look at him and laugh. He furrows his eyebrows together. “What?”

“You look so fucked out right now.”

He rolls his eyes at you and takes off his shorts, kicking them away. He goes to pull his boxers down but you stop him, stroking him in an agonizingly slow pace. He lets out a groan. “Please stop, I’m not gonna last.”

“Oh poor you.” You yank his boxers down. His dick is so hard it must be painful. And all from losing a fight and being called mean names. He walks the two of you backwards until your back is against a wall. He puts the condom on and looks at you for a green light. 

“Go on, baby.” 

He nods, pressing his cock into your hole slowly, letting you adjust to the intrusion.

“Fuck.” You breathe out.

“Was that a good fuck or a bad fuck? Does it hurt?”

“I’m alright. It was a good fuck.”

“Okay.” He hikes up one of your legs to his waist, and you think he’ll be content with that position, but he hikes up your other leg too, pressing your back even more firmly to the wall and supporting your weight by holding firmly onto the back of your thighs. 

“Woah what are you doing?”

He doesn’t bother responding, thrusting into you experimentally. 

“Holy shit.”

That is enough for him. His thrusts become harder, deeper, faster. He hadn’t realized just how desperate he was until now. 

Hitting the spot inside you that made you see stars with every thrust, it doesn’t take long for his breath to quicken and his thrusts to become sloppier. “I’m gonna- can I-“

Was he trying to ask for permission to cum? Holy fucking shit, that was hot.

“Shh, it’s okay baby. You’ve been so good. You can cum.”

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou,” he chanted.

 You laugh as his desperation, but it quickly turns into a moan, with Miguel eager to cum and fucking you so hard now you can’t even understand how he could still hold up your weight while doing that. Bless you universe for giving you a strong, strong boyfriend. But all of that didn’t matter now, because he was fucking you so good you could feel the familiar sensation of an orgasm building again.

“Please don’t stop.” That was the first time you begged him for something the whole time.

“I won’t, mi amor.” Oh, that broke you. That one pet name didn’t come out all that frequently, so when it did, you felt giddy on the inside. 

With a few more thrusts, both of you reach your high, and at that point Miguel did have to pull you down, although your legs currently trembled so hard it was a little difficult to stand, but he helps you out after tying the condom up and throwing it away.

“Holy shit,” you finally let out. 

“Holy shit,” he agrees. 

“What were you saying about your loser kink again?”

“Will you shut up about that?” He smiles.

“Was I too mean to you? I might’ve gotten a little carried away."

He looks down to the floor in embarrassment as if he hadn’t just fucked you into oblivion. “I liked it.”

“That’s good baby. So, shower?”

“Yeah you stink,” he makes a disgusted face, plugging his nose and everything just to irritate you. 

You roll your eyes at him. 

A/N: pls be kind to me and cut me some slack i've never posted smut before 😭 i promise ive had sex before 😭 fighting for my life lmao

[irndad]

hi im back! okey so def can see spencer still wanting to hug and snuggle with you even when fighting or mad at each other. he even gets genuinely ??? confused ??? when you try to sleep on the couch instead of in bed at night. he holds you and either reader or him is like "i know we are snuggling right now but i am still super pissed off at you." lol i can just see it. he may be petty when mad but he wont stop trying to touch you bc its a biological need of his and no argument is more important than needing you 🥺

enjoy this I did it very fast!!!! ily

He knows he’s not easy to be with sometimes. She would never say it, but it’s true. He doesn’t always get the jokes, sometimes pushes things too far and without even knowing it the ground gets pulled out from under him. 

And sleep- Sleep is so complicated. The memory of the first time she slept in his bed is etched into a place he could never erase. Spencer had always had trouble sleeping, either fear or alertness plaguing him into the late hours of the night. He used to lie awake, the kind of exhausted that feels like it’s seeping out of your bones, while constantly facts he’d unwittingly memorized about how sleep deprivation can cause brain damage. 

But then she’d come into his life. All soft words and gentle disposition, and there really is something magic about the way that everything just dissipates when her warm, soft body curves into his own. He’s slept well almost every night since. 

Except today, she isn’t coming to bed. 

It’s his fault, and he knows it. He wasn’t being fair. She hadn’t seen him for two weeks (and he hadn’t slept nearly enough without the weight of her form beside him since the last time he saw her) and she’d said that she wanted to be prioritized more. 

“I haven’t seen you in weeks, Spence!”

His head was killing him. Was it actually possible, for a headache to kill you? Her voice is audibly upset, and it’s alarming how he could be the cause of it. 

“Please,” he had said through labored effort, “Can we talk about this later?” 

“When would you like to talk about it? Because I don’t ever know if you’re leaving-“

“Do you even know what it is that I do?  That it’s not a choice for me to go? I have to do this. I can’t pick and choose and honestly, I don’t want to. If you don’t get that, we’re not doing what I thought we were doing.”

It sounds foreign, his own voice. And it’s after he’s said it that the sick taste reaches his throat because oh, that means the end. Her lovely face is unreadable for a brief moment, before something like grief splays over her expression.

It’s silent for a beat, and Spencer wishes he could swallow the words back up, rewind his life like a battered VHS tape where he’s not so stupid to mess up the one thing that’s ever brought him peace.

“You’re not yourself, Spencer. I’m gonna give you a minute.”

A minute, it turns out, is hours in the living room. She hadn’t left, thank fucking god, but she hadn’t come back. Of course she hadn’t. She wasn’t the one who needed to apologize. 

He’s just so tired. 

He thinks of her so-sweet voice, the curve of cheek- the junction of her neck and shoulder, and how much he would like to have her pressed against him. He pads out into the living room like a nervous puppy, and sees her sleeping on the olive green couch she had picked out. Her hair was splayed across the arm of the sofa, and her head laid on a throw pillow, their fuzziest blanket draped across her form. 

His first thought is how low he’s dropped, that he’s jealous of a blanket. 

His second his that she is not coming to bed. He sits beside her gingerly, and the scent of her body wash lingers in the air. 

“Are you planning on coming to bed?”

“I didn’t think you’d want me to.” He can tell she wants to sound cold, but the truth is much worse; she sounds guarded. 

“I always want you to.” It’s the most honest thing he’s said today, and it’s just not fair, how much he revolves around her. How he has waited 14 days, 13 hours and 34 minutes to hold her again and managed to ruin it within the first 20 minutes of having seen her again. He grabs her hand, soft and pliant against his in a way that almost makes his heart leap. “Please? Come to bed?”

Her gaze softens, the warmth and light that guides him back in her eyes, and he hopes his relief isn’t too visible. It’s then that she drinks him in. It feels too revealing like she can see right through him. His clothes are old. He’d rushed off the jet to see her, and the half moon circles under his eyes only lend to the unimpressive picture of himself. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” she breathes, touching the side of his face. He instantly leans into it, the contact more than he’d be willing to give up to save his dignity. “Come here.”

She wraps her arms around him, and he pulls her into his lap, squeezing her tight to his chest, like she might disappear. 

“I’m still mad at you,” she says, looking at him with such affection it betrays her words.

“That’s okay,” he says into her collarbone, “As long as I still have you.”

[genshxn]

dan heng being bad at feelings, the sequel.

started writing this pre-1.3, so i am once again emphasizing that i am making shit up. (well, 1.3 dropped while still working on this and the TB mission was rather lacklustre, so i'm gonna half ignore it).

sorry for any typos/mistakes/whatever, most of this was written at dubious hours of the night.

contains. mild-moderate canon divergence, dubious jing yuan shenanigans, dh being somewhat down bad. i dropped a bit too much spice in, so it is no longer “mild”. take that as you will.

7.5K words. THIS IS SO FUCKING EMBARRASSING.

here's the first part in case you haven't read it. you're still not the trailblazer.

tags: @akhiran @cypunk-0 @fiona782 @seelelovesbronya @bleakqblake @xiaos-poems

this place is not a place of honour. no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here…nothing valued is here. Below 15, DNI. Go away.

the next day, you awoke to a feeling of emptiness at your side. any part of the bed that your limbs weren’t splayed upon was long cold with dan heng’s absence. you were alone, still left in the nest of sheets and pillows he arranged himself. it couldn’t have all been some kind of fever-dream, could it? 

no, any such possibility was dashed when you looked at the messages on your phone. one unread, left two hours ago. 

with the ellipsis and all. oh, the self-inflicted misery. (does he really consider every single person his enemy?) you sighed, swinging your feet off the side of the bed to get up. if you knew him well enough, then you already knew the next little while was going to be tricky, to say the least. it was obvious what his plan was from the beginning, with him abandoning your side at the sun’s first rays: avoidance. 

and avoid you, he did. in the denouement after phantylia’s attack, he still had to be around you, but the stiltedness he carried with him was palpable. he made a point to stand as socially acceptably far from you. it was almost like he was acting like a ghost solely to you. elusive, non-communicative, only seen out of the corner of your eye. perhaps leaving you with the lingering feeling of being watched, and ultimately gone before you could even call his name. in fact, he quite literally ghosted you. he wouldn’t even respond to your messages.

once the day after the final events rolled around, you thought that maybe he would have had enough time to finally be able to face you again, but no. apparently he elected to confine himself to the archives the moment he returned aboard the express. however, this didn’t deter you from going knocking on his door. 

"dan heng?" you tapped on the sealed door. your ear was right up against the frame, listening intently. 

whatever shuffling was coming from within fell still at your voice. 

"dan heng, i know you’re in there. i just heard you stop moving." 

there was more silence, then followed by a sigh. "did pom-pom not relay my one request?" 

"no, they did. told me that i’m not allowed near the archives."

"yet you’re still here…" his voice was strained, and distant from the door. he must have been sitting either at his desk or on his thin, messy futon. beyond that, it was hard to imagine what he was doing in there, or even what he looked like. it was surprising. you thought he struggled to control his form, but it seemed no problem when he wasn’t with you. so was he the regular old dan heng sitting in there? or the vidyadhara that laid next to you that night? 

"you really think i’m gonna listen? i never do." you squared yourself further towards the door. "now, c’mon. we’re already talking, so can’t you just—" 

"n-no, i can’t," he cut you off. "i… i’m sorry, but not here, and not like this." 

"can you at least tell me why you say you can’t be around m—?" almost as if on cue, in came an angry pom-pom inbound like a squishy freight train. 

"hey! what did pom-pom just say?!" they cried. "can’t you follow one simple rule for the time being?"

as pom-pom ushered you away from the archives with weak thumps to the back of your legs, you grunted to yourself. you were tempted to chuck them in the opposite direction, but alas, such a thing was not in the cards for you. after all, it would be wise to not tempt fate with the conductor. things seemed like they were going to be more difficult than you anticipated.

░░░░░░░

early the next morning, long before either march or stelle would rise, you shuffled your way into the parlor car in search of food. if it was going to be anything like yesterday, you were anticipating being the only one in the parlor car. however, to your surprise, there was another person present when you silently closed the door behind you—dan heng. he was in his regular appearance of shorter, fluffy hair and his regular attire. you sighed as quietly as you could, staring at the back of his head that leant on his wrist, propped up on the table. seeing him staring dejectedly at the food was a sorry sight.

the unspoken tradition you had with him was that when the whole express wasn’t eating together, it’d always be you two sharing your meals together. it began when you first joined the express—after dan heng himself, but before march. left adrift as a vagrant amidst the stars, you were all too familiar with the feeling of loneliness. it was always at its worst when you managed to gather together enough scraps to resemble the meals you used to eat in your old home. to you, when possible, meals were something that should be shared in the company of others. so when you first saw dan heng sat alone on your first proper morning aboard, you saw part of yourself in him. a part that you wanted gone, now that you had a new home. so you sat yourself down next to him, your own food in hand. you were met with some minor (albeit polite) resistance, but you being the stubborn ass you were, would not have it. you knew your persistence was risky, but it paid off. not long after that, he would wait until you were sitting with him. 

so to see that sight left you saddened, but also vehemently annoyed. normalcy was out the window thanks to this baffling, self-imposed restriction he had against you. as quietly as you could, you stalked up behind him. moving as lightly as possible felt like it was the only way possible to get closer to him. it wasn’t like he developed a sudden allergy to your presence or something, was it?

you were successful in thwarting his pre-occupied senses as you reached the velvet couch. but maybe you were too successful, because he almost leapt out of his skin when you planted yourself down next to him. you leaned against the table and spoke. "how about us talking if it’s over breakfast?"

he did manage to calm down, but not by a lot, and not enough to give you a reply. his expression was still frazzled as he struggled to keep himself in place. 

"can you please tell me if i’ve done something wrong? i don’t understand why we’re suddenly like strangers again," you said, reaching out to put your hand atop his one that was clenched at his side. but he snatched it away before you could feel the warmth of it.

"it’s my fault. you’ve done nothing," he said. "but please, i need some time before i can talk to you properly."

he turned to get up and leave, but you caught him by the sleeve. "w-wait, by why?" you trailed off, voiced far weaker than intended.

the look he gave you was weird. it was a jumble of confused emotions, but the most you could make out was nervousness. you had no idea what that light flush could have meant for you. his mouth parted to make some sort of reply, and you could have sworn you the glimpse of sharpened canines. "since when have you had fangs in this appearance?" you blurted out after doing a double take.

his eyes flared wide open and a hand flew over his mouth. "s-since never." with that, he slipped from your grasp. "please excuse me."

you watched incredulously as he walked out of the parlour car and back towards the archives as if he had wooden knees. you had no idea what just happened. rejection, you supposed. but considering how he was that night, it made no sense. nothing about this made any sense. 

whatever it was, it was slowly eroding your patience, leaving you biting the inside of your lips in irritation. it’s true you were doing some type of avoidance when his alternate form was finally revealed, but it was nothing of this calibre. it was almost impossible for it to be the case with dan heng, but if this really was some kind of petty revenge, he may as well have whipped out a steel chair after you knocked shoulders with him.

░░░░░░░

your shameful failure of an interaction left you in need of recuperation. you hadn’t felt that irked and downright baffled since one of herta’s curios fell on your head. so now, you were blathering a ranting tirade at stelle and march over some snacks, all in the parlour car. "i swear to whatever aeon’s listening, he’s turned emo or something." you folded your arms across your chest, sinking down in your plush chair. 

"like he wasn’t before?" stelle mumbled, not looking up from whatever gacha game she was playing on her phone. 

"eh, not really. he does have his moments, though." march shrugged, grabbing a single chip. "but yeah, i’ve never seen anything like this. it’s so weird, he almost never avoids you like this!"

"hence why i’m so confused."

"things seemed to get pretty tense between the two of you after he had his magical girl transformation," stelle added while shovelling a handful of chips into her mouth, still not looking up. "then maybe… the day after phantylia, he got even weirder."

"yeah, like, he won’t go near you for some reason, but he keeps staring at you so longingly and sighing like you’re the last cookie in the jar and he’s been told he can’t have any more!" march said with the melodramatic flourish of a swoon.

"that one sounds like it’s based on real experiences." stelle cast her a sideways glance, to which march let out a sniff and wiped away a dry tear.

"just how much has he been doing that?" you muttered, unable to comprehend. 

"a fair amount from what i’ve seen. he’s looked like a kicked puppy every single time," march said. "well, as much as dan heng can look like a kicked puppy." 

"not that he’s particularly talkative, but i’ve tried asking him about it. was only met with howling winds of jarilo-vi’s everwinter storm." stelle placed her phone down on the table and sat back with her arms crossed. "but now, he’s just being straight up weird. (y/n), what’d you do to him?"

"yeah, i mean, he won’t even eat in the mornings if you’re there!" march cried. 

your nails dug into your knees as you looked at your lap. you could feel a heat creeping onto your face as you recalled him so close to you. his words still rung in your head. if they were true, then what the fuck was he doing now? "i—i don’t really want to say, since it’s between him and i," you said. "but some pretty… significant things happened, i guess."

march suddenly drew in a comically loud gasp. "DID HE FINALLY CONFE—" she began, but you clapped your hand over her mouth before she could finish. 

"must’ve," stelle said, leaning forward with her hands on the table loosely clasped in front of her. 

"it wasn’t… exactly like that." your voice was low. your attempts to protect your dignity were feeble at best. it’s true, he never explicitly told you he has feelings for you in the classic format of ‘i like you’, but… who were kidding, it was a confession in all forms except literalness. you grabbed at your face, hiding the creeping heat behind your hands with a groan. 

"no, it was totally a love confession. he’s been head over heels for you for a while now! even when i first met you two, it was so obvious he had a big ol’ crush on you. how’d you not notice it?!" 

"cuz they’re denser than dan heng." stelle deadpanned, staring right at you.

"if you’re going to be making indirect insults about me, at least do it to my face," a familiar voice muttered from somewhere a distance behind you. in walked dan heng, eyes closed and pinching the bridge of his nose. he was once again in his normal appearance. stelle immediately squashed you down beneath the square table, leaving you only to look at everyone’s legs. 

"oh, so the elusive dan heng finally graces us with his presence, huh?" you couldn’t see march’s face, but you knew she was making a half-lidded, unimpressed frown at him—the certified march classic.

"i’ve had a lot of information to collate and put into the archives, so i’ve been busy—" his words stopped short. from around the bend of the chair’s edge, you could see him inch closer to the table. 

"been busy what? you just stopped talking." march sounded confused. 

"is that… (y/n)’s scent?" his tone was far sharper, but his wording sounded unsure. 

"are you calling them stinky? that’s kinda rude, isn’t it?" march frowned. 

"huh? no, of course not!" he sputtered. "it’s just v-vidyadhara senses. they’re quite acute." there was the shuffling of some fabric. he must have crossed his arms.

"well i say it’s cuz you’re going heehee-silly-delulu with your big fat crush on them." march chimed in. your eyes widened as you frowned. why were they both baiting the literal dragon?

the only sound that came out of dan heng was something like an indignant cry that was cut-off at its head. "i… i do not—"

"you don’t like them? alright, keep telling yourself that," stelle said. 

"…what hand does (y/n) have in this? they were just here, weren’t they?" he took a few steps towards the table. you imagined him with a strained look on his face, fighting to keep his composure like he yesterday. as he was stood right in front of you, you felt yourself shrinking back. it was maybe only seconds until ground zero—until everything hit the fan. "because that’s their scent nearby…" he changed his footing just a touch, and the second you saw the tips of his fluffy hair peak down past the table, you launched headlong into him. not by your own volition, but because a heeled boot slammed into your lower back, jetting you forward. your face collided with some part of his legs (of which was not very soft), sending you both in the same direction with simultaneous cries. there was a significant thud when dan heng hit the floor, and your head knocked into something bony.

your eyes cracked open, rubbing your forehead with a groan, but all sounds fell silent when you realized you were hovering between his knees. you stared up at him with wide eyes and a stifled breath, where he met your owlish gaze with his own. in other words, you were almost right between his legs. both of your faces lit like infernos, but neither of you moved. a grand total of two seconds passed before the vidyadhara features came out. it was quick—his horns rose from his head, and his hair spilt over his shoulders. his tail appeared behind him, laying still. even his clothes suddenly swapped out on him. his chest rose and fell as his breath seemed to quicken. 

"s-sorry," you swallowed thickly. in almost an instant, he dug one of his clawed hands into his arm. he clambered to his feet, unable to look you in the eye.

"wh-what the hell was that?" his voice cracked.

"fuck, that was my bad." stelle said from behind you. 

"ngh, you… please excuse me," he quickly turned and strode back towards the archives, still holding onto his arm. you hadn’t moved from the floor when you watched the passenger cabin’s door close behind him. 

"what the heck, stelle?!" march cried, startling you.

"holy fuck, i’m so sorry. i did not think it’d go like that," stelle said. when you looked back over, she was leaning back and had raked her bangs back, hand still on her forehead.

"how did you think it’d go?" you groaned, unsteadily raising to your feet once again.

"i dunno, but not like that."

"why’d he suddenly change like that, i wonder?" march tapped her finger to her chin, looking off to the side. 

"cuz he’s down bad." stelle looked very confident in her answer. 

you almost choked on your spit.

"he’s down bad, but then he keeps running off 'cuz refuses to let himself be so."

"what kind of a theory is that?!" march huffed.

"a simple observation. mr. yang says i’m perceptive, so i have final authority on all judgements ever made." stelle crossed her arms over her chest, face seldom making any expressions. "and i say exactly what i said."

you stood with your head hanging in your hands, burning with embarrassment. things couldn’t keep going on like this. if this was the new dynamic, then how were any of you supposed to function while you’re out trailblazing? how were any of you supposed to function even just normally? that was it. you raised your head until your eyes lifted from behind your hands, a new resolve filling your blood. maybe jing yuan might know something. 

░░░░░░░

managing to secure a time to speak to jing yuan was unbelievably easy. then again, you should gave guessed it’d be. over messages, he told you that since he’s been doing nothing but resting, he’s incredibly bored—someone to see or speak to is more than welcome. and so, it quickly was organized that you could stop by a planned location in aurum alley to see him.

the time soon rolled around, as long as it took. during the day, as expected, there was no sign of dan heng having any interest in interacting with you normally, much to your growing irritation and mild chagrin. even march and stelle were shaking their heads and clicking their tongues in disapproval. 

it didn’t take long for you to get there. you agreed to meet him in a small, secluded area, just out of the way of eyes that might seek to pry into the general’s private business. it was a bit into the early evening. it wasn’t too hard to find him sitting at his table since he wasn't exactly the most conspicuous person out there. the golden artificial sunlight poured in from an oblique angle overhead, coating the tucked-away courtyard in a honeyed light. once he saw you approaching, jing yuan cast you one of his usual sleepy, cattish smiles. 

"um, hello," you spoke, pulling out a seat next to him. 

"and to what do i owe the pleasure?" there was almost a purr in his voice. "tell me, what is it you wished to speak about?" he leaned forward, resting his head on his wrist propped up on the table. "or did you simply come here to chat with me because you felt like it?" he made a closed-eyed smile laced with mischief. 

"ah, i’m sorry to disappoint, but it’s because i’m having a bit of a dilemma." you scratched the back of your head with an awkward laugh. "please hear me out on this one, but it’s about dan heng." 

"oh, dan heng? what about him?" jing yuan tilted his head. "as it stands, i’m afraid you might know him better than i do, unfortunately. so i don’t know if i would be able to provide the best of help for you." there was a faint, bittersweet smile on his lips, making you bite your own. 

"it’s, ah, a little more about him as a vidyadhara, i suppose. i’m not sure if he has anything in common with his previous incarnation, but i thought there must be something there." 

"well, i can say his obstinance seems to have certainly survived reincarnation."

"it’s thriving," you huffed, at which jing yuan lightly laughed. 

"so is that the root of your problem? him being too stubborn on something?" 

"that’s about it, yeah." you pressed your lips into a line. "he’s been avoiding me for… reasons i won’t divulge… and i don’t what i can do to get him to talk to me again." 

"you don’t need to put it like that. i can tell he really likes you," he said, the trace of a smug grin on his face. after you coughed loudly, he continued. "he’s rather obvious if you know what you’re looking for. but anyway, what happened between you two? if i’m allowed to know, that is." 

you swallowed nervously. should you really be revealing everything like this? you did it anyway. "one night, we said a few things of… i guess questionably romantic nature to each other, and he reacted in a way that i think was influenced by some sort of… vidyadhara shenanigans."

jing yuan looked at you with raised eyebrows and wide eyes. "go on." 

"he hauled me off to his bed and then got uncharacteristically affectionate. he had a back-and-forth with self-doubt once he realized i was really confused by it all, but i told him it’s fine. i mean, i even pet his horns out of my own volition and stuff." it was all coming out at this point. "then he eventually drifted off and then pretty much declared his feelings in his half-sleep. but even though i told him i’m fine with him doing whatever he was doing, he still decided to run off the next morning. i’ve tried to talk to him repeatedly, but he won’t reply to my messages and he almost freaks out every time i’m in his vicinity. i don’t get it!" 

"mm, that’s quite the situation on your hands there," jing yuan hummed. there was a mischievous spark in his eye, and you weren’t sure if you liked the look of it. "now, i couldn’t tell you the specifics, but if you say he got ’uncharacteristically affectionate’, then that’s definitely some old vidyadhara response. they can get very protective over the things they love." 

your gaze dropped somewhere in front of your as your face prickled with heat at his words. 

"but now, i’d wager he’s stuck in some sort of self-imposed battle of will against himself."

"and how would you suggest i get him out of it?" 

"i suppose there is technically the option of waiting this out," he glanced at your face. you looked embittered at such an inane suggestion, making him laugh. "or you could simply make him lose the battle, since it sounds like he’s set on taking it ad infinitum, if needed." 

"small issue… i’m now allowed near the archives," you sighed, leaning yourself back. "it’s hard to simply go there with both the conductor banning me as well as dan heng refusing to open his door." 

"hmm…" jing yuan shifted his hand beneath his chin. "might i do something a bit uncouth?" 

"uhh, okay." 

"come here for a moment." he slid himself next to you, turning to face you a little more. with a slight frown, you turned towards him as well. "now, i can’t guarantee his reaction to this, but—" he suddenly pulled you closer toward him and placed his head in the crook of your neck—the same side dan heng had his. one hand snuck its way around your neck and held the base of your neck ever so gently, while the other looped around your back. you had to fight a shudder when you could feel jing yuan’s lips ghost over your neck and shoulder. "if i do this, it may be enough to knock him from this cycle of his." 

"wh-what?" you strained out. 

"he’ll be able to tell i’ve been with you. and by the places i’ve been in contact with you…" he said, voice low. his faint breaths were cool on your shoulder. you couldn’t suppress a slight shiver. "…it should be enough to grant you access to… the archives, was it?" 

"y-yeah." you blinked a few times. your brain had been reduced to a single cell bouncing around inside your brain like a shitty maraca. 

jing yuan finally pulled back, assuming his original pose. "please forgive me for that… but you’ll likely see why i did it." he still couldn’t help but wear his usual small grin for the second part. "i’d now recommend that you find him again, and try to keep his attention long enough for him to notice you were with me. vidyadhara’s senses of smell are perceptive, so it shouldn’t be long. well now, you’d best get back then." his stupid grin was even wider and even smugger. his gaze wasn’t condescending, but read more as if he were thinking just wait and see.

"i… guess i’ll be going then. th-thank you, general." you made an awkward bow as you hustled back the way you came, hyperaware of the air brushing against your shoulder. it all felt incredibly foreboding… but that was to be expected when you were about to enter the dragon’s den. 

░░░░░░░

your plan was flawless:

1. jing yuan does his shit

2. go back to the express. 

3. bait with bubble tea to get the door open. 

4. "talk" to dan heng long enough until he notices jing yuan was up to something

5. ???

6. profit. 

just as detailed, to further your chances of getting that door cracked open, you decided to buy a bubble tea. a classic milk should have sufficed, since he tended to favour the more simple things. the chances of him actually opening the door to take it were already slim, but desperate times called for desperate measures. knowing him, he’d simply make you leave it at the door, which was a problem. so there you were, stuck on an express couch, plotting. (or, perhaps more aptly, chewing your nails in nerves). as you sat there, in waddled pom-pom, looking mighty chuffed for some unknown reason.

"hm-hm-hm! dinner of pom-pom’s own creation will be ready in just over 20 minutes!" they declared, puffing their stuffed chest. they waited for any reaction, but no one looked up at them, making them deflate with a scowl. "stelle, (y/n) you go tell everyone," they grumbled, shuffling back into the passenger cart and beyond. 

"wait, what?" you looked up—you hadn’t even noticed them. 

"we’re on messenger duty," stelle said from her seat. she was placed upside down on the couch, hair grazing the ground while she played her usual gacha games. 

"can i try and deal with dan heng?"

"i mean, sure." she looked over at you. "but what’re you plotting?"

"my entry into the archives. i come baring gifts." you motioned towards the untouched bubble tea sitting in front of you. 

"i’ll leave you to it. i’ll go tell march and the others then." she chucked her phone elsewhere on the couch and got up, wandering towards the passenger car. you followed shortly behind, offering in hand. 

it was a short walk. you knew you were being dramatic, but you couldn’t help but grow more and more nervous the closer you drew to the archives. you had already weathered so many rejections, so it’s not like this was going to somehow have a worse result. perhaps it was because you put too much on this. you’ve gone to a rather large effort just to have a slim chance of getting him to open the door—speaking of, you were already there. 

you raised your hand to knock on it, but before you could even lay your hand on it, dan heng spoke from inside. "what is it, (y/n)?" he was once again somewhere further off in the room, speaking with undecipherable emotions. 

"um." your voice cracked, making you cringe. "pom-pom said dinner’s ready in 20." 

"ah. thank you," he said plainly. it still kinda stung, being back at what felt like the stage where you were only acquaintances. 

"i also got you something." you tried to cast another line. 

"you can leave it at the door." 

you flopped your head against the door. of course he said it. "i’d rather give it to you now. it’s some bubble tea. the ice is melting." there was no response. you couldn’t tell what he was doing. "c’mon, it’s not like you’re sick or something." 

"hah, more like lovesick," stelle called as she walked past behind you. 

"stelle!" dan heng cried indignantly. he sounded closer to the door. "i am not—"

"if you’re not, then open the door." she simply kept walking. 

you were stood with wide, unblinking eyes and an open mouth, watching her jacket pass through the cabin door until you were left alone in the hall. the door suddenly slid open a little. you jumped, turning to stare up at him. as usual, there was a strained look on his face that he was trying to suppress. "see, i’m not—" he looked out and around for stelle, but she was nowhere to be seen. instead, he simply sighed. 

you tried to swallow your heart beating in your throat, but it still hammered away. "hi." 

he closed his eyes, leaning his head on the inner door frame. "hello," his voice sounded tired. tired with himself. "please forgive me for how i’ve been acting. i know it’s not fair to you. it’s just…" 

"i know, you need more time. you like to say it," you muttered with a slight, strained grin. "by the way, here’s your tea. it’s just your usual order." you held it out it to him, and he looked down at it with softened eyes. as he went to grab it, his fingertips brushed over yours. he seemed more startled than you, but after a moment’s hesitation, he placed his hand back over top of yours.

"i haven’t been completely honest with you," he said. (that was certainly one way of putting it).

you held your breath, as if making a single noise could suddenly startle him back into the archives. 

"i… since that night, i haven’t known what to do with mysel—" he suddenly paused, frowning the tiniest bit. he leaned forward, seeming to concentrate on something with closed eyes. once they opened again, his pupils had constricted into slits, and he was staring intently at you. uh oh. 

"wh-what is it?" 

"where were you before this?" he took the tea from you and placed it somewhere next to the door frame inside the archives. 

your stomach flipped. was this really going where you thought it was? "um. i was wandering around aurum alley." it wasn't a lie. "why?" 

"that’s not all. what else?" he took you by the arm and drew you into the archives. it was an uncharacteristic mess in there. low-lit, and with clothes, books and items were strewn all over the place, perhaps as a reflection of his state. you watched the door close behind you, and when you looked back, there stood dan heng with his full vidyadhara look on display, right in front of you. uh oh. 

he stepped closer to you until you could feel the warmth of his body radiating off of him, then grabbing hold of your shoulders. it was a tight grip, but not enough to hurt yet. he dipped his head into the crook of your neck and drew in a long but quiet inhale. "what were you doing with jing yuan?" his voice was low, almost with a slight growl. as he spoke, his arms had wound around shoulders, so he was holding the back of your head, just like jing yuan was. only far harsher than the other’s ghost-like touch. 

yes, this was going the direction you thought it was. "we—we only met to talk about something," you sputtered out, your heart in your throat again.

"then why do i smell him on you, as if you were doing something more than just talking?" with a free hand, he took your jaw and turned your face towards him. he was only inches away from you, gazing at you with narrowed, dimly-glowing eyes. "why go to him when you have me?" 

you frowned, eyes wide. "huh? what do you mean i have you? you’ve refused to speak to me normally ever since the morning after you hauled me to your bed. besides, i-it’s not what you think." 

but your words were lost on him. "no, this won’t do." his voice was barely a murmur. he seemed to be living in his own version of the world. dragon-brain was back, evidently a fuller force than ever. you weren’t sure what you were expecting, but it wasn’t him drawing you even closer, placing his head in the crook of your neck and nuzzling. your face lit like an inferno as some kind of noise escaped your lips. it was really back to the nuzzling. only with surprising fervour, this time. he nestled his face into your neck, exhaling small sighs against you. his nose and lips brushing against your skin was almost ticklish, but you weren’t laughing when his tail snaked itself around your hips, twining itself down one of your legs. 

"d-dan heng?!" you cried when he suddenly lifted you with his hands clasped beneath the backs of your thighs, assisted by the tail. he had his mouth placed right over top of your collar bone, watching where he was going from over your shoulder. "dan heng, put me down!" you had to hold onto his back and shoulders for stability. 

he gave you no reply, only taking you back to his mussed futon. similar to his bed at the inn, the blanket was strewn in a way akin to the base of a nest. stray pieces of clothing made up the rest of lack-lustre structure—you could have sworn one of your own old shirts you’d forgotten somewhere was poking out from beneath a different article. dan heng sat himself down in the centre of the futon and brought you into lap. your position was a bit awkward as you sat perpendicular across from him. both your legs went one direction while your torso was turned to face him. he sunk his head into the crook of your neck again, drawing in more, shorter inhales. 

"seriously, wh—what are you doing?" 

"he’s still on you." he said against your shoulder, warmth breath making you shiver. there was a slight growl in his throat again. 

"even after that?" as you spoke, he tilted your head away, exposing more of your neck. "hey, w-wai—ah!" you made a cry of pain when a pair of fangs suddenly bit down into your shoulder. it wasn’t hard enough to draw much blood, but more than enough to hurt. you shuddered with some ungodly, almost harrowed noise when his tongue glided over what would blossom into a bruise. his arms and tail wound tighter around you, as if you might slip away at any second. he moved on, this time toward your jaw, peppering it with desperate kisses. you tried to say his name as he trailed down in between his own rapid-growing breaths. he was panting once he reached your shoulder, his kisses sloppy. in some work of miraculous dexterity, he had readjusted your seat on him until his waist was slotted between your legs. all the while, one hand was in your hair angling your head for his best reach, the other around your back. you had to hide your face in his hair when he had began making small vocalizations, something like tiny whines. 

you said his name again, this time louder when he trailed his fangs back up your shoulder. right after he left a hot kiss on your shoulder, he bit down again. you seethed in pain, trying to push his head off, but you were only met with purrs. even though he didn’t seem fully aware of what was going on, those purrs had to be weaponized against you. he shifted to another part of your shoulder, mouthing another kiss on it, but before he could bite, you grabbed his horn.

"dan heng!" you yanked his head back, surprising him. but instead of some sort of pained cry, he let out a heady moan. to your surprise, that noise slipping from his mouth seemed to restore his lucidity in an instant. his dilated eyes shot wide open and his hands flew to cover his mouth, almost sending himself backwards in the process. his face burned with embarrassment, colouring his cheeks and pointed ears in a bright crimson. you huffed, but didn’t remove yourself from your position. in fact, you anchored yourself down by locking your ankles behind his back if he were to try and push you off.

"(y/n) to dan heng, can you hear me?" you said, almost tempted to knock on his forehead. 

"i-it happened again," his voice was quiet in horror. 

"hey, i need you to listen to me before you clam up on me again." you brought one hand to the side of his face, gently making him look up at you. he jumped at the contact, sending his hands further up his face until they were covering his eyes. 

"please forgive me," he rushed out.

"look at me," you said softly, placing one hand on top of his to move it to the side—one of his faintly glowing eyes glanced at you. "i’m more happy to make out with you, but we need to talk first."

he made a strangled groan of embarrassment in answer, moving his hand back in place again. 

"are you listening?" 

he nodded.

"alright, the whole thing with jing yuan was me asking about you," you said. "i thought he might know a bit about you as a vidyadhara and your behaviour, so i went to ask what i could do to get you to let me into the archives. his idea was a less than tactful, but i guess it worked. that’s why ‘his scent was on me’, as you say. he only stuck his head on my shoulder for a bit because you’d be able to tell and then demand an explanation or something." 

his fingers had parted to show his eyes again, and they were staring in bewilderment. 

"so, i’m sorry for doing all that to you." your voice was soft. "i just wanted to see you."

"no, i should be apologizing. i have no control of myself and i haven’t been fair to you." he lowered his hands to hovering somewhere over his chest. "i was saying before… since that night, i have been an embarrassment. all i’ve wanted to do is steal you away and… smother you in affection until you returned it. the feeling was so intense that i didn’t trust myself around you, so i hid. i thought if i waited, it’d calm down, but it really only made it worse."

your heart swooned then and there, lighting a fire in your cheeks. "o-oh… so if i did return it, then you wouldn’t act like a lovesick ghost anymore?" 

"hey." he frowned, but his face soon fell back into the same flustered expression from before. "but to answer you, maybe after a while. i could also just get worse… but i really don’t want to subject you anything you don’t want." while he couldn’t meet your gaze, he still leaned his head into the palm of your hand. with a sigh, you held his jaw and angled his face to look at you again. 

"how many times do i have to say i don’t mind? you can’t seem to fit that one through that thick vidyadhara skull of yours." you did actually knock on his head this time, making him wince.

"i—i don’t know, i just get embarrassed." he hid face his face against your chest, face a shade redder and his ears drooping. "you also always look so shocked. i don’t want to do that to you." 

"that’s only because you tend to forget any kind of warning," you said with a light laugh. "truly, i like it—when you give me warning, that is—because i really like you too, stupid." 

his breath audibly hitched, and he raised his head back up. "t-too? but i’ve never said—" 

"are you kidding? you don’t need to say it when the aeons and their grandmas know. even march says it’s obvious. you’re seriously worried about that after you’ve made out with my shoulder sloppy style? by the way, what was with the bites?"

"ngh, don’t word it like that." his tail that was still tangled around you thumped against your back indignantly. "…and the bites are a weird territorial thing. i’m sorry if they hurt." he leaned his head against you, running his thumb over one of the marks.

"dragons…" you sighed with a smile. "you’re lucky you’re so cute." you pet his hair, and he leaned into your touch.

he moved his chin so it was on your collarbone, looking up at you with softened eyes. there were almost stars of reverence in them when he gazed at you. "i love you."

"wait, wha—" you began, but he swallowed the rest of your words when his lips were upon yours. he pressed himself up against you, his hands gently holding the sides of your face. as he kissed you, there was a faint rumbling and vibration coming from his chest—he was purring.  

he pulled back again, leaving you a little short of breath and a lot dazed. you’d always thought it’d be you that had to kiss him first, not the other way around. he began to leave another trail of kisses starting from your lips to your jaw, this time leading toward the other side he had already been. your hands fell from their place on him and inched onto his back while his lips were on your neck. one hand slipped into his back window, and he suddenly gasped. his back arched into you, almost knocking you over. he panicked, and his tail constricted behind you like another set of arms to catch you. 

"what was that?" you laughed, trying to re-steady yourself. 

"your hand was cold. i don’t know, i guess i have a sensitive back," he huffed. his ears were angled down and a flush was heavy on his face. you couldn’t really articulate what it was about him, but you were suddenly overcome with cuteness aggression. you leaned your weight onto him, sending him backwards onto the futon and—perhaps somewhat out of revenge—hovered yourself over top of his hips. he stared up at you with widened eyes and a held breath, frozen and waiting for your next move. 

"you said i need to return your affection, didn’t you?" 

he swallowed and nodded the tiniest bit. 

"so let me have some fun too, my beloved." you placed a hand on his cheek.

"wait, you heard—i actually said that?" it almost looked like steam would start rising from the top of his head at any point. 

"heard it loud and clear." you smiled to yourself, leaning down and managing to get your fingertips into his chest window—only for the door to slam wide open. 

"hey, it’s dinner! what’re you two even doi—!" march called, leaning her hand on the doorway. you and dan heng leapt off each other, landing on the opposite sides of his futon. march stared in silence for a long while before lolling her head back. "jeez, finally! anyway, can you two wait until after dinner? pom-pom’s ‘bouta blow a gasket waiting for you two."

"w-we’ll be there in a minute," you said, trying to readjust your collar to try and hide dan heng’s bite marks. 

"don’t be long!" march said as she strode back off down the hallway. a couple beats passed and you looked over at dan heng. by some miracle, he’d managed to swap himself back to his human look, but he still looked disheveled as he went to stand back up. 

he held a hand out to you and pulled you up, pausing for a moment. he glanced at the bite marks on your shoulder that still peaked out, made some sort of strained sound and then removed his coat. "they don’t need to see that," he said as he strung it around your shoulders, fixing the collar so it hid the marks from sight.

"i’m wearing your coat. march saw us before. if she learns something, it’s guaranteed to be said," you deadpanned. "they’ll know."

instead of giving you a direct response, he took your hand in his and lead you out of the archives, looking at you with what was probably meant to be a neutral expression. his light flush and knitted eyebrows betrayed him though. "can we at least pretend we have dignity?"

"i mean, sure, but it’s not gonna do anything, looking the way we do. now c’mon, don’t wanna keep the conductor waiting." you walked off with him in tow. 

he only made a small groan in response again. 

[poge-life]

𝔹𝕦𝕫𝕫𝔽𝕖𝕖𝕕 ℝ𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕡 𝕋𝕖𝕤𝕥 ~ 𝔻𝕣𝕖𝕨 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕜𝕖𝕪

“I’m (y/n) (l/n) and this fine looking gentleman is my boyfriend, Joseph and today…we’re doing the BuzzFeed relationship quiz to see how well we know each other.”

Drew let out a groan at the use of his first name, looking over at you, “I don’t like when you call me that. You only call me that when you’re mad at me.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek before placing one on his shoulder and looking down at the laptop. The questions listed were more like a checklist rather than actual questions but there was a variety to choose from.

‘Their birthday’

“(Y/B/D) (Y/B/Y)” He answered, tapping his hands on the desk

“November 4, 1993.” You said, “I didn’t believe him when he told me he was 26 when we first met because he doesn’t look like he’s 30.”

Drew let out sigh, shaking his head, “I don’t like to talk about it.”

“You’re getting up there, grandpa.” You teased, letting out a laugh as he shrugged your head off of his shoulder.

‘Their Astrological Sign’

“Your astrological sign is (y/s/s). Most compatible with mine, by the way.” Drew said, looking over at you as you agreed, “Obviously. You are a scorpio. Totally makes sense.”

‘Their Phone Number’

“Okay, my number has been leaked so many times that I’m not even gonna let him say it,” You declared as Drew agreed, “I know you know mine because you use it at Dunkin’ all the time.”

You just smiled at the camera as he rolled his eyes at you.

‘Their Biggest celebrity crush’

“Nick Cirillo is his.” You answered, “Nick gets more attention than I do when we’re on set. Especially this season.”

“Nick is a beautiful man, what can I say?” Drew chuckled, raising his hands in surrender, “Yours is always changing. But, if it were to come down to it, I would have to say…(y/c/c). You talk about them a lot.”

You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend, turning to give him an ‘are you serious’ look. Drew winked at you before turning back to the computer.

‘What their nickname is’

“Drewsph is a big one between our friend group,” you said, “I call you ‘baby’ a lot. I’ve also called you Drafe before on set.”

“When have you ever called me that?” He asked, confusion on his face, “I’ve literally never heard that one.”

“I do it when we’re on set and you’re in costume but not acting,” you explained, “you’re not exactly Drew and you’re not exactly Rafe. So… you’re ‘drafe.’”

Drew just looked at you with a blank expression before looking back at the camera, “I call her ‘babe’, ‘hun’, ‘sweet girl’ has been in there a few times. Maddy calls you Pookie.”

You let out a groan , banging your head against the desk, “They didn’t need to know that.”

“You called me Joseph, it’s fair game, babe.” Drew leaned down and placed a kiss to the top of your head.

‘Their coffee order’

“Oh good lord. Yours is always changing,” Drew answered, looking over at you, “Your current one is (y/c/o). You also do that vanilla cold brew from Starbucks a lot.”

“Do you know exactly how I get it though?” You asked

“5 pumps of vanilla and an extra pump of sweet cream.”

“You always just either drink an iced coffee with a little bit of creamer and like a spoonful of sugar or you get an Iced Almondmilk flat white.” You answered, “because you’re weird and can’t have a normal fucking coffee order.”

Drew narrowed his eyes at you, pursing his lips in the process, “Says the one who just weeds out their coffee with creamer.”

“Because straight black coffee is disgusting.” You argued, “If I wasn’t supposed to drown out the taste of coffee with creamer, it shouldn’t have been created.”

“So dramatic.” Drew mumbled and you mocked him “ ‘so dramatic’ Yeah. Okay.”

‘Their favorite alcoholic drink’

“Yours is different every time we go out,” You looked over at Drew, who agreed, “You drink beer in the summer, corona or Coors. When we go out to dinner, you do either whiskey. On the rocks. Or some kind of cocktail.”

“Yours depends on who you’re with,” Drew said, “You and Maddy have wine parties and go crazy for Mimosas at breakfast. But when we go out, you have (y/d/c).”

You threw your head back with a laugh at how crazy you both sound, “we sound like we’re alcoholics.”

“You and Maddy are just about there.” Drew shrugged, ignoring the look you sent him.

‘Their favorite co-worker’

You rolled your eyes at your answer, “Once again, Nick. But you also spend a lot of time with Austin and JD. But out of those three, I’m going with JD. You two hang out a lot together and he’s always at our apartment.”

Drew seemed pleased enough with your answer, “I’d say…Maddy or Rudy. You and Maddy instantly clicked when you two met and hung out more than the rest of us. But with Rudy, you two always find ways to entertain yourselves when you’re left alone.”

You had a grin on your face as you looked at the camera, “It’s always a good time with Rudy. He is the definition of letting the impulsive thoughts win. There is never a dull moment with him.”

‘Their pet peeve.’

You had to think about this one. Drew was a pretty calm person when he was around everyone and didn’t let anything really bother him. You couldn’t remember if he mentioned anything that bothered him.

“People chewing with their mouths open is your top one,” Drew said, “when people don’t take their shoes off before they sit on the couch-“

You cut him off before he could continue, “First off, we have a white couch and two, is it so wrong I don’t want whatever is on their shoes to be on our furniture? That seems like a pretty reasonable one to me.”

“Okay. I’ll give you that one. You also hate it when people don’t stack their dishes whenever we leave a restaurant.”

“I was a server in high school and college and I can say, it always made my job easier when we were busy.” You argued

You looked at Drew with your head tilted in thought, struggling to think of anything, “It’s not a pet peeve but it’s something that bothers you. When people come up to you at parties and think you’re like Rafe and give zero shits about your feelings.”

Drew let out a groan as he looked at the camera, “Please don’t come up to me and ask if I wanna do coke. I don’t do coke.”

“It’s amazing how many people in LA can get their hands on it,” You added. “You hate when people go through your camera without asking. That’s a major one I can think of. You also hate when people come over-“

“I do hate it when people come over.” Drew nodded and you rolled your eyes at him. “As I was saying, mr homebody, when people come over and use the shower and don’t hang up the towels or put out new ones.”

Drew looked at you in bewilderment, “You say that you it’s not something that wouldn’t bother everyone else. I don’t want to walk into a bathroom and step on a wet towel or be showering and not have a towel in the bathroom?”

You didn’t say anything as you just stared at him. You shook your head as you turned back to the camera and Drew just mimicked you, crossing his arms over his chest.

“And there you have it! I think this proves that we know each other better than we thought we did.” You smiled, looking over at Drew, who agreed, “It’s not like we’ve been dating for three years or anything.”

“Anyways, season 3 is now streaming and if you wanna see more of us and our beautiful friends, go ahead and watch it! And we hope you enjoyed this as much as we did!”

[xoxoladyaz]

locked in lowercase (inside a vault)

For @steddie-week Day 3: Longing (1,032 words)

Tags: Mutual Pining, Unrequited Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Light Angst, Hopeful Ending

“Eddie, man. I think you should talk to him.”

Eddie snorts. “Oh, really? What’s with the sudden change of heart, Emerson? That desperate to knock me down a peg?”

“Dude,” Gareth sighs, and the defenses he’d so easily garnered up fall just a little. “Look, I know I wasn’t all that thrilled about Harrington in the first place – ”

“Oh, that’s the understatement of the fucking century, Gare-bear - ”

“ – but,” Gareth ignores Eddie’s attempts at cutting him off, “that was before I saw how miserable you are without him. Like, dude. We made it. We’re on tour right now, and all you wanna do when we’re not on stage is sit on the bus and play Patsy Cline. You,” Gareth taps Eddie on the chest, “you should be having the time of your fucking life right now, but it’s like you’re not really here with us, man.”

Eddie lets Gareth’s words sink in for a moment. The kid’s not wrong, of course, but he doesn’t get it. He can’t. Eddie barely has the words to describe how the feelings started or what his feelings even are, but any time he bumps into anyone that has that look in their eye, that whole I wanna take an up-and-coming rock star for a ride shine, Eddie turns tail and practically runs the other way. It’s not to say that he hasn’t tried – oh, he tried, especially in those first few cities after first leaving Indiana – but it either didn’t happen or it didn’t end well for either party and eventually he just stopped trying. 

Because none of them were Steve. 

And the worst part is, it’s fucking hopeless. The King never, ever gave Eddie even the slightest inclination that it wasn’t just “babes” for him. (Although, to be fair to Steve, Eddie himself didn’t really know until he was too far away to do anything about it, and that’s assuming Eddie’s balls got big enough to even fucking try something.) Steve was kind to Eddie, sure; hell, he was even calling Harrington his best friend at the end, before they left for tour. But then Eddie started wanting and, even worse, started knowing that he wanted any eyes that looked at him in pleasure to be big and brown and belong to Steve and – well, he hasn’t been playing on this side of the field for long, but even a newbie like him knows just how this is going to play out. 

(Which translates to: he slowly stops calling Steve until he isn’t calling him at all. He takes “Head Over Heels” off the set list. He puts the swim team sweater he stole from Steve’s closet at the bottom of the “extra clothes” pile in the back of the bus. And instead of going out after every show, instead of trying and failing to find some peace in the bottom of a bottle like his dad, he sits in the tour bus and plays Patsy Cline on his acoustic under his fingers bleed.)

“It’ll only make things worse, Gare,” Eddie replies, fishing aimlessly in his pockets for the last of his Camels. “I’ll get over it. Eventually.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you will, but he won’t.”

Eddie’s fingers still in his pocket. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me. You don’t think Robin chews my head off every time I call to check in?”

(It’s just Eddie’s luck, of course, that Gareth’s first-cousin-and-childhood-best-friend happens to be Steve’s other half.)

“Then why don’t you stop calling?” Eddie finally finds a cig and pulls it out of his pocket, only for it to get snatched out of his fingers.

“Because I’m not an asshole, asshole,” Gareth snaps. “And I’m getting really sick and tired of getting yelled at every time I call home because somebody refuses to man up and deal with his feelings.”

Eddie turns in place, glaring at Gareth. “I am dealing with my feelings!”

“By not dealing with them, dumbass! And for the record, you’re making it even more noticeable by notdealing with them! Hell, even Byers asked me about it the last time he called, because why else would you just drop Harrington all together? It’s been like a year, man, you have to deal with this at some point.”

“I – I didn’t know until a month and a half ago, Gareth, what the hell do you mean by the last year?”

Gareth snorts. “Seriously? Seriously. Holy shit, you’re serious. Fucking – really, man? Now I owe Jeff money.”

“GARETH!” Eddie snaps. “What do you mean, the last year?”

Something is on Eddie’s face, some expression that he can’t control, because Gareth’s eyes soften and grow sad. “Eds, man, you wear your heart on your fuckin’ sleeve and your feelings all over your face. All anyone gotta do is see you look at Steve and know.”

“Know? Know what?”

Gareth’s voice is almost a whisper now. “Do I really need to say it?”

The wounded beast in Eddie’s chest shudders. “No.” He pulls his eyes away from Gareth, refocuses on the rings on his hands – and more specifically, the ring made from an antique spoon that Steve had made him when they were going through his parents’ shit.

(It was the only piece of Steve he couldn’t bear to hide away these last six weeks.)

“Does – does he?”

(Eddie can’t finish the question; hell, Eddie doesn’t even know what he’s asking.

Thankfully, somehow Gareth does.)

“Go call him, Eds,” Gareth says. He squeezes Eddie’s shoulder, a benediction for courage, and then leaves the tour bus, leaving Eddie alone and staring at the phone at the end of the bus.

(Maybe there’s a world where Steve feels, can feel, has felt the same. Maybe there’s a world where, when he told Eddie that he’s taking a break from dating that it meant taking a break from dating someone who wasn’t Eddie. Maybe Steve’s been trying and failing to get past this too, and is spending his nights by the phone like Eddie, waiting for someone to call.)

The phone only rings twice.

“This is Steve.”

(And maybe that world is this one.

But he won’t know until he tries.)

“Hey, Stevie. Got a minute?”

[steveharringtonat3am]

Imagine drummer!steve teaching you to play the drums?? He has you sit in his lap and guides your hands and totally does not get hard from feeling you shift around! He’s such a sweetie you know he gets excited whenever something you do sounds good!

allusions to smut at the end!

kinda a part two to this fic but this can be read on its' own!

You aren’t quite sure what Steve and you are. You’re pretty sure you’re not dating but you’re also pretty sure neither of you are interested in anyone else. The two of you have been having lots of fun, both in and outside the bedroom.

After your hookup, you honestly expected to never hear from Steve again. Sure, you had a mutual friend but he just seemed to be more of a one night stand kind of guy. He had mentioned a proper date but the more you thought about it, the more it seemed to be a formality offer. Something you say after fucking someone in a bar bathroom so they don’t feel cheap.

Of course, that wasn’t a very comforting thought.

But luckily for you, he did end up calling. He got your number from Robin, who was now filled in on what happened and consequently rewarded with copious amounts of candy in exchange for minimal teasing.

The proper date hadn’t happened just yet but you’d been having your fair share of fun.

‘You busy?’ Your screen lights up with the text. His name is saved as ‘Steve🥁’ which he had insisted upon when you added his contact to your phone.

It’s around 4 in the afternoon on a Saturday which isn’t an unusual time to receive a text from Steve but they’re not usually this vague.

‘Not at all. Why?’ You can already sense the invite, pulling yourself off the couch and heading to your room.

‘Wanna see you. Meet me at the bar? The door’s unlocked for you’. This is what catches your attention. You know that bars’ hours pretty well by now, having gone a few times to see Steve play but you’ve never gone at this time because it’s never been open this early. You know he’s not talking about a hookup since those always occur either in his apartment or yours.

You hop in the shower to wash the morning off, keeping your hair dry since you don’t need to wash it. You dress casual-ish, still unsure of the vibe but you can’t go wrong with jeans and a t-shirt. Doing a quick makeup routine, you throw on your shoes and drive over to the bar.

Sure enough, the door is unlocked. It’s completely empty, lights illuminating areas you’d never noticed.

“Hey!” Steve appears from backstage. He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt and sweatpants that you have to tear your eyes away from.

“Hi! You wanna tell me what we’re doing here?”

“Sure. You know how you told me you always wanted to learn how to play the drums? Ta-da” He gestures to the drum set next to him.

“…That was more of a compliment on how you play the drums because I wanted more kisses. Not a real want.” His grin doesn’t waver as he gestures you over.

“It’ll be fun, I promise.” Your feet carry you over as the nerves sink in. What if you’re horrible and he decides you aren’t a good match? You hadn’t admitted it yet but you did really like him and you didn’t want to lose him so soon.

“I’m gonna suck you know that right?”

“You can’t suck because I’m the one teaching you and I don’t suck.” He sits infront of the drums and tugs you into his lap.

“Now I get why you wanted to teach me.” You grin as you adjust yourself on his lap. His grip on your hips tighten and you suddenly remember being in a very similar position a few days ago.

“Behave.” He mumbles into your ear, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder when you stop moving.

He passes you the sticks, covering your hands with his to show you the proper grip. You try your hardest to listen but he’s quite distracting.

“How about I show you some simple stuff and you try to replicate it, yeah?” You nod in response. Steves hands cover yours as he starts a slow beat. It sounds just barely familiar, like something you’ve heard him practice.

He pauses after a minute, letting go of your hands. You have to bite back a complaint as you attempt to recreate what he did. It’s kind of like those memory games you used to play as a kid.

“You got it!” He kisses your cheek, arms wrapped around your waist. It’s such a sweet hug that you just melt into it. You turn in his lap, legs swinging over to straddle him.

“Thank you for teaching me.” You mumble, kissing him softly.

“Isn’t that what boyfriends are for?” The word is dropped so casually you almost don’t register it.

“You’re my boyfriend?”

“…Shit did I forget to ask? Oh I knew this would happen.” He smiles sheepishly at your shocked expression.

“You forgot?” You ask incredulously.

“I was going to ask you that day we went to the farmers market I swear!” He can’t contain his laughter, hiding his face in your shoulder.

“Well, I would love to be your girlfriend.” You tug his face up, kissing him gently.

“Great!! Now let’s go to the dressing rooms!” He stands up, arms tight around you so you don’t fall as you’re forced to stand as well. He barely bothers to grab his stuff as he tugs you backstage.

”Why?” You hurry behind him, his urgency practically carrying you.

”You’re gonna sit on my lap again. But this time we won’t be wearing clothes.”

[freedomfireflies]

Middle-Class Seats, First-Class Fun pt. 2*

Summary: The sequel to Middle-Class Seats, First-Class Fun

You find yourself sat next to the Harry Styles on a plane.

And what better way to get to know each other than a quick induction into the Mile High Club?

Word Count: 2.1k

(Thank you for letting me spam you guys for one whole year🥹💞 I love you!!!!!)

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞 You are so much more important!*

“Hi, Stranger.”

Harry grins as he pulls the small door shut, secluding the two of you in the world’s smallest bathroom. “Hi.”

“Gonna be honest, I didn’t expect you to show,” you admit.

“Oh?” His arms cross as he takes a step closer, effectively closing the only gap between you. “And what about our earlier conversation suggested I wouldn’t?”

“Well, maybe the fact that you’re all talk and no game,” you retort, eyebrow raised as you look up at him. “Or the fact that you don’t seem like the quick-airplane-bathroom-fuck type.”

“I have a song about eating pussy, is that not enough?” he teases, a smirk dancing across his lips. “I feel like that should solidify my case.”

“Yeah, you’d think…but no.” Your eyes trail across his jaw, drawn to the sharp curve, intrigued by the subtle beauty. “Maybe if this were the first-class bathroom. Which would make a lot more sense for you.”

“What’s wrong with coach?”

“Nothing. When you’re poor. Which you’re not.”

“And that has to do with us fucking…how?”

You hesitate, mouth clamping shut. “I…don’t know.”

Nodding with an amused grin, he reaches out to place his hand on the small sink and lean forward, trapping you to the wall. “I think you’re nervous.”

“Well no shit, Sherlock.”

He hums, kind eyes helping to relax you. “Guess we’re both more talk than game.”

And maybe you are. Maybe this is nothing more than you calling his bluff. Or calling your own. Maybe this was you getting swept up in the idea of Harry Styles. The man, the myth, the legend. Maybe you just wanted to prove to yourself that you could.

Either way, despite the nerves, you’re oddly tantalized by the idea. Wanting to seize the moment, the opportunity that most people would kill for.

So, you surge forward, and press your lips to his.

It’s a hesitant kiss. On both ends. The first few seconds a tad awkward as you work to wrap your heads around how you got here. How you really feel about it.

And then…something changes.

He steps closer, straightening up to deepen the kiss, and you nearly wilt when his large hand slips around the back of your neck to keep you against him.

Things suddenly feel effortless. Practiced yet relaxed. Mouths and tongues moving together like they were always meant to. Molding seamlessly until all of your air belongs to him.

His other hand finds a home on your hip, pushing you against the small bathroom wall while his knee takes its place between your thighs.

And when he finally pulls back to rest his forehead against yours, it feels as though everything makes sense.

“We can go back to our seats,” he whispers, giving you an out.

But you don’t want an out. 

“No,” you murmur, fingers tangling in the shirt on his chest. “No, you promised to make me scream your name. Can’t pussy out on me now.”

The smirk returns as he brushes his thumb along your cheek. “So I did. But I guess it depends on which name you call me by.”

Your breath hitches.

“You can call me Harry,” he begins softly, dipping back down to ghost his lips across yours, “or you can call me Daddy.”

And discovering that Harry Styles has a Daddy kink makes more sense than it should, and you have to grin as you press your mouth to his. 

“Okay, Daddy,” you agree, just to watch him swallow. “Then why don’t you make good on your promise to fuck me?”

You watch the most beautifully dark expression flash across his face before he’s grabbing onto your waist to spin you around.

Your cheek is pressed to the wall while those large hands that have been taunting you for the past half hour begin to tease you again. Crawling up the inside of your thigh until he can grab onto the waistband of your jeans and yank the material down your legs.

“Just so you know,” he grunts in between the rustling of his belt, “I’m normally pro-foreplay. But I figure we don’t exactly have the time right now.”

“I know,” you agree. “It’s fine.”

He reaches around your hip to slide his palm down your cunt, and you sigh when you feel him cup you in his hand. 

“What’s this?” he hums, rather sadistically as his nose brushes against your cheek. “Guess I didn’t need to work you up, anyhow. Seems you’re already dripping for me.”

Your lashes flutter as he kneads your pussy for a moment before he lets go to take hold of his cock. 

“So, what’s it gonna be, angel?” he whispers, dragging the tip through your throbbing folds just to make you whimper. “You gonna be loud for me? Or are you gonna be quiet?”

More of a rhetorical question, you figure, because the answer is given to him when he pushes in, and you moan fervently.

He chuckles from behind you before it melts into some sort of delicious grunt. “That’s it. So fucking tight, darling. Take it, just like that.”

He pulls out, giving you only a second of reprieve before pushing back in. Stretching you a little more as he drives himself deeper into your cunt.

Your lip flies between your teeth as you swallow a string of curses and whines, desperate to feel him in every way possible.

“You all right?” he calls, and you feel his fingers gently squeezing your hip for reassurance.

It makes you smile. “Yeah,” you say back, nails scratching down the wall. “Go. Keep going.”

He obliges, working himself in at a quicker pace, and you see him watching out of your peripheral.

He seems mesmerized by the way his cock disappears into you. Addicted to the sounds now beginning to echo around the small space. Mixing in beautifully with his soft pants and your anguished whimpers.

“S’a good girl,” he murmurs beneath his breath, almost as if it wasn’t meant for you. “Fucking taking me so well, look at you. Pretty pussy just stretching for me. Likes having Daddy’s cock, doesn’t she?”

And maybe you shouldn’t be surprised by the filth coming from his mouth, but you are, and it makes you clench until you’re both gasping.

“Shit, angel,” he groans, burying himself a little deeper as you keen. “Like it when I talk to you like that, hm? Not so vanilla now, yeah?”

You want to thank your lucky stars for that damn book that led you both to this moment, nodding quickly as you squirm back against him. “Yes, Daddy—”

He pushes in to the hilt, overcome by the pleasure your words provide. His chest presses to your back, and instantly, you reach over your shoulder to grab onto his curls. Needing to hold him in some way.

“Fuck,” you sigh, vision hazy as your body works to accommodate him. “Okay go. Go, Harry, go.”

He smiles at the use of his name, and it does something strange to the butterflies already fluttering in your stomach. 

“Okay,” he agrees, pulling back and readjusting his grip on your waist to keep you steady. “Be good, yeah?”

The faster pace begins. Hard thrusts that nearly knock the wind from your lungs as your body shakes with each snap of his hips into yours.

It’s oddly satiating. Perfectly full and teasingly relentless. Quick fucks aren’t normally your forte, but this? With Harry? In the world’s tiniest bathroom?

Euphoria.

“Fucking squeezing me, darling, shit,” he exhales, gripping you tight in his hand. “Pretty little pussy looks so good clenching around my cock. Like it, angel, don’t you? Like letting me fuck your sweet cunt the way you’ve been needing?”

And you don’t know how he knows you’ve been so desperate, but he does, and it makes you mewl as you drag your nails down his scalp.

“Oh, I know,” he coos but it’s dark. “Can just tell. So fucking cock drunk. Desperate for anything I’ll give you. Even let a stranger fuck you, hm? Let me take care of you the way you deserve?”

“Yes,” you breathe, mindlessly reaching back for his other hand. Once you find it, you intertwine his fingers with yours and drag his palm up toward your neck. Placing it against your throat until he seems to get the hint.

He says nothing, simply squeezes you in his grip. Until the corners of your vision get fuzzy, and the small bathroom gets smaller.

“That’s it,” he hums, almost as if luring you into the darkness. “Let go for me, baby girl. Just like that. Daddy’s got you.”

Everything is heightened. Every sense, every second. You can feel his facial hair rubbing against your cheek. Can feel the calloused tips of his fingers cementing to your exposed skin. Can taste the drink he had on your tongue.

There’s a knock on the door. A hard tap, and Harry’s pace doesn’t falter for even a moment as he calls, “Fucking occupied,” before slamming back into you.

The noise you make is loud enough to be heard by whoever was on the other side. Perhaps his intention, and it makes your pussy clench once more at the thought.

“Bet you’d look fucking perfect on your knees,” he continues, unrelenting. “With my cock down your throat. Fucking drooling for me. And you’d take me, wouldn’t you? Take my cock like a good girl. Make me proud.”

The suggestion is exciting. The image in your head of you looking up at the glorious stranger from your place on the floor. Getting to feel him on your tongue. Down your throat. Anywhere he’ll have you.

You bet he likes to see his cum painted across a partner’s skin. Likes to run his fingers through it. His tongue. Collect it and taste it before spitting it into their mouths.

Your entire body shudders from the mental picture and even if Harry doesn’t know what garnered this response, he seems pleased with it. Tugging on you tighter until you’re practically sitting on him.

You’re running out of time. Running out of willpower, and he releases your throat to find your clit. The first time he’s truly touched it, and the sensation that follows nearly kills you.

You hadn’t anticipated being so sensitive, but you are, and it’s apparent to you both from the way you jolt when he pinches you.

“Oh?” He’s chuckling again, entertained by your reaction. “S’that all it takes then? Poor little cunt just needs some extra attention?”

He presses into you and begins to rub small, hard circles along the delicate nerves. Ignoring your cries and pleas for more.

Instead, his foot kicks your legs further apart, and his mouth attaches to your neck. Nipping just below your ear as he whispers, “Bet you taste fucking divine, hm? Bet I could write a whole song about the way this pussy tastes.”

He lets go just to bring his hand to his mouth. Sucking on the soaked digits and groaning in your ear.

A shiver rolls down your spine before he drags his saliva coated fingers back to your clit. “So fucking sweet, angel. But you already knew that, didn’t you? S’why you were teasing me all fucking day. Cause you knew I’d get addicted to you.”

You’re so close to release, you can see it. Can actually see the blinding stars barreling toward you like meteors. 

“And what if I am, huh?” He goes faster. Gets sloppier. Needing to get you both there. “What if I’m fucking addicted to you now? What if I can’t go without the taste of you?”

“Have it,” you sough, rolling your hips back against his cock. “Have me, Harry, please—”

“I will,” he growls, and you feel his cock twitch the closer he gets. “Fucking will, angel. Need you to come for me, yeah? Come for Daddy. Let me feel you around me, darling. Right fucking now—”

Everything is a blur. Maybe he comes first, maybe you do. It all melds together until it’s one, long string of orgasms and pleasure. 

He doesn’t let you go for quite some time. Pushing you to the very brink, making sure it goes as far as it can. Even after you’ve come down and are squirming away from the ministrations to your clit.

The sadistic need to make sure you’re ruined is evident, and he only stops when you begin to collapse in his hold.

“Okay, easy, angel, easy,” he whispers, grasping onto your hips to keep you upright. “You’re all right, yeah? You okay?”

You nod weakly as you catch your breath, and he takes this as a good sign. Allowing you to stand on your own when you’re ready.

But he doesn’t go far. He bends down and pulls your jeans back up. Makes sure you’re all right.

You notice he purposefully leaves the mess between your thighs, and when you shoot him a questioning eyebrow, his only response is, “For later.”

Which you don’t mind at all. 

I KNOW, I KNOW IT'S BEEN FOREVER!!!! I'M SO SORRY BUT THANK YOU FOR STICKING WITH ME AND BEING SO NICE, ILY ALL 😭💞💞💞

Previous Part:

~ Middle-Class Seats, First-Class Fun

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282

I'm also tagging you guys from the first part just in case, but if you've already moved on, I can absolutely understand 😭💞: @blackbookwhore @nellylayhoohoo @22fallenangel22 @watercolorskyy @ilovedilfs32 @nicodoesntexist @lelenikki @happypoptart

[satoruyes]

co-parent bakugou

katsuki bakugou x reader (part two)

   fwb! bakugou who often came by your dorm during college to drop off school work when you missed lectures and loads when you missed him.

fwb! bakugou who came by before bed to fuck you into your pillow and listen to your hushed moans, hushed so your roommates wouldn’t hear. (they did)

fwb! bakugou who’s scared of committing because he “couldn’t see you in his future” and was too focused on his.

fwb! bakugou who’s late night visits became more and more scarce.

fwb! bakugou who months later soft launches his new partner on his story after telling you he’s not ready for a relationship.

fwb! bakugou who stops breathing at the sight of your name popping up on his phone as he cuddles his partner while watching movies, and nearly has a stroke at the “Im pregnant.” text. 

_____

“well are ya sure it’s mine?” he asks, not daring to look away from you. you break eye contact and look outside the coffee shops’ window to focus on anything other than this conversation you’ve been dreading. “are you serious? you should know i’m not exactly one to sleep around,” you say to the man. he nods and his grip on his mug gets tighter, knuckles visibly whiter. “well, are ya keepin’ it,” he asks, “i don’t think  that’d be a bright idea for either of us.” you kind of glare but think over his words. “you know how my parents feel about abortion kats.. i’d be disowned. the second the press found out about it, my family would be done for,” your eyes start to water and a tear threatens to fall, you pause “.. i thought you said you don’t do relationships?”

katsuki stares at you and shakes his head, “those fuckin’ hormones already getting to your brain or somethin?“ he sighs, “you know i can’t do this *nickname*. i’m in a committed relationship with raya, we’re getting engaged next month. on top of that, i can’t be number one with a baby leechin’ of me.” your heart drops, “you’re.. getting engaged? i.. um.. well, congratulations. i’m sorry to burden you with all of this… and i can’t abort it anyway.. i.. i’m too far along.. and i cant do this.” you finish & get up from the table and leave.

________

baby daddy! bakugou who ends up losing contact with you for months after you block him on everything a refuse to meet up per your family’s request.

baby daddy! bakugou who nearly forgets about you years later til kirishima brings you up and shows him your instagram.

baby daddy! bakugou who gets home and stalks you from a burner account, finds out you still talk to everyone from college but him.

baby daddy! bakugou who sees a pretty little ruby-eyed girl down your timeline, her resemblance to him uncanny.

baby daddy! bakugou who pulls some strings and texts your number asking to meet his daughter, hana. 

___________

hana is 2 years old by now, forming choppy sentences and now waddling on her feet. after a week of texting, you finally fold and let him come over to meet his daughter. when you open the door to let him in he nearly finds himself choking on his spit at how beautiful you are. you looked even better than your posts, if that’s possible. you greeted him with a nod and invited him in. he takes his shoes off and head to the living room you led him to. you exchange stale pleasantries and small talk til you decide to go get your baby girl. “her name is ‘hana lei bakugou,’ as much as i wanted her to have my last name.”

you walk over to him and hand her to him, noticing the wedding band resting around his ring finger. you scoff, “wow so you two actually got married?” he nods and analyzes his daughters’ features. “shes so pretty, just like ‘er momma,” he half smiles and look up at you. “so i’ll have her back later tonight, gonna take ‘er home to meet the wife and all of that.” he goes to get off the couch. “woah, you don’t get to do that. you don’t get to come back back after all this time like nothing happened.” he looks frustrated for a second, “you can’t just- … yea yer right, ‘m sorry.’’

you nod, “how about we go up to her room and play?” he agrees and follows you into his daughter’s bedroom while carrying her.

“So.. how long have you two been in the area?” he asks, scanning his daughter's room. “I never really left, just moved closer to the city i guess,” you reply; putting hana down to the floor. She waddles over to katsuki. “hana, baby this is your father,” you look down at the little girl. At first she looks up at you with her glowing beady eyes then she looks over to Katsuki sitting over on a couch. “papa?” she asks and she points her dainty finger at him. you nod and smile. “yes baby, that's your papa.” 

katsuki looks at the little girl and she reaches up for him. “up.” she says, and he obliges. you two talk and rekindle for what seemed to be days. In reality it was just about 4 hours. “*name* it was really nice to see you again, let's go out for dinner sometime. with hana of course.” you lead him downstairs while he says his goodbyes to hana. 

-- 

“I told ya about this years ago raya, you can't be mad about this. What did you expect? for them to disappear?” bakugou yells at his wife. “well i didnt fucking expect you to go out of your way to to reach out either!” she pouts, anger and jealousy laced in her tone. “I have to own up to this responsibility now whether you like it or not, stop fuckin’ cursin’ at me. ‘m already stressed as is; ‘ion need yer bitchin’.” 

“oh so now i'm bitching because you went out and got some slut pregnant.. you're just full of it katsuki.” raya says, glaring at him now. “ya cant get mad at me because I wanna be a father, ‘nd not just leave some kid stranded out here.” 

“it's not just about the kid is it? do you miss the bitch or something? do you miss the sex? did she give you better head than I do?” raya accuses, bakugou sighs and goes to leave the room, “‘nd yea- she did give better head.” as he walks to their shared room he can hear her still yelling in the distance.

katsuki bakugou goes to sleep confused tonight. He wonders why was he such a prick. he wonders why did his heart pound so fast- why were his hands so sweaty when he saw you.

he couldn't do this. he has a wife. hes happily married, regardless of any arguments. his wife was the mayors daughter and promised him various things, she promised him glory. of course he didn't need her but it's definitely more helpful to have more "support." plus you hated him, only putting up with him for the sake of his daughter. no, it wasn't attraction- it was just nervousness. he loved his wife.

katsuki woke up to his wife, raya in his arms. she looked so pretty and peaceful like this. he snapped out of his daze and got out of bed to catch a shower. he couldn't help but find his hand reaching down to take care of himself. usually when he finds himself touching himself; its of thoughts of his wife from the night prior. but today it was you. he felt shameful but he just couldnt help it. he couldn't stop himself from thinking about you. hes only human.    

[ambrosiagoldfish]

HI! Can I request Vox, husk or anyone else with a s/o who has an addiction problem?

Yes I know my Grammar and punctuation is out of line 🙏🏽

Hazbin Hotel x Addict!Reader

(Vox, Husk, and Angel Dust)

Viewer Discretion is Advised!

Warning: Drug/Alcohol Abuse, Gn!Reader, Reader being defensive, happy-ish endings.

Request Box: Open

Word count: 1170

A/n: Hi! Thank you for the request! This is my first time writing both Vox and Husk so I had to do some research (and by research, I mean reading 2+ hours of how other write them) to get an idea of their main characterization.

I really enjoyed writing this as I personally have my own experiences with addicts and how it’s affected me as a person. So this was also a little bit of a vent post if anything. I also added Angel cause I think it fits the theme but also he’s one of my comfort characters and writing for him made me happy.

Hope you enjoy <3

Proofread like once so sorry for any mistakes!



Vox

He’s used to being friends/knowing addicts. I mean one of his closest allies (And TOTES not previous hook-up buddy) Valentino, is also an addict who also employs many as well. So he’s not a stranger to it.

So mostly he’s indifferent to it, almsot desensitized to it. He doesn’t really see a danger to it, I mean we’re in hell and you can’t exactly OD and die

But of course, death isn’t the only thing that can happen when you're an addict. The breakdown of you as a person often happens, as well as you being reckless with money. And this is where Vox starts to have a problem.

If you’re in a relationship with Vox, then clearly you mean a lot to him, he may not be the most expressive about it but he does. So to see the partner that he has opened up to and grown attached to deteriorate slowly in front of him is something he refuses to accept.

So one day he cancels a meeting with his staff and calls you to his office so you two will be alone. When you get there he gives you a cup of coffee and you catch up a bit. How was your day? Have you ate yet? Those kinds of things.

Until finally he decides to just break open the floodgates with one simple statement.

“Darling… I think you should get clean”

You were caught off guard at first

“It’s fine, What’s the problem? we’re in hell”

He then comes out with his honest opinion

“*Sigh* I know it’s hell and you can’t die… but surely you can see how it would make me a bit… worried for you.”

He paused

“I mean even last week you spent all the allowance I gave you on it and you would have starved if I didn’t buy you food, surely you can see why it’s a fucking problem!”

Eventually after talking and depending on how it goes you either agree to go clean or it ends with an argument and he’ll just try again later.

If you agree, he’ll make sure he’s with you ever step of your sobriety. Considering he’s one of the top rising Overlords and owns VoxTech he’s got money so He’ll higher the best people to help you go clean(Do therapist exist in hell?)

“Thank you dear, you have no idea how much this means to me”

Husk

Similar to Vox in a lot of ways but also really different. He himself is an addict with alcohol so he clearly understands the struggles of it.

He has lots of walls up but for someone who “lost the ability to love” he sure does care a lot for you. I don’t think he would try a get you to go clean, at least not right away (or even at the beginning of the relationship) simply cause he thinks he doesn’t have a right to judge. So in all honesty he might just let you be.

That is until he realizes that you do it to forget things and ignore your problems/past. He knew first hand that drowning your sorrows away with your choice of addictive vice did nothing but harm you.

Then when you two are alone at his bar he’ll talk to you about it in a similar way he did with Angel. Perhaps a bit more softer than he did with Angel but even then “softer” is a bit of an overstatement.

“Look, I know you got a lot of shit that you don’t want to think about… but doing this *sigh* it’s not going to work, at least not in the long term.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

He laughs. I mean, you were right. He was single handedly the worst person to be judging you. But surely you can understand his point of view, right?

Either way though, he leaves it alone again. Occasionally bringing it up when you’re both alone. He expresses the same sentiment about it each time hoping that eventually, hopefully…you’ll come to see from his perspective.

When you do finally see that he’s worried for you and understand why, you agree to go clean. Which, for once in a long while, made his supposedly cold dead heart melt.

“Glad you finally came to your senses… Seriously, I’m glad…”

Angel

He is THE addict of the show, so obviously he knows what you are going through and THEN some. Now,. Here’s the thing, how he handles it depends HEAVILY on when exactly you got with him/when you started having you addiction problem.

If you started dating him when you already were an addict he most definitely wouldn’t question anything about it. Hell, chances are you both might have taken part in it together. And it’s only when he starts making progress in the hotel (post EP4) is when he starts realizing how bad of an influence you both were on each other.

If you started sometime AFTER you both started dating then this boy would honestly feel terrible about it, ESPECIALLY after EP4 when he actually started being sober more often. He’d feel like he was a bad influence on you and that it was his fault you turned to your addiction.

Either way though, he will eventually realize that he doesn’t want you to be/continue to be on the same path he was. He’d talk to Charlie about arranging you to stay in the hotel, either in your own room or you guys could share one (he would honestly prefer the latter) and then after the preparations are made he would finally ask you too

Angel wasn’t expecting it to be easy, he gets what it’s like to suddenly be asked to go clean. And he knows how addicts act when they don’t get there vices, how he acts. So he mentally prepared himself for the worst first before asking you to come over and talk.

“Uh… Y/n can I talk to you about somethin’?”

You nod your head

“I’ve been thinking and… I think you should crash here at the hotel with me… and’ go clean.”

You only laugh “Angie I’m glad this hotel thing is workin’ for ya but that’s not really my style. No- I mean, I’m fine!”

Angel knows he put you on the spot, so he lightens off a bit but continues pressing on. He explains how he feels and how he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you, to end up where he is. The poor boy starts crying honestly with how much he’s worried. He rarely opens up to people so this was a big step for him.

Seeing how much he cared and worried about you really put into perspective how important this was to him. So you agreed after some thinking.

“*sniff* thank you Baby, I’ll be there with you every step of the way… I love ya’ you know.”

[ludicdoll]

smut fic w kai (archie m) from voyagers 🙌🙌 cant find nothing on other writing platforms ☹️

𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 — kai ☆

pairing: kai x afab!reader

warnings: smut, masterbation, backshots, fingering, cussing

synopsis: your desires for a fellow crew member deepens as you slowly come off the blue.

a/n: i gotchuuu this movie was so ass but he was so fine in ittt, also u didn’t specify what exactly the scenario was so i hope this is okay😭

it’s been almost a week since you stopped taking the blue. kai said it was medication, and since richard was gone, that meant no rules. well, besides from christopher being a pain in the ass ever since he was voted to be richard’s replacement. you didn’t know if you were having withdrawls from not taking your medication or not, but you’ve been having strange thoughts about a certain someone on the ship — kai. you’ve always been close to him, only as friends of course. he helped you around a lot with your projects, he was kind to you. but now, you can’t look at him in the eye without thinking about the unspeakable thoughts you have about him.

you didn’t have these vulgar thoughts about anyone else but kai. sure, every once in a while there would be something about the other boys on the ship, but nothing as extreme as the dreams you have about kai. you would twitch nervously around him when he would talk to you let alone being in the same room as you.

you scratch the back of your neck, staring dully at the metal boards in front of you. you had to build something for a part of the hardware for the ship, but you didn’t know where to start. you look around, watching as the other pairs around you worked efficiently. you furrow your brows, tapping the edge of the screws with your screwdriver. “hey,” kai says while placing his hands on your shoulders. “fuck!” you yelp, turning around to him. “you scared me,” you breathe out. he raises his hands up in defense, “sorry, you need help with that?” he replies. you look down at your work space, a mess in front of you. you nod sheepishly, embarrassed.

he gives you a friendly smile, sliding his hand into yours to grab the screwdriver. you shiver as his fingers graze over yours. you watch as he starts working, his curls falling over his eyes. his sleeves were rolled up and you couldn’t help but look down at his large hands — slight veins running up his arms. he senses your eyes on him, he looks over at you with parted lips. “do you wanna do it?” he asks while offering the screwdriver back at you. you shake your head hesitantly, “i don’t know how, i wasn’t really listening when richard was explaining.” you admit shyly. kai laughs, straightening his back. “i’ll help you out, i’ll tell you where to put stuff.” he waits for an answer as you rub your arm nervously. you nod, switching spots with him.

you grab the screwdriver, listening to kai’s instructions. unfortunately, you were horrible at listening to his directions too. you were too distracted by his voice. “have you been feeling strange?” kai asks abruptly. you snap your head up to him, feeling slightly aroused at his height compared to you. your eyes dart around the room anxiously. “like how?” he shrugs, staring down at his hands. “i don’t know, like desires… about things.” the way he says it makes you think he’s been having those thoughts too. you feel uneasy, almost a little called out. “yes,” you admit. “have you?” you inquire. he gives you a skeptical look, but nods in return. you hum, trying to focus on your work.

“c’mon guys, you’re not even halfway done.” christopher interferes. he looks disappointed at the two of you. “sorry,” you utter in shame. kai doesn’t look embarrassed though, he looks more annoyed than anything. you glance around, realizing everyone was either gone, or finishing up their part. “can’t we just finish this tomorrow. we’re both tired.” kai says. christopher looks at the two of you, waving you off. he walks away, leaving the room. you sigh, your screwdriver clattering onto the white table. “we’ll have more time tomorrow, it’s fine.” kai says while patting your shoulder, the warmth of his hand on your skin making you sweat. you bite your lip to keep your thoughts to yourself.

you feel his hand fall farther down your back, almost touching your hips. you look over at him, his eyes staring down at you. “i think i’m gonna go get some rest.” you say while moving back. he draws his hand back quickly before placing them to his side. he gives you an awkward smile, nodding. “yea, me too.” he mutters. you say goodnight to him, rushing down the dimly lit halls back to your room. you close the door behind you, trying to comprehend what had happened. was he having thoughts about you too? you waved it off, laying flat in your bed. you look up at the dark ceiling, the vulgar thoughts about kai slowly slipping into your mind. you groan, closing your eyes trying to drift off to sleep, but it doesn’t work.

you feel guilty as your hand travels down your stomach to the waistband of your pants. you slowly touch yourself, feeling the wetness of your cunt. you think of kai touching you, grinding against your naked figure. you moan quietly — imagining his large hands exploring every part of your body. before you could reach your sweet release, you hear a knock. you sit up abruptly trying to fix yourself up. staring at the door, you breathe out and carefully walk over to the door. you stand there for a second before opening it. you hide behind the door, peaking your head out. kai’s standing in front of you, his hands behind his back. he’s looking at his feet before turning his head to face you. he stares down at you, a slight smirk on his face. you look up at him, worried he might’ve heard your soft whimpers through the door.

“you forgot this,” he says while revealing a notebook behind his back. you grab it, thanking him. it had all your notes on research you had done earlier that day. you both stand there, an awkward silence blooming. “so,” he starts, “can’t sleep?” he asks. you nod, avoiding eye contact with him shamefully. you feel his fingers on your jaw as he moves your face to look into his eyes. “you can’t look at me now?” he whispers under his breath. you gulp, parting your lips to say something — but he quickly shushes you by smashing his lips onto yours. his hands quickly falls to your waist, shutting the door loudly with his back. you drop your notebook on the ground, looping your arms around his neck, feeling his tongue exploring your mouth. you whimper as his rough kisses trail down to your neck.

you whimper as he staggers closer to your body, pulling off his fitted long sleeve and pants. his hands wander up your shirt, unclipping your bra. you take off your shirt, stripping down to your panties. kai grabs your arm, softly pulling you towards the bed. he sits down on the edge of the small mattress, looking down at the floor signaling you to kneel. you do as you are instructed, immediately falling to your knees in between his legs. your nails dig into your thighs as you watch him edge the band of his boxers. he’s messing with you and you know it. he gives you a smirk before finally pulling them down revealing his thick cock, already dripping in precum.

you look up at him, eyes wide. he leans back on his hands, tilting his head at you. you take his dick into your hand, slowly pumping up and down. you glance up at him, his mouth slightly opened. he rolls his head back, breathing loudly as you slowly swirl your tongue around the throbbing tip. “you’re so beautiful like that,” he mutters with lust. you hum, your face warm from his praises. you start bobbing your head up and down on his dick, eyes getting teary. you knit your brows together realizing how wet you were getting. you suck him up, your pretty lips parted around his girth. kai cups your cheek with his hand, his thumb rubbing your jawline softly. he groans as your tongue continues flicking over his tip. “that’s it baby, that’s it.” he chants as you lock eyes with him. you pick up your pace, placing your unoccupied hand on his thigh for balance.

“fuck, i need you so bad.” he mumbles as you gag on his dick. you shove your head down his cock, taking in his full length down your throat. he loved the way you looked with tears running down your pretty face, those swollen lips around his dick, and your puppy dog eyes looking up at him. he watched his dick poke through your throat. you come back up to his tip, whimpering when he grabs your head, softly forcing you back down on his cock which causes you to whine. you close your eyes, shuddering as the cold air brushes past your breasts. “kai,” you manage to mutter through your cries, “mhm,” he replies as his hand cups your face again. you line wet kisses on the sides of his length, gliding your tongue over the tip.

that sends him over the edge. you hear him choke back a moan, coating the insides of your mouth with his cum. he sighs, looking down at your small figure underneath him. you lick up his semen, a lewd expression on your face. you pull away from his cock, a string of saliva breaking connections your tongue to his tip. before you could say anything — he grabs you by the waist, throwing you onto the bed but making sure to not hurt you. you yelp in surprise, quickly supporting yourself on your hands, looking back to see kai kissing your back. your breath hitches as his kisses slowly make its way to your ass. his hand creeps up into your underwear, his long fingers dipping inside of your drenched cunt. “you’re soaked,” he says, almost in a shocked tone.

“i’ve been thinking about you for so long,” you whimper out as he stretches out your pussy with his fingers. your vision starts getting blurry as he curls his fingers against the walls of your wet cunt. your back slightly arches when he pulls his fingers out. he slides off your panties, lining his tip up to the entrance. you turn your head forward, bracing yourself for the rough impact. you almost scream as his dick splits you open, feeling yourself tightening around his length. you cry out, muffling your moans by hiding your face in the sheets. he starts thrusting into you roughly, his hands on your waist. you squirm, curling your toes as he pounds into the walls of your pussy ruthlessly. “let me hear you, baby. c’mon i wanna hear your pretty little voice.” his voice low, laced with desire.

you grip onto the white sheets, tears drenching the thin covers under you. you moan out quietly, afraid that the other crew members would hear you getting your guts rearranged. the small room is filled with the sound of labored breathing, lewd moans, and skin slapping against each other. you melted into his touch, bouncing your ass against his cock to help him. you hear him whisper an “oh, yea.” behind you. he leans down to your back, his chest against you. he hugs you from behind, his hands massaging your plump breasts. “kai, please.” you beg when you realize he’s slowing down. “please what?” he teases in your ear. “let me cum, please.” he laughs, his breath tickling your neck. “be louder for me and i’ll let you.”

you groan at his response, but quickly arch your back against his chest when you feel him rubbing circles on your clit. you felt so dirty. he knows how much you wanted him now, how much you longed for this moment with him. you pant, your breathing stopping every once in awhile in response to his thick cock and skilled fingers. he fucks you into the mattress, spreading your ass with his hands to get a better view of his length sliding in and out of you. you turn your head back at him, staring at him with half lidded eyes. he laughs, keeping direct eye contact with you as he makes you chase your climax.

you can tell he’s about to cum again too. his thrusts start to get sloppier, inconsistent. you feel like a knots being tied in your core, being pulled on until it snaps. you gasp loudly, finally cumming together. your moans and his curses mix together. the wave from his cum painting your pussy makes you whimper. you swear you saw stars after you came. “fuck,” you mutter. your body feels limp as kai lays his chest on your back again, sighing into your skin. you can still feel his dick twitching inside of you. he peppers kisses against you before carefully pulling out. you shudder at the lost of contact. he plops down in the small bed, pulling you into his side. he places his head into the crook of your neck. “we should do this more,” he whispers slyly. you nod in response, his arms tightening around you as he kisses you one last time before drifting off to sleep.

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