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capslocked · 7 months

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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.)

#karina smut #irene smut #aespa smut #red velvet smut #male reader smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut

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unheavenlyvision · 2 months

Text

BAD ROMANCE.ᐟ

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: gojo satoru/reader

𝐖𝐂: 9.4k

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: your love life is in a tragic state, all your dates go poorly and just when you think you found a nice guy you could like, that ends poorly too. good thing you have your best friend gojo to look out for you !

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ only, smut, f!reader, she/her pronouns used, cheating (not done by reader or gojo), dirty talk, cunnilingus, fingering, spitting, praise, p in v sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, big dick!gojo, tease/mean!gojo (he likes embarrassing reader), jealous!gojo, gojo is down BAD, use of pet names, that's all !! (i think :3)

Checking the time again, you sigh, it’s bordering on an hour since you first sat down to wait for your date. The thought that you had been stood up entered your mind maybe half an hour ago but now it’s practically been cemented.

Maybe you should just cut your losses and leave but this is a nice place, it’d be a shame to waste the reservation. Hope that your date is going to miraculously show up has left you though. Opening your texts, you think of who to message, the idea to message Gojo briefly crossing your mind before you decide he is the worst possible person to tell about this.

Instead, you message Shoko, asking if she’s free and telling her of your failed date. It takes her a few minutes to reply and when she does, instead of a straightforward response, you receive a cryptic and ambiguous saluting emoji. Deciding to take that as confirmation of her presence, you begin waiting… again.

You think you’ve reached your waiting quota of the year, no more waiting on people. Why do people never seem to value your time? While lamenting to yourself silently, you don’t notice the arrival of someone incredibly familiar, someone incredibly exasperating.

“I’m hurt you know.”

The words startle you and as you look up to find the source of them, you’re confronted with Gojo standing beside you. Pouting like he’s feeling extremely slighted by you for some indiscernible reason.

You almost sputter at him, his presence completely unexpected, “What are you doing here?”

He ignores your question, continuing with his faux pain, “My best friend gets stood up and instead of messaging me… she messages Shoko? That stings.”

Sighing off his dramatics, you ask again, “What are you doing here, Gojo?”

“What else would I be here for?” He smiles big at you, moving to sit in the chair opposite you, flopping down and making himself comfortable, “I’m here to be your date!”

Propping your head up on your hand, you grumble at him, “How did you even know I was stood up?”

“I was with Shoko when you messaged her,” he shrugs easily.

You squint at him, “Why are you here and not her?”

“Because it is my duty as your best friend to be there for you.”

So stubborn about the weirdest things, you’ve known each other forever and sure, maybe he is your best friend, but this is something that has bruised your ego a bit. It’s silly, but for some reason… you don’t really want for Gojo to see you like this.

Sulking, you huff, “It’s not a big deal, I just didn’t wanna waste the reservation.”

“Don’t lie, you dressed up all cute and the dude couldn’t even be bothered to show up?” He frowns like he’ll get angry if he thinks about it for too long, “It’s a big deal.”

“You’re more upset about it then I am,” you play at indifference and while you don’t really care about your failed date, you are thinking really hard about how he said you dressed cute.

“That’s just ‘cause you’re always settling for less than what you deserve,” he grows a little more irritated, like his observation annoys him more than it annoys you.

Defending yourself with a grumble, “That’s not true.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he smiles in a manner that exudes disbelief. Because it does, Gojo has witnessed you settle for less nearly every single day of your lives and every time he has to grit his teeth and cope.

Crossing your arms, you snark at him, “Don’t patronise me, Gojo.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he still has that smile plastered on his face.

You glare at him from across the table but sit in silence, not really having anything else to say to him right now. Annoyed at yourself for losing the back and forth between the two of you for not the first time and definitely not the last.

Gojo, however, is not capable of sitting in silence for too long and so, he whines at you, “Anyways, I thought I was always your first call when things went wrong.”

Looking away from him, you scratch at the back of your neck awkwardly, “You are… for other things.”

Catching onto your meaning, he asks, “So, you never call me when things go wrong on dates?”

“…Correct.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not really something I thought would matter to you this much.” The truth is, you’ve been on much worse dates, dates where they actually show up but prove themselves to be some of the worst people. You always call Shoko though… that or you just brush it off.

Telling Gojo about your dating life feels weird, it’s not like he tells you about his.

His mouth downturns at your remark, “Anything that involves you matters to me.”

“It’s not like you tell me about your dating life,” you counter, starting to feel somewhat badly.

“I would, if I had one,” he leans back into his chair more, “I’m not currently dating though.”

Sheepishly, you say, “Oh…well…I am.”

“I know that now,” his eyes focus on you, “Just how many dates have you gone on recently?”

“Recently?” he nods at you, “Uhm… a few every couple of weeks, not heaps but… frequently enough that getting stood up isn’t the worst thing to happen to me lately.” You laugh slightly at a memory, “You know, on one of them, the guy actually got back with his ex during our date, like he–”

You cut yourself off when you realise Gojo isn’t experiencing the same amount of enjoyment at the recounting of your date a few weeks ago. “Why is this bugging you?”

“It’s not,” his tone is certain but the expression he’s wearing is anything but. Clearly annoyed by something.

Challenging his logic, you ask, “Do you want me to tell you about my dating life?”

He thinks on it for a second, “No.”

Tilting your head at him, “See? That’s what I thought–”

“–But I want you to call me when things go badly,” his gaze even on you, unwavering.

“You’re annoying,” you huff out a breath.

His face brightens up again, “And yet I’m still your best friend.”

You can only roll your eyes at him because he’s right, he’s completely annoying and also completely your best friend.

★

After that failed date that turned into you having dinner with Gojo, you decided you would listen to him and call him whenever a date goes south. He seemed actually bothered by the fact you weren’t relying on him more, so you decided that if something does go wrong, you’d tell him about it.

However, your dating life has been going pretty swimmingly the past couple weeks. You’ve actually found someone you wouldn’t mind being with, having gone on a few dates with him now. You’ve pretty much been exclusively seeing him, he’s taken you out for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Previous dates barely made it through one meal, but this guy managed to appeal to you enough to take you out multiple times.

It’s your fault that you got your hopes up, thinking that maybe he was different but as you sit on the couch in his apartment, his assumed girlfriend yelling at him, you can see he’s just like everyone else in the dating scene these days. It’s that or you just have really bad luck when it comes to your romantic life.

For the third time, you try to leave but he holds you back, “Wait no, please don’t go, this is just a misunderstanding!”

You shrug him off you, his touch making you feel disgusting.

Going to say something in reply, but his girlfriend speaks first, “So now you’re cheating on me and trying to keep her here?”

He sputters, like he forgot she was here for a moment, “No! Babe, I’m not cheating on you!”

Awkwardly, you scratch at the back of your neck, “Listen, I’m going to be so honest, I think you’re a bad person and any interest I had in you is gone. I’d just really like to leave now.”

He’s wearing an annoyed look on his face, “How do you even expect to get home? I drove you here.”

She scoffs at him from by the door, foot tapping impatiently, “Now you’re offering her a ride home? Are you fucking serious right now?”

Walking to the front door, you shuffle around his girlfriend, “I’m just gonna… slide right past you.” Pausing after opening the door and turning back to address her, “Uhm… Just in case he tries lying to you… we went on multiple dates over the past couple weeks.” Standing awkwardly for an extra moment as her face twists in realisation, “Bye!” You rush out the door, speed walking to the elevator.

The screaming and yelling gets louder from their apartment, able to hear them until you finally get in the elevator and start heading down to the ground floor. In the lobby, you pull out your phone and sigh dejectedly, scrolling for Gojo’s contact, you need a ride home.

He picks up pretty quickly, “Hello?”

You get straight to the point, not feeling particularly great right about now, “…I need a ride home.”

“Well, good evening to you too,” he replies, voice full of mirth, “You know. people normally exchange pleasantries over the phone before immediately asking for things, I’ve been told – by you actually – that just asking for things straight up can be read as rude, so–”

“–Satoru.”

The use of his name has him going quiet, stopping his tangent instead to ask, “Where are you?”

You’re tired, your mood travelling through the phone as you answer, “Some apartment, I’ll text you the address…”

“You okay?” He checks.

You can’t help the pause before your reply, “…Yeah.”

His concern for you growing at your seeming uncertainty, “You gonna tell me what happened?”

It’s a little embarrassing, you think, but yeah, you’ll tell him about it, “Later… I just wanna go home now.”

“Alright, I’ll be there soon.” He hangs up before you get to thank him.

You text him the address and then head out the front of the building, waiting for him to get you. While you’re waiting, you find yourself wondering if that girl will stay with him, you hope she doesn’t, she deserves better than him.

When Gojo pulls up, you silently slip into the passenger seat, you’re expecting him to immediately drive away but he turns and looks at you. His eyes examining you carefully, scrutinising you.

Turning your head to the side, “What?”

“Just making sure you’re okay.” His hands reach out and for a second you think he’s going to touch you, but he pulls on the seatbelt and clicks it into place for you.

You mumble out at him, dismissive, “I’m fine.”

He hums at you, in that way that tells you he doesn’t believe you even a little bit but he’s letting it go for now. Instead focusing on getting you home.

Back at your apartment, Gojo follows you all the way inside, you thought maybe he would just drop you home and leave you alone, but he’s followed you into your living room. You don’t know if you have the energy for him right now, feeling so drained. Probably feeling this way because you’re incapable of finding a decent guy to date.

Couch looking so inviting, you flop down onto it face first, mumbling out, “Gojo, will you just be my boyfriend?”

He seems taken aback by your sudden ask, choking on his own spit, coughing out a confused, “What?”

Sighing, you cryptically answer, “I don’t think I’m built for the dating scene.”

When he finishes hacking up a lung, he taps your legs, to which you hold them up so he can sit down. His hand tugging them back down once he’s sat, “What happened, sweetheart?”

Your voice is still muffled by the couch cushions, “Been seeing a guy for a couple weeks now–”

“–The same one?” Gojo cuts you off.

Humming out a, “Yes and–”

Again, he cuts you off, “–That’s pretty serious…”

I know but–”

“–Why didn’t you tell me about him?” His tone growing slightly alarmed by the apparent seriousness of your dating life.

Becoming somewhat annoyed, you push yourself out of the cushions and sit up to face him, your legs still resting in his lap, “You said you didn’t wanna hear about my dating life.” You point an accusatory finger at him.

“Yeah, but casually dating and actively seeing someone is different–” He’s not really sure if he’s making a fair point or not but sticking to it like he is.

“–Does it matter?” You’re looking at him incredulously, not sure if there is a difference.

He’s steadfast in his opinion, “Of course it matters.”

“I don’t think it should, especially since–”

“–If you’re seeing the same guy multiple times that means you were actually interested in him–” He’s annoyed at himself for not realising you were seeing the same guy, for not asking questions, not realising how serious you were getting about one guy. So caught up in this one fact that he’s lost sight of his original purpose of being here.

“–Can you stop cutting me off!” You raise your voice at him, getting sick of how much he’s been interrupting you, “I’ve been trying to tell you that he had a girlfriend the whole time,” you purse your lips and look away from him, feeling embarrassed, “That’s why I asked you to come get me.”

“Oh…” He feels bad now.

“…Yeah, she showed up while I was there, and it was really uncomfortable, and I didn’t exactly feel safe.” You sigh, slumping, “And now I just feel really bad about dating.”

Completely serious when he suggests, “Maybe you should stop.”

“Stop dating?”

Consistent in his confirmation, “Yes.”

Meeting his gaze again, “How else am I going to meet someone?”

He rolls his eyes at your question, irritated for reasons unknown to you, “Why do you need to date someone now anyways?”

You don’t really see his point, what does he mean ‘why?’… why else do people date? “Maybe I’m lonely, maybe I seek companionship, maybe I’m like every other normal person?”

“You have me though,” you’d think he was joking if he weren’t so straight faced.

Unsure how to go about answering when it seems pretty straight forward to you, “Gojo… that’s not the same thing, we’re friends, we don’t look at each other that way.”

“Says you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’d date you in a heartbeat,” he folds his arms over his chest, “In fact, you’re the only person I want to date.”

You can’t tell if he’s teasing or not, “Get real, that’s not what I meant.”

His head tilts at you, “What did you mean then?”

“I’m talking about romantic and sexual attraction,” you’re avoiding his gaze again.

So casual in how he bluntly asks, “You think I’m not sexually attracted to you?”

His question catches you off guard slightly, “It’s not just about sexual attraction, Gojo,” you shake your head, “if that were the case, I’d just be having one night stands all the time, I want a relationship with someone…”

He nods his head like he suddenly understands, “Ah, so you think I’m not romantically interested in you?”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

Disbelieving when you look at him, “Are you serious right now? We’re friends.”

“Yeah, we are friends, but I also happen to be romantically and sexually attracted to you.”

How do you even respond to a confession like that? He’s not even flustered, completely nonchalant in how he’s just told you that he’s interested in you. “I don’t think–”

“–Are you going to tell me you’re not interested in me? Even a little bit?”

“We’re friends.”

“Is that the only thing stopping you?” He doesn’t wait for your answer, “Because if it is, then it’s a little arbitrary, no?”

The beginning of a frown settles on your features, “What are you trying to get me to say? That I’d date you if we weren’t friends, that I’d fuck you?”

He smiles at you, “Sure, but if you would if we weren’t friends, I’m saying you should even though we are.”

Frown deepening, “You’re being serious?”

“I’m being so serious,” he leans in slightly, hand moving to your face, thumb smoothing over the crease between your brows.

Looking at his lips before catching yourself and turning your head to the side, away from his touch, away from his enticing lips.

He sighs at your reaction, “You know, I’ve been interested in you from the beginning, and maybe I’m an idiot for not saying anything but watching you seriously try dating someone else might just kill me.”

You had no idea he liked you, you’ve liked him at different points in your life too, but he always seemed so out of reach from you, and you never wanted to ruin the friendship, so you forced yourself to move on. It feels a little unfair that you’re finding out now he’s liked you the whole time, “What are you asking of me?”

“I’m asking you to give me a chance,” his hand gently guides your face to look at him again, “I’m asking you to seriously try dating me.”

You’re trying to make a decision, trying to figure out how to answer him, if you should even give him a chance but the way he’s looking at you, how his gaze flicks between your eyes and your lips is distracting you.

Brows pulling up, voice quieter than before, “Gojo, you need to stop looking at me like that if you want an answer.”

“Like what?” He plays dumb.

“Like you really wanna kiss me,” you murmur back.

“Can’t help it…” he leans in a little bit more, “Maybe if you let me kiss you, I’ll stop.”

“Satoru,” you warn.

“Hmm?” His eyes meet yours for a moment, trying to see what you want.

He’s making you dizzy, “I can’t make a choice when you’re this close.”

Humming at you, “Why not?”

“Can’t think,” you blurt it out before really thinking about how it will come across.

He’s smiling smugly, “Then don’t.”

You don’t know who leans in first, all you know is his lips are on yours and they’re soft. Kissing you gently, trying to learn how you like to be kissed. Growing more insistent the longer you let him kiss you, the years of his need bleeding into it.

One of his hands traveling down your body, resting on your hip, the other cradling your face. He’s leaning into you more, pushing your body down into the couch, him following behind it, never parting from your lips very long.

Hand now holding himself above you, kiss growing urgent, tongue licking into your mouth, meeting yours in a way that makes your body tingle. If you thought his proximity was making you dizzy before than his kiss might have you actually passing out. Skin growing hot at how his hand on your face angles you, how he deepens the kiss effortlessly.

If Gojo were more aware of himself, of the precarious position he’s put himself in, he might be a little bit more careful with how feverish his kisses are and how needy he’s getting but when he’s finally getting to kiss you after years of not being able to, he can’t really control himself. The little control he does have, slipping when you moan into his mouth, his own moan shared in the kiss.

It's you who parts the kiss, it had to be because he certainly wasn’t going to be able to do it. If he had his way, he’d have his mouth on you until he died. In the back of his mind, he knew that kissing you would be good, but he didn’t think he’d get so lost in it. Somewhat embarrassed at himself for how aroused he’s gotten over your lips on his.

Your huffed breaths are intermingled with how close you both are to each other, Gojo hovering over you, speaking into your mouth, “Have you made a decision yet?”

You’re having trouble thinking still, especially with how his lips brush ever so slightly against yours, “I…uhmm…”

When he realises how dazed you are, two things happen. One; his ego grows about ten times bigger and two; he pulls back from you, still close enough that if you tugged on him, you could kiss him again but enough to hopefully give you room to think.

“Come on, don’t keep a guy waiting,” he’s taunting you lightly, taking joy in how hazy your eyes are as you look up at him.

“Okay,” you nod.

“Hmm? Okay what?”

Taking another moment to clear your brain fog, you answer again, “Okay, I will seriously try dating you.”

“Can’t date anyone else while you do,” he conditions.

“Okay,” agreeing easily.

He adds, “Have to seriously think about me being your boyfriend.”

Again, agreeing, “Okay.”

“Have to keep kissing me right now,” smile growing on his features.

“Ok–” frowning at him when you realise, “–Hey.”

“You don’t want to?” His hand tilts your head up by your chin, looking down into your eyes, “Because you look like you want to.”

Pouting at him, “Don’t be cruel.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart,” his smile evil as he continues to look down at you.

Leveling him with an even stare, you state, “I don’t sleep with guys on the first date.”

“Got a dirty mind, huh? All I asked for was a kiss.”

You glare at him and then try to avoid his gaze, voice smaller than before, “You don’t kiss like that’s all you want.”

His smile is crooked as he asks, “And how do I kiss?”

Feeling your skin flare at his taunting question, at how he leans in again, his mouth right over yours, “Dizzyingly.”

He breathes out an amused laugh before he’s slotting his mouth back over yours, how you described his kiss is accurate. He kisses you in such a way that you can’t think straight even if you really want to, which is why it’s probably a bad idea to keep letting him kiss you if you don’t want to sleep with him before you even get a first date.

Abruptly parting your mouth from his, gasping out, “Wait,” taking a second to catch your breath. Gojo groans softly at the loss of your lips, his forehead resting on yours waiting for you to speak.

“What’s wrong?” He asks when you don’t continue.

“You need to stop kissing me.”

“Oh?” He hums at you in thought, his lips now trailing down the side of your face, only to rest right by your ear, “And why’s that?”

His voice has goose bumps raising on your skin, “If you keep kissing me like that…” your volume gets quieter as you mumble out, “…I’ll wanna have sex with you.”

He has the fucking audacity to laugh at you, “That worked up by a few kisses, huh?” Taunting you like he isn’t the hardest he’s ever been, cock twitching at your confession.

“Shuddup.”

His words are dripping with delight, “At least we know you’re sexually attracted to me.”

He licks lightly at your ear, and you feel like you almost jump out of your skin, gasping at it. Hands reaching out to push back on his chest, “You’re a mean man, Gojo.”

“At this point…” He looks you over, unmoved by your hands, “…I think it would be meaner to deprive yourself.”

“We are not sleeping together for the first time on my couch before we even go on a date,” you’re trying to stay steadfast but he’s making it hard when he keeps looking at you like that.

“So… you’re saying I should take you to the bedroom?” When you look at him in exasperation, he smiles softly, “I’m just kidding, we won’t do anything you don’t want to, but I will point out – for the last time – that you look an awful lot like you want to.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to… I just feel like if you’re gonna make me seriously consider you then I should date you properly too,” you avoid his gaze, feeling unusually sincere.

Abruptly, he states, “It wouldn’t be our first date though.”

“What?”

He’s a little distant when he answers, having trouble concentrating on the conversation when you’re pouting your lips at him like you are, “I count a couple weeks ago as our first date.”

“When I was stood up?” You scoff, “That does not count.”

“Why not?”

“Because it wasn’t even planned.”

“No but we ate dinner together and you were dressed awful cute, I count it as a date,” smirk present on his face as he continues to hover over you.

Ignoring his compliment, you continue to try and reason, “We were still just friends then though.”

“So, we aren’t ‘just friends’ now?” He’s being a smart ass, he knows what you mean but he’s not going to let up on this, taking it as a small victory in making you think of him as more than just a friend.

You return earnestly, “I don’t wanna count it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it wasn’t meant to be you on that date…” before he can get hurt over those words, you clarify, “…don’t get me wrong, I had fun and I’m glad you showed up, but it wasn’t planned to be you… when we go on our first date… I want it to be meant for you.” You’re unsure if you verbalised yourself in a way that makes sense, feeling much more nervous all of a sudden.

He’s looking at you so intently and you’re worried you’ve upset him somehow, “I know you said I need to stop kissing you, but that’s what I want more than anything right now.” He leans in closer, pausing just shy of your lips.

His words make your heart stutter, throwing caution to the wind as you close the distance between the two of you again, kissing him fully. Letting his mouth consume your ability to think critically, all too happy to fall into him.

Your control of the situation is slipping more and more away from you and so is the ability to care, not minding at all how you’re becoming more and more okay with how hot your body is starting to feel.

Hands reaching up and fisting the material of his shirt, pulling him down into you, his hips colliding with yours. Almost entirely instinctually – and somewhat purposefully – your legs wrap around his lower half. One of his hands reaches for your thigh, gripping the fattest part of it harshly.

You both moan into the kiss and he parts his mouth from yours, voice straining when he speaks, “Sweetheart, if you really don’t want to do anything more than this then you need to tell me to get off you right now.”

Looking at him through your lashes, you play coy, “But I like having you on top of me.”

A shiver runs down his spine, “You’re evil,” he grunts, fighting the urge to grind down into you.

He’s been pining after you for years and it feels like torture to be this close to you, pelvis pressed up against yours, having you so pliant and needy under him. He can feel his sanity slipping from him the longer you stay like this, and your words make it harder for him to pull away.

“Satoru–” when you say his name his hips jut into yours, making you gasp against him.

He hisses an apology through his teeth, “Sorry – fuck – sorry, what’s up?”

Deciding to be forward, “Take me to my room?”

Trying to hide the excitement from his face, he checks with you, “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you give a small nod, feeling shy.

You really do want to though, more than anything. Only initially so hesitant because this doesn’t feel like the right way to do things but then again, your whole relationship with Gojo is a little less than conventional at times.

When he determines that you’re sure of yourself, he’s off you in the blink of an eye. Quick in his movements as he pulls you up along with him. Before you can even really register that you’re off the couch, you’re thrown over his shoulder as he walks hurriedly to your room.

“Someone’s eager,” you laugh at how ridiculous he’s being.

The chuckle he returns is humourless, “You have no fucking idea.”

You’re dropped down onto your bed unceremoniously, bouncing slightly at the force of it. Your arms reach out behind you to support yourself, palms splayed against your bedspread. Gojo is already tugging his shirt off and over his head, thrown and lost to some corner of your room.

“Gojo, breathe.”

“Don’t need to breathe,” he smiles large at you, “Do need your pants off though.”

Listening to him, you shimmy your pants down your legs, mumbling to him about how bossy he is.

“You know… I’m hearing a lot of complaining but I am also seeing a whole lot of direction following,” he teases.

You grumble at him, “If you’re going to be like this the whole time then I’m changing my mind.

“Don’t lie to yourself, sweetheart. You’re not fooling anyone, especially not with how you’re rubbing your thighs together.” His large hands grip your thighs, “Feeling horny?”

You don’t really want to answer him honestly but denying it feels like a trap, like he’d do something to prove you wrong and the last thing you want is for him to torture you. You’re already so pitifully slick from kissing him.

Fighting with your embarrassment, you give him your best pleading face, “Mhm, really horny.”

The smugness drops from his face, hands suddenly tugging you down the bed as he drops to his knees. Mouth leaving kisses from your knees to your inner thighs, your breath catching in your lungs. Not expecting him to be so forward, though you don’t know what you were expecting if not that.

“Gojo, you don’t have to–”

“I want to,” his eyes flick to yours, “Plus, if you wanna take me, you’re gonna need the prep,” smile growing at how your eyes grow wider.

Disbelief clear in your expression, accusing, “You’re full of it.”

He’s not worried about your scepticism, “You’ll find out for yourself in a bit.” He shrugs easily, “Now, can I put my tongue on your pretty pussy, or do you have more to say?”

He asks but his attention is already completely on your covered cunt, a single finger moving under the elastic of the waist band just to snap it back against you. A small noise of shock leaving you, “Ah! Do what you want…”

Oh, he looks so excited by your words, “You mean it?”

You’ll be honest and admit you weren’t really paying attention to what you were saying, brain hazy with how close he is to your core, skin pricking at how you can feel his hot breath against you. Feeling so unusually exposed and sensitive and you can’t tell if you’re that worked up or if he just has that effect on you.

“Mhm,” you’re nodding your head at him, giving him a green light, for what, you’re not entirely sure, all you know is that you want him to do something – anything.

“These are some really cute panties…kinda bothers me,” he’s still playing with the edges of them, annoyed when remembering you were with another guy tonight. Were you going to sleep with him tonight?

Pulling yourself up onto your elbows, you question, “What?”

Eyes flicking towards yours, “I’m a bit of a jealous guy.”

“I know this,” he always has been quick to get worked up over things regarding you, though it makes a little more sense after learning he’s liked you for so long.

He smiles at you, but his eyes are humourless, “Of course you do,” he fists at the material of your panties, “But the idea of another guy getting so close to seeing you in these… has me feeling really annoyed.”

The sound of fabric tearing fills your ears, he’s just ripped your panties off you completely. There is no salvaging them, completely useless as he throws them over his shoulder.

“Hey! those were my good pair!” They were one of the nicer pairs you own.

“Who cares about that?” His tone is dismissive, hands spreading your legs obscenely, eyes greedily looking at your uncovered pussy, “Your cunt is much cuter.”

God, you feel like you might pass out, face suddenly extremely hot, “Don’t be crude.”

“Hmm? …but I think you like it though…” his thumb swipes through your folds and you gasp at him, “Got so much wetter when I said it.”

He’s quick to begin rubbing circles into your clit, thumb giving even pressure. The stimulation has your arms shaking, threatening to give out from under you. Biting your lip to stop yourself from moaning, feeling embarrassed at how intently he’s shamelessly staring at your cunt.

Continuing to speculate, he says, “That or you like being praised…” he smirks evilly, “You like being praised, sweetheart? Being told how good you’re being for me?”

Your heart leaps in your chest, brows upturning, trying to hide your outward reaction to his words, “Hah– No…”

“Such a bad liar,” eyeing your face, “Wearing a really great expression right now though.”

Fighting the urge to grind down, you deny, “Not lying.”

He ignores you, “Could be both though,” he’s continuing to ponder on what you react most to, “Which is it, sweetheart? You like how crude I am, or do you like the praise?”

You don’t plan on answering him, eyes closing harshly against his intense gaze, feeling way too exposed. His touch leaves you and you open your eyes in alarm, trying to see what he’s doing. You see his smile before he’s leaning in and licking up the length of your pussy, eyes locked on yours the whole time.

Surprised moans slip from you, arms almost giving out completely, head rolling back. His arms wrap around your legs to hold you steady, face pushing closer into you, tongue flicking at your clit before pressing into your pussy hole.

He’s relishing in your sounds, in how wet you are, how you taste and smell, almost forgetting why he did this in the first place. Pulling away from you with a lewd smack of his lips, smiling big at the whine you let out from the loss of him.

Huffing slightly as he says, “Asked a question, not licking your pussy again until you answer it.”

“I don’t know,” your head lolls forward, eyes wet.

Head moving to the side to nip lightly at your thigh, “Shall we find out then?”

You jolt at the sensation, face twisting in confusion at him.

“You don’t gotta do anything, sweetie, just stay like this,” his hands push back on your thighs though, opening you up to him even more. “Been doing so good for me, sound so pretty,” he coos at you.

Brows furrowing at his words, heart skipping beats at his sudden praise, feeling fuzzy all over.

He hums in thought, “So fucking wet for me, dripping everywhere, creamy fucking pussy.”

You twitch at the switch, wanting to crawl away from him.

“I think I’ve just realised something,” he glances up at you, “Got such nice reactions to both things I said, do you know how much wetter you got, cunt twitching and drooling for me.”

You try pulling from him, but his hold is firm, “Gojo!” You warn.

He might be enjoying this too much but learning about what gets you going is way too enticing, especially when he doesn’t have to do much to have you looking so pathetic. “Trying to run away from me,” he tsks, “But you’re fucking dripping, so reactive, so sweet.” His eyes are glazing over, working himself up.

“‘Toru!” You call for him again, you feel like you’re on fire, beyond embarrassed.

He groans at the nickname, not hearing it from you in so long, you used to always call him that. He liked it a little too much, cock leaking for you. He feels as wrecked as he looks when he looks up at you, “I think you like both,” is his conclusion.

Reaching up, he grabs at your hand and pulls it down to your cunt, his fingers guiding your own through your slick. You gasp at it, not expecting for yourself to be so soaked. Biting at your lower lip when he moves your fingers over your clit, teasing you.

Dazed when he asks, “Ever been this wet, pretty?”

You shake your head, “No… I didn’t know I…”

Fingers moving yours to your entrance, “Poor thing, didn’t know how slutty her pussy was.” Feeling the way your cunt clenches at his words, his face bright with it, “Fucking great though, in love with it,” and again, your brows raising in realisation, “Yeah… you know now, don’t you?”

“You’re making me feel embarrassed,” you pout, head dizzy.

“No, I’m making you feel so fucking horny, not my fault that you like being embarrassed and praised at the same time,” he pulls your fingers away from your core, moving them to his mouth, sucking them clean.

You remove your fingers from him, coming to rest back in the bed, feeling breathless as you look down at him. “What do you want from me?”

“Want you to admit it, want you tell me how much you like when I talk to you,” his hand tickles up the skin of your inner thigh.

“…Like it,” you mumble out.

Humming in thought, “Hmm, not good enough, don’t think I believe you.”

Repeating, louder, “I like it.”

Tilting his head at you, “You like what?”

“I like when you talk to me,” you say with more force, brows furrowed.

He pretends to be unsure of your answer, “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” You try again, but as his expression remains unchanging, you add, “I like when you talk to me, I like how hot and fuzzy your words make me feel, I like just the sound of your voice, makes me want to squirm. Love it even! Is that what you wanted to hear?” You huff.

“Holy fuck, yes,” if he weren’t already on his knees, he would’ve fallen to them again.

You let out a squeal at the way his mouth is already back on you, tongue pushing into your hole insistently. Fervent in his actions, clearly worked up by your words. If he were on the bed, he’d be shamelessly grinding his hips down into it, cock so fucking hard it’s aching. Pulsing so pitifully for you and if he weren’t so completely distracted by how you taste he’d throw caution to the wind and fuck into you right now.

“Gojo! Oh–” His name comes out all broken, ruined and shaky from how he laps at your cunt, drinking down all your slick.

Your elbows officially give out and you’re flopping back onto the mattress, fingers digging into the bed. Struggling to hold in all the little noises he’s pulling from you, hips trying to desperately rut into his pretty face with no luck, locked in place by his strong hold.

Gasping out at him, “M–more. Gojo – hah – more, please.”

Grunting against you, vibrations running up your spine, wanting desperately to kick your legs against the stimulation but unable to. He’s worked you up so much, so fucking desperate for release that his touch is making you crazy.

A finger presses at your hole, slipping inside easily, both his finger and tongue fucking into you. Another finger added, opening you up, scissoring them, tongue sneaking deeper inside your cunt.

He feels drunk, head heavy and brain foggy, tongue fucking you deeply. Delighting in the sounds of your sloppy pussy trying to suck him in deeper, he’s losing his mind. Tongue leaving you only for him to spit onto your cunt, thumb rubbing it into your clit, third finger added to the first two. Determined to have you ready for his cock.

“Need you to cum,” he sounds wrecked even to himself, “Before I do in my own pants – ffffuck –” Can’t help the way he curses at how you tighten around him at his words, “Must’ve been telling the truth about liking my voice, huh?” He teases, laughing breathlessly at how you react to him again.

Pressing out a simple, “S–so mean,” in response.

“You fucking like it,” eyes watching how your back arches off the mattress, “Love it even,” he reminds.

A series of moans leave you unabashedly at how he crooks his fingers just right, consistently hitting the one spot, thighs twitching at it. Stomach pulling tight and toes curling, head moving from side to side, so fucking close now.

“That’s it, sweetie,” he encourages, “Doing so good, just let go for me.”

You’re cumming suddenly, the abruptness of it shocking, like your body skipped the rest of the build up at Gojo’s words. If it didn’t feel good how he was fucking you through it, how his thumb kept rubbing at your clit, you’d feel beyond embarrassed at how you came just because he asked you to.

It’s not lost on him how quick you were to finish after he spoke, his ego big before and now fucking massive. Absolutely thrilled by how you continue to prove your responsiveness to him, if he were ever worried about you not being attracted to him, he can’t possibly remember why. Not when you’re squirming under him, tears threatening to slip from your waterline.

“Such a good direction follower,” he mocks, repeating his earlier sentiments.

His fingers keep stroking at you until your body goes limp, only jerking every now and again with your come down. Pulling them from you and parting them, looking at the way your cum connects his fingers together with white strings.

“Look at that,” his voice dripping with glee, “I was right… got such a creamy pussy,” he hums, shoving his fingers into his mouth.

He wipes his spit covered fingers on your thighs before standing, tugging off his pants and boxers before crawling up the mattress, leaning over you. Fingers skimming at your sides, pulling your shirt along with it, “Can I take this off, pretty?”

Eyes bleary when they meet his, giving a small nod, “Mhm.”

“You okay to keep going?” He checks, leaning in closer to you.

His concern makes you unreasonably happy, feeling genuinely cared for, “Yeah.”

“You sure–”

Cutting him off, “–Yes.”

Shock present on his face before smiling endearingly at you, completely smitten with you and has been for a long time now. It all feels a little surreal to him, being able to hold you, be intimate with you. Leaning in more, pressing soft kisses all over your face.

Showering you in affection as his hands continue to pull your shirt up. Only parting to pull it from you fully, thrown to some corner of your room, joining the rest of your clothes. Shuffling back so he can look at all of you, hands delicately tracing over you, like he’s memorising how you feel under his palms.

“You’re so soft,” he mumbles, hands smoothing over you. He drops onto you, face pressing between your tits, breathing in your scent.

Confused as your voice calls for him gently, “‘Toru?”

“Fuck,” he nips at your skin first and then moves to get back on his knees, “Alright, spread those pretty legs for me, sweetheart.”

Feeling placid from the intensity of your orgasm, you immediately listen to him and open your legs, moving them to the outside of his. Gojo feels like his heart grows in size at how quick you are to listen to him, so docile you don’t even talk back to him.

Your head cocks to the side at him, confused by his stare, “What?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head at you, “You’re just really cute.”

He grabs your face, sandwiching your cheeks between his fingers, his lips leaving behind a big and sloppy kiss on yours before focusing back on your cunt. Grasping his cock and groaning at the pressure, squeezing himself to alleviate some of the need crawling desperately up his spine.

You can’t help but stare, he wasn’t full of it, he really is that big. Long and thick and looking so painfully hard, dripping precum so messily down the length of himself, dribbling down onto the bed sheets.

“It’s rude to stare,” he hisses, hand now stroking himself, clearly not even a little bit put off by your shameless staring. If anything, completely aroused by it.

Looking up into his eyes as you apologise, “‘M sorry.”

“Hah,” he huffs in amusement, “So polite all of a sudden, orgasm that good, pretty?”

“Yeah,” you nod, staring at him straight on, aiming to work him up more.

It works, “Fuck– alright,” his hips stutter into his hand and he stops fisting his cock, “‘Bout to give you an even better one,” guiding his dick to your core.

Swiping the head of himself through your folds, letting it collect the slick leaking from you. Teasing you like this for a bit, moving himself up and down before dipping into your hole, only to pull away again.

You whine at him over it, “Please.”

Smile large as he coos, “Don’t worry, pretty. I’ll take care of you.”

Keeping his word, he slowly presses the tip of his dick into you, hissing at the stretch, worried he didn’t give you enough prep. You bite your lip as you begin to take him in, fisting the sheets below, looking up at Gojo. His brows are upturned, and his jaw clenched, focusing so hard on being slow and careful. He pauses when you clench and flinch around him.

“I can take it,” gaze determined as you try to assure him, “You can keep going.”

“Oh, sweetie,” his hand grips at your inner thigh, squishing it under his hold, “I appreciate that,” he smiles, “I do… but you’re gonna want to pace yourself.”

You pout up at him, sulking, wanting to be full and not appreciating his probably – definitely – sound advice.

“Hah, don’t pout,” his thumb moves to your clit, “You’ll take it, know you will,” rubbing circles into it, “Cause I’m gonna make sure of it, but you gotta pace yourself.”

Under his touch, you relax again, and he pushes his hips forward, starting the slow process of opening you up on his cock. His control astounding himself right now, wanting nothing more than to fuck into you completely, feeling your pussy swallow him whole.

He’s not quite half-way yet and already pressing up against the most delicious spots inside you, with that and his consistent pressure on your clit, you’re suddenly so fucking close to cumming like this.

Reaching out to him, your hand lightly slaps at him, trying to warn, “I’m gonna – hah –”

Gojo realises when you clench down on him what you’re trying to say, the small noises you make getting louder, he almost blows his load the second he realises. Ripping himself from you suddenly, you cry out at the loss, cumming around nothing, gasping into your hand.

“Why? Why?” you’re almost incoherent as you ask him.

“I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart,” he keeps his thumb on your clit, trying to make up for the loss of his cock, “Would’ve cum if I hadn’t pulled out, wanna at least fuck you before I do.”

You glare at him, trying to convey how slighted you feel but he only seems to find it endearing, smiling at you over it. “I’ll make it up to you, don’t worry.”

Wasting no time, he fucks back into you, to where he was before he pulled out. Giving shallow thrusts as he keeps pressing forwards, breath stuttering at the small way he’s getting the friction he’s desperate for.

“Such a greedy cunt,” he murmurs, dick slipping deeper, “So quick to cum for me, sucking me in.”

“Gojo–” you whine at him, his words back to embarrassing you.

His voice cracks at how you refer to him, “–No, no, nono, what happened to ‘Toru?” Fucking deeper, so close to being balls deep.

“‘Toru, you’re–” cutting yourself off with a moan, he thrust the rest of the way in when you called to him, “–so deep.”

“Don’t I fucking know it,” he chuckles breathlessly, moving to press his body up against yours, craving the contact.

He’s pressed up against you completely, warm and strong, your legs loop around his waist and he slips in deeper. He groans at it, holding himself back, wanting you to adjust to all of him first. He nuzzles into your neck, leaving kisses and love bites against the sensitive skin there, relishing in the way your pussy jumps around him over such a small act.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you liked me or something,” he jokes, referencing how sensitive you are to him.

Without thinking, you admit, “I have – mmph – I’ve liked you mm–multiple times ah– at different points in – hah – our lives.”

His head snaps back as he twitches inside you, “Seriously?” When you nod, he grinds down into you, “Fuck– had me so stressed, liked you all this time and you’re telling me I could’ve had this pretty, little pussy so much sooner?”

You’re feeling a bit dazed, two orgasms deep and stretched so obscenely around him, cunt making wet noises just from the small way he’s grinding into you.

“When,” his words are hurried, when you look at him like he’s just said something in a different language, he asks again, “When have you liked me?”

“I don’t remember that, too many – hnn – different times,” you shake your head, you don’t even know if you could recount all the times you had feelings for him resurface even if you weren’t split open on his big dick.

He moans, starting to move his hips in shallow thrusts, “Enough that you – mmph – can’t remember specifics,” he groans, “Feels like a sick joke, been pining after you our – hah – whole lives.”

His mouth is on yours, kissing you deeply, sucking your tongue into his mouth, licking at you. The kiss so dizzying, you’re barely able to catch up to him before he’s talking again, “The most recent time– can you – hah – remember the most recent time you liked me?”

He’s desperate to know, wanting to know how small or big of a window he had missed. Failing to realise it doesn’t really matter all that much right now.

“Not – hah – not that long ago,” you’re almost panting now, wanting for him to move with more urgency but he’s still only thrusting into you shallowly.

“When, sweetie, tell me when, please,” his forehead pressed to yours, eyes imploring.

Struggling slightly as you press out, “B– before I started – hah – going on all those dates,” you’re trying really hard to think, “Beginning of the – hng – year?”

Smiling at you, big, happy, “Not that long ago, just gonna make you like me again.”

He’s a little annoyed that you went on so many dates right after having liked him, not completely lost on him that the two are probably connected and feeling frustrated that he hadn’t just told you about his feelings ages ago.

“Gonna charm the fuck outta you, take you to nice places, shower you in compliments, tell you how cute you are,” he’s rambling now, about your theoretical future dates, “Remind you every day how much I like you, how perfect you are, gonna make you like me again.”

“I’d like it if you moved, ‘Toru, please,” you beg, tears in the corners of your eyes from being teased.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he quips, kissing your cheek before complying.

Finally starting a pace that has you going crazy but in a different way, fast and deep, weighted thrusts that make you struggle to maintain focus. Pulling out almost completely before fucking back into you, hammering his hips into yours, lewd squelching filling the room at it.

Your whimpered moans have Gojo’s skin pricking, so turned on he feels insane, like you might kill him, “Got such a great pussy, fucking soaking wet, taking me so well, could die like this and not complain, fuck–”

Clawing at him now, at his forearms, his biceps, shoulders, back, anywhere you can reach, desperately scrabbling for purchase. “Gojo–”

“–No, I don’t know who that is,” he ignores your cry of his name.

Trying again, “‘Toru, want– I want–”

You’re not even entirely sure what you want or are asking for, but Gojo seems to know immediately. His hips moving faster, pelvis slapping into your clit every time he meets yours, cock hitting against your cervix in a way that hurts so fucking good.

Eyes rolling back in your skull with the pleasure, fat tears running down your face at it. Sex has never felt like this, is it meant to feel like this? Have you been doing it wrong? Or maybe he’s just insanely good at it, or maybe you just like him more than you were aware of.

“Feels– feels good, I–”

“Again? Fucking perfect, so perfect for me,” he sounds so excited, “Want it, want you to cum on me, cum all over my cock, fucking coat me in it.” It’s almost like he’s begging you for it.

Luckily for him, you really do like his voice, love how he talks to you and at his borderline begging, you’re cumming all over him. Cunt clenching down on him, sobbing out pitiful moans of his name as you cum. It’s coating him, just like how he asked for, creamy white ring at the base of his cock.

“Fuuck, that’s it, such a good girl,” your cunt jumps around his cock, and he laughs, “Oh? You liked that, should’ve called you a good girl sooner.”

Too dazed to fight him on his teasing, corners of your vision blurry and ears ringing, twitching pathetically under him. He doesn’t stop his thrusts, fucking into you harsher, more shallow, getting close to finishing himself.

Orgasm on the tip of his tongue, the thing that sends him over the edge is how you look up at him. Eyes fucked out and cheeks tear stained, whining out a small, “‘Toru, want it, please.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” his words are choked out, almost whining himself, balls heavy with how badly he wants to cum.

Thrusts faltering as he fucks into you the last few times, suddenly slamming his pelvis to yours, releasing all his cum inside you, painting your walls a pretty shade of white. Hips grinding into you as he finishes.

Fucked out whimpers of your name leaving him as he presses his head into the side of your neck. Biting down onto you, shocking you slightly, the pain unexpected, he lathes over it with his tongue.

He slumps down onto you, his weight too much, your hands push at him, “Too heavy.”

He hums out at you noncommittally but gets up, carefully slipping himself from you, not shy in how he stares at your pussy. At the way his cum gushes from it, the urge to fuck it all back inside you strong. He withholds though, seeing you’re clearly beyond fucked out. Next time, he promises himself.

Gone from you but not for too long, only leaving long enough to clean himself up and bring stuff back to clean you up. Wiping softly at your legs, cleaning you of his spend, “You look cute dripping with my cum,” he singsongs.

“Lewd,” you accuse, too tired to think of something more to say.

“Yeah…” he gets into bed by you, “But I’m certain you like that.”

You snuggle into his side, letting him cuddle you, “Not sleeping with you again until at least the third date.”

“I bet…” he looks down at you, lips hovering over yours, “…You’ll sleep with me after each of them.”

You go to scoff at him and deny it, but he kisses you, deep and imploring. Effectively shutting you up and as you let him kiss you how he likes, you realise, he might be right.

𝐀/𝐍: this got away from me, like it so often does, it was only meant to be a couple k of only smut but i am not normal so it turned into this! i hope you enjoyed <3 thank you for reading!

[⚠︎] — 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: do not reupload / repost / translate / plagiarise my works © all works are the intellectual property of unheavenlyvision

#visionwrites #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader smut #gojo x reader #gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #satoru x reader #satoru x reader smut #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru x you smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #jjk x reader

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servicpop · 5 months

Text

ITTO ⋆⋆⋆ x sub bottom m!reader

NSFW › itto is oblivious to reader's love for him, virgin itto, size difference, biting/marking, public / outside sex, breeding(?)

You and Itto were joint by the hip since little kids. You two did everything together. Exploring places you've never seen before, getting in trouble together, playing beetles together, bathing together. Your parents seemed hesitant at first when you brought little Itto over to your house, he was an oni, they weren't sure if Itto would be too rough when playing or would be a bad influence. But as time progressed, your parents eventually realised that Itto was nothing but a big softie who was a too dumb to actually hurt you.

As you grew older, Itto grew taller. Itto was always the taller one but now as you grew into an adult, he practically towered over you. Itto... didn't become any less of an airhead though, he still remained that same dumb softie from years ago.

When he offered you to join his gang, the Arataki Gang, you somewhat willingly decided to join. At first you thought by 'gang' he meant he'd do crimes and whatnot but then you thought about Itto as a person. There was no way he would be capable to make an elaborate enough plan to steal something or do any crime.

When you actually joined, you realised that it was basically just Itto and his friends hanging out but Kuki — the only one who had a semblance of braincells — that it was originally meant to be for people who were shunned out by society. However, in the process of trying to promote the Arataki Gang, due to the lack of intelligence, mischief and trouble seemed to follow the members like lost puppies. You can't count on your fingers how many times you had to bail them out.

Despite all the chaos in the Arataki Gang, you stuck closest to Itto, it was natural, you've been best friends since diapers. However, this evening when the sun of inazuma set, casting an orange and yellow hue on the land below, you and Kuki were strolling along the streets mindlessly. Itto had gone off somewhere with no contact — like he does sometimes — leaving you and Kuki to talk alone. You liked her, she was calmer than the rest and alot more intelligent.

"You like him don't you?"

Her words rang through your head like an achingly high pitched frequency as you stumbled in your step. Did you like Itto? Sure you sometimes fantasised about his big arms wrapping around you and sometimes your heart would race when he flashed you a toothy grin but—

"I notice the way you act around the boss,"

Kuki crosses her arms and leans her weight onto on leg as she looks at you. The cool evening breeze brushes past your face like a small caress and you find yourself speechless, not knowing how to respond. From your lack of words she continues,

"I was going to tell him but... I think its best if you do it yourself."

You force a small nod and she walks away, muttering something about needing to run an errand but her words fall short from your ears. You've never considered it until now how you always felt warm whenever with Itto and sometimes you even dreamt of Itto in ways that you'd never say outloud. Now looking back at how you felt around Itto... you were in love and Itto was completely oblivious to it.

You and Itto were laying down on a grassy hill, the tuffs of green tickling your back as Itto was settled next to you with his arms crossed behind his head. He was asleep. Itto had fallen asleep after causing whatever sort of mischief and called you over just to lie on a hill with him.

Silence filled the blue sky with the exception of birds chirping and leaves rustling in the wind. It was a secluded spot no one really came to, that's why Itto liked it. Away from all the judge-y eyes and incriminating stares. You watch as his chest rises and falls at a steady pace and you roll over onto your stomach, eyes still glued on Itto.

"I love you, Itto."

The words spill out of your mouth like a running faucet that doesn't shut off. You shuffle almost uncomfortably on the grass and you keep letting your confession roll from your tongue.

"I can't deny that... sometimes I get these dreams where you love me too and—"

It's too embarassing to admit that you've dreamt of Itto holding you and fucking you like there's no end but the implication is there.

"But I'll never say it to your face that I love you... I don't want to ruin our friendship." Your words hang heavy and you stare at Itto as if waiting for him to wake up and catch you but he doesn't. Your gaze falls to the ground, watching the blades of grass move along your arm from the wind. It's a ticklish sensation.

"You love me?"

That familiar hearty chuckle meets your ears and you can feel your whole world pause. Slowly turning your head, you meet Itto's gaze. He's propped up on one arm and he's staring at you with sparkles in his eyes like an oaf. Embarassment colors your cheeks as you quickly turn away; you're not sure how to face him after basically confessing how you've had a crush on him and had lewd dreams about him.

A small yelp is practically forced out of you when Itto wraps his arms around your waist securely, and suddenly he's ontop of you, holding you down. "Dreams? About me? The one and only?" Usually by now you'd groan and roll your eyes but when Itto is pressed against your body, you lose all your will to fight. "Wait wait wait wait, you've got me curious now, is it really that good?" You've always knew that Itto was a virgin, never had romantic partner before, never had a hook-up, nothing. So it was natural for the oni to be curious.

Itto's abnormally large and calloused hands roam and prod at your clothing. He doesn't know what he's doing and its clear from how mindlessly he's tugging at your pants. With a small chuckle, Itto clicks off your belt and pulls down your pants alongside with your boxers. Was he really planning to fuck right in the middle of a grass hill? "Woah, you're really small," you took offense to that and was about to retaliate until you remembered Itto was an oni, he was most likely double your size.

At this point your face was buried in the comfort of your own forearms, protecting yourself from the harsh grass below you. You hear a clink followed by a thud, indicating that Itto took off his belt and was doing the same with his pants. "You're trembling man, are you cold?" It was nice of Itto to ask but, you were mostly trembling in a mix of fear and anticipation. How would his cock actually feel inside of you? Would it be bigger than you expected?

Itto leans in and you feel something big poke at your hole. There was no way that was his cock. You glance back at him and your jaw drops to the floor. He was bigger than you expected, and his red markings trailed all the way to his tip. His hand palms at your ass, spreading it apart as he clumsily lines himself up, sometimes missing. The usually talkative Itto is now relatively quiet, his breathing becoming more exasperated as he slowly pushes inside of you.

It burns. The way he stretches you out and forces you to accommodate for his size burns but also feels addictingly good. His hands grab at your waist, squeezing the soft flesh of your body as he groans quietly. "W–What the hell... you're so tight," His boisterous ego stammers as he becomes a breathy mess, trying to push deeper inside of you. Itto's nails dig into your skin, leaving crescent shapes indents on your hip as his head falls forward. You can feel his dick throbbing inside of you and your body is completely filled with just him.

Without another word, Itto pulls out before slamming back in. He hits right at your prostate, making stars appear in your vision. "Wait Itto slow down! You're too big—" Your whines fail to reach his numb brain; all he can focus on is the way you're sucking him back in every time he pulls out. "A–ah it feels so good," Itto's teeth graze against your shoulder but he tries to resist biting down. What a sweetheart.

You feel him tremble on top of you, like he's resisting the urges to be rough and unforgiving. It was in his nature to breed. His grip tightens on you, and he has his arms firmly wrapped around your body like you're a plushie. Itto's hips piston into you causing a loud slapping sound from your skin making contact with his. He can't help but hold you close, otherwise you'd try to leave him! He's practically drooling all over your shoulder but you're too fucked-dumb to really care.

Itto's teeth finally sink into your shoulder, sucking softly as he marks you as his, "Sorry, can't– help it." His apologies are quiet as he stammers like he's acting against his own will. "Gonna... gonna cum," He whimpers, his fingers digging into your skin. That was sure to leave a mark the next day. You feel a pool of pleasure in your stomach; you're close too. The way he's hitting all the right spots with every thrust made your legs weak. Who would've thought the 'big bad oni' would be whimpering and groaning while fucking you senseless.

This was better than your dreams of him. Instead of having to groggily clean your pants every morning, you're shooting blanks out onto the grass as Itto slams his hips against your ass a few more times. He groans lowly into your ear before orgasming inside of you, filling you up to the brim. You feel his crushing weight suddenly crash down on you as he collapses from the bliss. "Itto! You're too heavy get off," you whine but your protests go unheard by the oni who's dazed out of his mind.

"What's going on with you two...?"

Kuki blinks blankly at you as she glances from your intertwined fingers with Itto and your blushing face. You weren't exactly the one for big public display of affection but Itto didn't seem to care at all. In fact, he's got you glued to his side with a big smile on his face.

"He's my boyfriend!"

a/n : big dumb itto ,, luv him

#servicpop — fics/drabbles #bottom male reader #male reader #mlm #male x male #male x reader #sub male reader #genshin x male reader #genshin smut #itto x male reader #itto x reader #itto x you #top character

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itadorey · 1 year

Text

𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐀 𝐁𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄!

pairing: gojo satoru x reader summary: college au! in which you argue with the school's golden boy (in your defense, you didn't know!) and then find yourself unable to avoid him no matter where you go. genre: college au! strangers to lovers, humor notes: mentions of alcohol, college shenanigans, wingman geto!, shoko refuses to be gojo's wingwoman wc: ~6.5k

a shiver runs down your spine as you exit the stuffy house, the cool air a stark contrast to the warm atmosphere inside.

you smile as you heard a loud cheer, excusing yourself as you squeeze past the two boys who were celebrating their beer pong win. you stumble slightly when one of the boys leans a little too far back, swaying drunkenly as he gives you a remorseful look and let out a small ‘sorry!’. bumping into something as you waved him off, you do your best to keep your drink from spilling, slightly leaning against whatever you had bumped into in an attempt to regain your balance.

"watch where you're going," a bored voice drawls, causing you to turn around. you look up to meet the person's eyes, instead being met with shiny, white hair framing a handsome face. you feel your face heat up as you study the stranger carefully, taking in his casual posture before observing the dark sunglasses that are perched on his nose. wait, sunglasses? at night? you realize you've been staring for too long when he suddenly leans down, looking you over before speaking. "what? you like what you see?"

his words snap you out of your thoughts, and you instinctively take a step back as you notice how close he is. his actions cause his sunglasses to slip down, giving you a glimpse of bright, blue irises that seem to glow in the dim lighting. you shake your head softly, clutching your cup to your chest nervously as you try to avoid eye contact with him.

"what? no!" you vehemently deny, frowning as you notice the amused smile on his face. "i was just going to say i'm sor—"

"i don't care," he cuts you off, his tone smug as he watches you stumble over your words. you balk for a few seconds, gathering your thoughts before scowling at him. he might've been pretty, that was quickly overshadowed by his irritating personality.

"you really should be more aware of your surroundings," he continues, glancing down at the cup held tightly between your hands. "or maybe you should stop drinking. i dunno, just an idea."

"what? this isn't even alcohol!" you protest, nose scrunching up as you look at him with distaste. you take a step forward, pointing a finger at him accusingly. "you were facing me! maybe you should've warned me before i bumped into you."

"sure it isn't," he replies smoothly, a wide grin on his face as he reaches out to grab your finger and wiggle it around. "and maybe, you're just a klutz."

you yank your hand out of his grasp, stumbling back slightly as you half-cross your arms, making sure your cup remains stable. you ignore the way your heart jumps at the contact. "i am not a klutz! and listen here sunglasses, this cup is full of water."

"you sure you're not drunk?" he asks, a condescending smirk on his face as he takes a step towards you. "you're stumbling an awful lot for someone who's sober. or is it because i make you nervous?"

"you know what?" you seethe, fed up with the white-haired stranger in front of you. "here, taste it."

before you can think your actions through, you toss your water in his face. "refreshing, isn't it?"

you're gone in an instant, and the stranger finds himself chuckling as he dries off his sunglasses. he grimaces when he realizes his shirt is also wet, tugging the fabric away from his skin as he heads inside to find his friends.

he doesn't know who you are, but he was now determined to find out.

a groan leaves your lips as you try to open your eyes, the sunlight streaming in through the window preventing you from doing so. the constant vibrations from your phone haven't stopped for the past ten minutes, and all you want to do is go back to sleep.

you raise an arm to block the sunlight as you fumble around for your phone, an eyebrow raising when you see that shoko was the one who had been calling you the entire time.

"hello?" you ask, confusion and exhaustion mixing to make your tone sluggish. you let your eyes close, turning onto your side as you snuggle into your comforter. "what's with you today? leave me alone."

"hey!" you hear shoko say, followed by another small greeting from utahime. "are you still in bed?"

"yeah," you reply, pulling the blanket over your head. "are you two together right now? thanks for inviting me. some friends you are."

"we tried calling!" utahime replies. you can hear shoko huff, presumably due to utahime pushing her away from the phone. "you didn't answer your phone. it's not our fault!"

"i know, i know," you mutter, a smile stretching across your face as you hear utahime apologize anyways. "but seriously, what's with you two? shoko usually gives up if i don't answer after the second ring."

"you mean you don't know?"

"know what?" you ask, a yawn escaping you as you feel your eyes lower. you're half-tempted to end the call, but you can't deny that you're curious as to what could've been so important that shoko would willingly call you so many times.

"you're famous," shoko says. you can hear the faint clicking of a lighter in the background, a brief distraction as you try to process shoko's words. "you're all over social media. at least, on the pages that post about our student body."

there's a moment of silence after her words, and you find yourself sitting up immediately. sleep has fully evaded you by now, and you throw the comforter off of yourself before sitting criss-cross-applesauce. "i'm what?"

"famous," shoko repeats, her voice a little muffled due to what you assume is a cigarette. you pull your phone away from your ear as it buzzes once again, making sure to put the call on speaker before checking your notifications. "check your messages, i just sent you a link."

the link leads you to a random instagram profile, full of videos and memes submitted by students at your university. you click the first video on the page, your jaw dropping when you realize it was you in the video. you and that stranger you had argued with the previous night.

"oh my god," you say, watching as the video plays out on your screen. you watch as the stranger leans in close to you, as you yell at him, as he grabs your finger, and as you toss your drink in his face. by the time the video restarts, you had placed your phone beside you, head in your hands as you chuckle in disbelief.

"this is awful!" you finally say, flopping back onto your mattress and squinting as the sun hits your eyes. "not just awful, this is humiliating!"

"yeah, for gojo," utahime snorts. "he needs to be humbled. if anything, you did everyone on this campus a favor."

"gojo?" you mutter, closing your eyes fully before letting out another groan and shooting back up. "is that his name? he was kinda cute. what a shame."

"you don't know who he is?" you hear shoko ask, a genuinely curious tone enveloping her words. you hum absentmindedly as you scroll through the comments, seeing that many of them agree with utahime's sentiment while many others seem to question your actions. "and ew!"

"no, do you?" you ask, choosing to ignore her sound of disgust.

"yes," both shoko and utahime say. you hear a glass clink against a table before shoko continues. "gojo is actually an old frie-"

"oh my god!" you shriek, interrupting shoko as you fling your phone against your pillow. you quickly grab it, apologies leaving your mouth as you try to calm down.

"what? what happened?" utahime yells, concern in her voice as she hears you laugh nervously.

"you're not going to believe this," you say, finally catching your breath. you feel boneless as you settle in between your pillows, not even trying to fight the sunlight anymore. "he just requested to follow me on instagram."

the rest of the weekend passes without incident, the follow request from gojo remaining untouched on your phone. by the time monday rolls around, you had hoped that everyone had forgotten about the incident, but based on the random high fives you get and whispers that follow you, you knew they hadn't.

"this is awful," you hiss, lowering your head even more as a group of girls walk behind you and giggle. the textbook in front of you isn't making any sense to you, causing you to slam it shut and push it away before resting your head on the table. "i can't go anywhere without hearing something about me and gojo."

shoko hums quietly, too caught up in her medicinal chemistry textbook to pay you any attention. you sigh pathetically, resting your arms underneath your head before giving her a pleading look. when she doesn't react, you sigh louder, earning a chuckle from her before she leans back and puts her pen down.

"what did you expect? he's one of the most popular people on this campus," shoko reminds you, running a hand through her hair before tying it up in a messy ponytail. "i'm more surprised about the fact that you didn't know who he was to begin with."

"i don't keep up with school gossip," you mutter, weakly reaching out for shoko's water bottle. she gives you a knowing smile before leaning forward, grabbing the bottle and pulling it towards her. you whine as she opens it, watching as she raises it to her lip to take a sip. the two of you are caught off guard when the bottle is yanked out of her hands, water sloshing out and landing on the table. you hurry to grab a napkin from your backpack, wincing as shoko slams her hands on the table.

"what the hell, satoru!" she exclaims, irritation clear in her tone as she yells at the newcomer.

"who the fuck is satoru?" you ask, humming in delight when you find a paper towel. you proceed to kick your backpack back under the table, placing the paper towel over the spill and letting it absorb the liquid. you can hear shoko snort at the question, and you raise your eyes to see her placing her now sealed water bottle back on the table.

"awww you don't remember me?" satoru asks, placing his palms on the table before leaning towards you. "i'm heartbroken."

his voice sends a shiver down your spine, and you tense up when you realize that you recognize it. you look up at satoru to meet bright blue eyes, familiar, dark sunglasses perched on the tip of his nose. there's a teasing smile on his face and you can feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as you stare at him. "oh... you're gojo."

"satoru," he corrects, his smile growing even wider when he sees your flustered state. "i like it when you say my name."

you ignore the way he's looking at you, your stomach turning as you simply nod and turn away to face shoko. "isn't, uh, isn't satoru a childhood friend of yours?"

"i sure am!" gojo replies, sliding into the seat next to shoko and throwing an arm around her shoulders. he pulls her in close, swaying side to side with her as she gives you a bored look.

"he sure is," shoko says tiredly, turning to give gojo an annoyed stare. she flicks his forehead, shoving his arm off of her as he yelps. she rolls her eyes as she ignores him, picking up her pen and scanning her textbook once more.

"why didn't you tell me?" you hiss, leaning in close to give her a glare. she smiles when she notices your expression, tapping the tip of your nose with her pen and chuckling when you shake your head and lean back in your chair.

"we tried," shoko says, rolling her eyes. "you threw your phone across the room when you got that follow request on instagram, remember?"

your eyes widen in surprise at her words, mortification clear on your face as you glance at gojo. "i did not throw my phone!"

"you threw your phone? all the way across your room?" gojo asks, snickering at your reaction. he leans forwards, placing his elbows on the table and resting his cheek on his palm. "so i do make you feel all flustered, huh? i'm flattered, although, i'm a little hurt that you haven't accepted my request yet."

there's a pout on gojo's face as you stare him down, grumbling incoherently before you take your phone out from your back pocket. you can hear him giggling as you open up instagram, and you waste no time before pulling up your follow requests and turning your phone towards him. he raises an eyebrow when you smile, watching as your finger hovers over the "accept" button before you switch and press "decline".

"there, now you don't have to keep thinking about it," you say, watching as gojo's face falls at your actions. you stand up before he can say anything else, pocketing your phone and grabbing your wallet before glancing at shoko. "i'm gonna go get a bottle of water. do you want anything?"

shoko shakes her head, and you simply hum before turning to leave, freezing when you heard gojo speak once again. "i should head out too, it's probably in my best interest to leave before you come back with water. you know, in case you spill it on me again."

gojo's shit-eating grin only widens when shoko can't hold back her laughter, causing you to send them both a withering glare. you stomp off with an angry huff, and gojo can hear you muttering under your breath as he watches you walk all the way down the hall. he doesn't look away until you turn a corner, only then turning to face shoko, who has a skeptical look on her face. he gives her a knowing look, eyes pleading as he leans his head against her shoulder. "they're cute. really cute. can i get their number?"

"i'm not helping you," she says, snorting softly before digging through her backpack for her airpods. she manages to put one earbud in before gojo speaks again.

"i'll win them over," he states confidently, standing up and pushing his chair in. he gives shoko a kiss on the head before walking away, ignoring her as she laughs at his words.

"yeah, good luck with that."

geto watches amusedly as you trudge into your shared chemistry class, not even bothering to greet him before slumping in your chair and resting your head on the desk.

"rough day?" he asks, raising an eyebrow in concern when you groan in response. he sits quietly as he observes you for a few seconds, and you sigh as you sit up, realizing that he's waiting for your answer.

"more like rough weekend," you finally say, eyeing him skeptically. "c'mon, don't tell me you haven't seen the video."

geto laughs at your words, his bangs swaying as he turns in his seat to fully face you. heat rises up in your cheeks as he gazes at you with a smile, and you fidget nervously as you try to keep your composure. it's no secret that geto suguru is attractive, and having his attention focused solely on you is almost too much to handle.

"i did, i just figured i'd save you the embarrassment and not bring it up."

"how considerate of you," you mutter, smiling softly before taking out your laptop.

"hey, do you have a pen i could borrow?" geto asks, searching through his backpack before sighing and putting it on the back of his chair. "i have a sneaking suspicion that my roommate stole mine."

"yeah, of course," you respond, rummaging through your pencil pouch before pulling out a sleek, black pen. "is this one fine?"

"that's perfect, thank you," geto says. before he can grab the pen, it's yanked out of your hand, and you look up to see gojo standing beside you.

"gojo," you greet dryly, trying to ignore the smirk on his face. "do you make it a habit to always snatch things out of people's hands?"

"i can't help it," he says with a laugh, pulling his sunglasses down slightly as he twirls the pen. "that irritated look you give me is so cute, i just can't resist!"

your face twists up in embarrassment, a huff leaves your lips before you reach up to snatch the pen back and hand it to geto. you refuse to look at gojo in fear of letting him see your expression as you settle into your seat, but a sudden thought has you turning to face him when you realize you had never seen in that class before.

"wait, why are you here?"

"i'm in this class, silly," gojo replies, reaching down to tap your nose the way shoko had earlier. you swat his hand away, your mouth twisting into a scowl as geto snorts.

"no you're not," you say, eyebrows furrowing as you give him a confused glance.

"yes i am."

"no, you're not."

"yes. i. am."

"then how come i've never seen you here before?" you ask, crossing your arms as you give him a smug look.

"well that's because—"

"good morning, class," yaga masamichi says, cutting off gojo's response as he walks in. the professor sets all his stuff down before turning on the projector, grabbing his laptop to set up the day's lesson. "today we will be going over new mechanisms so make sure you—"

yaga goes silent as his gaze lands on you, and you shuffle nervously as you wait for him to say something.

"gojo," yaga states, mouth pressed in a firm line as he stares at the white-haired boy. you sigh in relief when you realize his stare wasn't directed at you. "what a nice surprise. i never thought i'd see you here."

"ah, c'mon yaga," gojo replies, a charming smile on his face as he tucks his hands into his pockets. "i care about my studies. besides, it's not like i've skipped every single lesson."

"yes, you have," yaga says dryly, facial expression unchanging as silence engulfs the classroom. a minute passes before he let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand down his face before waving him off. "just take a seat, gojo. quickly, please."

gojo salutes yaga, giving him a cheeky grin before sauntering over to the seat directly behind geto. you do your best to ignore him throughout the lesson, dutifully taking notes and only glancing at him once when you bend down to grab your water bottle. you're caught off guard when you realize that gojo has been staring at you the entire time, pen in hand but notebook closed as he focuses on you instead of yaga. he shoots you a wink as soon as you meet his eyes, and you pretend not to notice before turning back around. geto doesn't miss the way you fight back a small smile.

you can feel gojo's eyes burning into you for the rest of the lesson.

the class ends with yaga announcing a new project, and you wait with bated breath as he reads off the list of partners he had prepared in advance. you can't stop the sigh of relief that comes out of you when you hear your name followed by geto's.

"so, your place or mine?" geto asks, gathering all his materials before placing them into his backpack. you open your mouth to reply before closing it quickly, your eyebrows furrowing as you think about the messy state your apartment is currently in. sensing your hesitance, geto chuckles, grabbing his backpack and standing up before speaking. "mine it is. i'll send you the address later and we can figure something out okay?"

"sounds good!" you respond, smiling sheepishly as you duck your head. you wave goodbye to geto, turning to hurry out of the classroom when you notice gojo approaching. "just text me and let me know!"

"so... they'll be coming over?" gojo asks, sidling up to geto as you walk off. his eyes never leave your form until you disappear from sight. he turns to geto with a smile, resting his head on geto's shoulder while pushing up his sunglasses to look at him. "say, can i get their number?"

"not a chance. just talk to them and ask," geto says, laughing at gojo's audacity before pushing him off and leaving the room.

gojo's left standing in the middle of all the desks, a small smile appearing on his face as he realizes that you'd be over at geto's apartment sometime soon. the very same apartment that he shares with gojo.

"gojo."

his train of thought is interrupted by yaga, who is standing near the door with his bag slung over his shoulder. all of his supplies have been packed up and he sports an annoyed expression as he looks at gojo.

"yes?"

"get out of my classroom."

"yessir!"

it's been a couple of days since the project has been assigned, and other than gojo's sudden appearance in class, not much has happened. you still do your best to ignore his presence, focusing on yaga or even geto to try and remain oblivious to his persistent staring.

but you can't avoid him forever, that much is clear as the door to geto's apartment opens and you find yourself face to face with gojo satoru. your face remains blank as he greets you with a call of your name, merely watching him as he leans against the doorway and gives you a giddy grin.

"what a surprise to see you here!" gojo crows, head tilting down to give you a peek at his eyes. you find yourself looking away, refusing to interact with him as he pulls you inside.

"what are you doing here?" you finally ask, slipping your shoes off and taking a few steps back when you realize just how close to gojo you are. the hallway isn't that wide to begin with, and even pressed up against the opposite wall, you can feel him brushing up against you as he turns to close the door.

you look through your phone as you wait for geto, only looking up when you feel gojo step closer to you. you shrink into the wall behind you, tensing up when gojo's hand lands on the wall next to your head as he leans in, his other hand plucking your phone from your grasp. you look up at him as he fiddles with your phone, reaching for it and scowling when he holds it up out of reach. you never realized just how much taller than you he was.

you give up on trying to retrieve your phone, crossing your arms and leaning back as you choose to study him instead. you're reminded of the night at the party as you let your eyes trace his face, taking in the way his hair falls over his face and cast shadows that only seem to emphasize the color of his eyes. you're so distracted as you study his nose and lips that you completely miss the words he says.

"i live here. duh!"

there's a moment of silence as you keep your eyes on him, and you rapidly blink away your dazed expression when you see a teasing smirk on gojo's face.

"w-what?"

"i live here!" he repeats, holding out your phone. you take it from his grasp, inhaling sharply when he invades your personal space and points at your screen. "oh! also, i added myself into your contacts and made sure to send myself a message so that i have your number as well."

"you live here?" you ask dumbly, briefly looking down at your phone to see the message thread. you notice that gojo has saved his contact information under "satoru <3" and you make a mental note to change it later.

"yes. unfortunately, he does."

the two of you turn your heads to look at geto, who stands near the living room with his arms crossed. there's an amused smile on his face as he takes in the scene before him, and he smirks at gojo when he notices just how close to you he is.

a weak laugh leaves your lips as you shake your head, looking back and forth between gojo and geto. "of course he does. so you're telling me that the two of you are—"

"we're roommates."

"we're soulmates!"

"we are not," geto states, refuting gojo's claim.

"you're right," gojo concedes, letting his arm fall from the wall to rest around your shoulders. he pulls you into his side as you let out a surprised squeak, grinning down at you as he guides you further into the apartment. "actually, i think we're soulmates."

"we're really not," you mutter weakly, although geto notices that you seem to avoid gojo's gaze. you send him a pleading look, and geto simply shrugs before turning and heading into the kitchen.

"would you like something to drink?" he asks, opening the refrigerator and bending down to grab a couple of water bottles. his question goes unanswered as gojo leads you away from him, taking your backpack in one hand as he continues to speak. geto doesn't miss the panicked look you send his way and he closes the fridge with a chuckle as he follows after the two of you.

"i dunno," gojo says, placing your backpack down before waving his hand casually. "we meet at a party, you turn out to be friends with my childhood friends, we're in the same class, and on top of all that, you end up at my apartment after being randomly paired with my roommate. it's like fate is trying to tell us something!"

geto can't help but snort at gojo's hopeless attempt at flirting, earning a dirty look from his roommate. he doesn't think he's ever seen gojo try this hard to get someone's attention, and the only thing that makes the entire situation funnier is that despite your attraction to gojo, you seem determined to avoid interacting with him at all costs. geto wonders if it's because of the party incident.

"pardon the interruption, but we really have to work on that assignment" geto sayss, taking a seat on the couch and patting the spot next to him. he smiles warmly at you as you sit next to him, your thigh brushing against his as he sends gojo a smug look. gojo merely scowls in return, his eyes zeroing in on the casual touches between the two of you. "i'm not necessarily kicking you out, satoru, but i do ask for some peace and quiet while we work."

gojo gives geto a sarcastic thumbs up, smiling as he grabs the first book he sets his sights upon and takes a seat on the armchair across from you. he opens the book to a random page, pretending to read as he watches you and geto set up your work space. he ignores everything but you for the most part, averting his eyes and flipping a page of two whenever you glance up to meet his eyes.

"here you go."

you're thirty minutes into the project when gojo finally looks at geto, his eyes narrowing as he watches his best friend hand you an already open water bottle. geto meets gojo's gaze with a smirk as he leans back, his arm laying on the couch right behind you. if you settled into your seat any further, you'd have his arm around you.

"oh! thank you," you say, eyes wide in mild surprise when you realize the bottle is already open. you give geto a soft smile, taking a sip before he takes it back to close it. "you're so sweet, geto. i always have trouble opening those water bottles."

"it's really no problem," he replies, sending gojo a sly look as he opens your textbook. "anything for you."

gojo can't help the way he clenches his fist, the rustling of pages drawing your attention to him. you notice him glaring at geto, and you look at the death grip he has on his book before turning to give geto a confused look.

"what's wrong with him?" you whisper, leaning in close so gojo won't hear. geto holds back a laugh as he also leans in, amused at the fact that you're simply making his mission of making gojo jealous that much easier.

"i don't know. many things," geto confesses, his lips dangerously close to the shell of your ear. you breathe out a laugh in response, blinking rapidly when a strand of hair falls into your eye. "let me get that for you."

you look at geto as he tucks the piece of hair behind your ear, his fingertips brushing the side of your face as he does so. he's closer to you than you thought and you take a moment to admire his features before smiling. "thanks, geto!"

"you're wel—"

geto's response is cut short as gojo slams his book onto the table. he proceeds to shoot geto a dirty look as he jumps out of his seat, storming out of the living room as he mutters something under his breath.

"now what's wrong with him?" you ask, eyebrows raised in disbelief as you hear him borderline slam his door shut. you turn back to geto when he starts laughing, the noise soft and quiet as he presses a hand to his mouth. he shifts away from you, shaking his head as he gives you a knowing look.

"you really don't know, do you?" he questions, crossing his arms as he studies you.

"know what?"

"that he likes you," geto reveals, unable to stop his laughter when he sees the shocked look on your face. your lips part in surprise as your eyebrows get even higher, and you can't help the way your gaze shift towards the armchair gojo had been sitting in before you school your expression back into one of disinterest.

"no he doesn't" you reply, shaking your head at geto. "he just likes being obnoxious!"

"i saw the two of you at the party, you know," geto confesses. "i was going outside to get gojo so we could head out but then i saw him speaking with you and well, take it from me, he was definitely trying to flirt with you."

you look at geto's face for a few seconds, laughing nervously when you realize he's telling the truth. "well he's shit at it, if we're being honest."

"i know," geto says solemnly. there's a brief pause before the two of you break out into giggles. "listen, i know he's obnoxious and annoying and irritating and he doesn't seem to have many redeeming qualities."

geto pauses as you laugh at his words.

"but," he continues, smiling fondly as he looks towards gojo's room. "he's a good guy. trust me, i've known him almost our entire lives. go talk to him."

there's hesitance in your steps as you walk down the hall. you turn to look at geto before you knock, being met with a thumbs up and a smile. you take a deep breath before knocking on the door, pulling your hand back when it swings open. gojo's eyes have barely met yours before he reaches out and grabs your wrist, tugging you into his room before closing the door.

"what's up?" he asks casually, leaning against the wall as you take a look around. his room is clean, neatly laid out with an obscenely large bed and a polished, wooden desk facing his window. you take in all his posters and knick-knacks, smiling softly when you see a small figurine of a fluffy, white cat napping.

"is it true?" you ask, turning back around to face him. he avoids your gaze, and you realize that for once, he's not wearing his sunglasses.

"what is?"

you snort at his question, taking a step towards him and trying to catch his eye. there's a teasing smile on your face when he finally looks at you, and hold your hands behind your back as you get even closer. "that you like me?"

the silence seems to drag on for way too long, and you're contemplating walking out of gojo's room when he finally speaks.

"yes! okay, yeah, i think you're cute!" gojo proclaims, walking past you to take a seat on his bed. "i'll admit, at first i was annoyed because i thought you were someone who had come out to flirt with me and i just wanted to be alone but then you started talking and you were so easy to tease and you looked all cute when you got worked up and i couldn't help myself so i just kept making it worse!"

gojo pauses, taking a deep breath before continuing. "and you actually argued back and you didn't just let me talk to you like that and it was so refreshing because usually no one even tries to go against me and i just thought you were really pretty and i didn't want you to leave."

"what the actual fuck is wrong with you?" you ask, stifling a laugh as he shoots you an offended glare. "that's such a childish way to get someone's attention. has that ever actually worked for you?"

"well now that you mention it, no it hasn't," gojo admits, looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "but then again, not a lot of people tend to reject me."

his sheepish tone lets you know he's not trying to be cocky, he's just stating a fact. you run a hand down your face in exasperation.

"well i couldn't even tell that you were flirting! you're so stupid," you state, rolling your eyes as he puts a hand up to his heart with a dramatic swoon. "you're lucky you're so cute."

gojo is up within seconds, approaching you quickly and placing his hands on your hips. he pulls you closer to him, and your hands go to his chest as you try and keep some sort of distance between the two of you. you look up to see him grinning at you, a faint blush staining his cheeks.

"so you think i'm cute?"

"shut up!" you groan, letting your forehead fall against his chest in an attempt to avoid his eyes. "you know you are."

gojo laughs at your mumbled words, one hand leaving your waist in order to hook a finger under your chin. he tilts your face up, chuckling when he sees the embarrassed look on your face.

"i do," he concedes, laughing when you scowl. "but it just feels so good to hear that coming from you."

you freeze when you see gojo glancing at your lips, and you feel your heart pounding as he draws closer and closer.

"gojo?" you say quietly, more of a call of attention than a question.

"satoru," he corrects, the single words now drawing your attention to his lips.

"satoru," you repeat dazedly, eyes fluttering shut as gojo's nose nudges yours. you draw in a shuddering breath, and gojo leans his forehead against yours as he waits for you to continue, his eyes slipping shut as well. he can feel your fingers grasping at his shirt, and he wonders if you can feel how hard his heart is beating. "i'm sorry. you know, for dumping my water all over you at that party."

gojo laughs, his nose bumping against yours once more as he does so. "that's okay. i know how you can make it up to me. if it's okay with you, of course."

you've barely breathed out a 'yes' before gojo's lips are pressed against yours. its a soft kiss, only lasting a few seconds before he pulls away. there's a moment where gojo looks at you, his eyes soft before his gaze drops to your lips once again. in an instant his hands have left your waist, choosing to cup your cheeks instead and bring you impossibly close to him as he goes in for another kiss. your fingers tighten around his shirt even more as your lips meet, trying to pull him closer as he deepens the kiss.

he guides you backwards until his knees hit his bedframe, causing him to take a seat. he pulls you down with him until you're sitting in his lap, and one hand leaves your face to pull you into his chest. his fingers burn as they stroke your cheek, and his gentle touch combined with the way his lips are moving against yours is almost enough to make you feel dizzy.

"sorry to interrupt!"

the two of you break away to see geto standing in the doorway, a surprised look on his face as he stares at the two of you.

"suguru!" gojo hisses, venom in his tone as he glares at his roommate. "get! out!"

"sorry, but we have a project to do that's worth 25% of our grade," geto says, not sounding very apologetic at all. in fact, the smug grin on his face tells you that he seems quite proud of himself in that moment.

"whatever," gojo mumbles, hiding his face in your shoulder to avoid looking at geto. "give us five minutes."

"how tragic that five minutes is all you need," geto says, not missing a beat. his response earns a laugh from you and gojo gives you a look of betrayal before flinging one of his many pillows at geto.

"get out!"

"okay, okay," geto says, holding his hands up in surrender as he backs away. "i know when i'm not wanted."

"clearly you don't," gojo mutters bitterly, causing geto to laugh loudly before he closes the door behind him. gojo's change in attitude is almost instant, and he turns to you with a smirk before pressing a kiss to your neck. "now where were we?"

outside, geto smirks to himself as he takes out his phone, opening his messages to his previous conversation with shoko. he wastes no time in sending her the picture he had managed to capture before making his presence known, the image clearly showing you sitting on gojo's lap. it's less than a minute before his phones buzzes with notifications, and he finds himself chuckling at shoko's words.

new messages (3) from: shoko

omg! i didn't think he had the balls to actually do it i guess i'm happy for them or whatever. fucking finally.

reblogs are appreciated <3 ty for reading!

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psychedelic-ink · 8 months

Text

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐒

ㅤㅤjoel miller x f!reader x tommy miller

genre: smut, minors dni, no outbreak

word count: 2.7k

summary: joel knows you have a little thing for his younger brother so decides to indulge you for your birthday.

warnings: gonna state this very clearly: joel gets cucked by tommy and watches, everyone is consenting and it's discussed beforehand, piv, dirty talk, possessive!joel, daddy kink, size kink, established relationship between joel and reader, jealousy, some brotherly rivalry, facial, mild degradation kink, creampie

a/n: this work was commissioned through kofi by the lovely @losergurlsstuff, thank you so much for your support and thank you so much for this delicious idea, I had a blast! ❤️‍🔥

**gif made by the amazing @pedgito thank you so much dear!! dividers made my the talented @saradika-graphics 💜💜💜

Everything has been amazing since you and Joel started dating. To you, he was perfect. The perfect man. The perfect partner. The perfect person. You are forever grateful to whatever god made your roads cross. You have no idea what you’d be doing without him. You’ve never felt so cared for in your entire life. What he doesn’t say with words he shows with what he does and today is no exception.

“What do you want for your birthday?”

You smile and shake your head, his head is laying right above your stomach, his one hand under your shirt, caressing the warm skin. “I have everything I need.”

“Just tell me.”

“I really don’t want anything, Joel. Especially not from you.”

His hand on your skin stills, looking up, you giggle at the way he’s frowning. Shocked.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, you dork,” you lean and brush your lips against his forehead. “That you already give me everything. Being with you is enough.”

Joel’s eyes narrow. A pleasurable shudder rolls through your spine, you adore it when he looks at you like that. It reminds you of all the times you pushed his buttons, resulting in a delightful time.

“I have an idea what you might want.”

“And what’s that mister know-it-all?”

“Tommy.”

“W—What?” Your heart sinks to your stomach, your palms suddenly cold and sweaty. His younger brother’s name was the last thing you expected to hear. Joel spreads his fingers across your waist, gently, he squeezes.

“It’s a’right, sweetheart. I’ve been thinkin’ about it a lot and well, I think it might be a good gift for your birthday.”

“I don’t understand.”

You genuinely don’t. Also, he’s been thinking about it? The inside of your stomach feels like lead. It’s true that once upon a time you thought how it would be with Tommy—but that was before Joel. And after you two started dating well. . . sure maybe your eyes did linger a bit, maybe you leaned a little too close when he whispered something in your ear during a party. . . You genuinely thought Joel wouldn’t notice.

“I haven’t asked him yet,” he says, thoughtful. “But I was thinkin’ of indulgin’ your curiosities.”

You‘re still not quite sure what he means by that. Your guilt gnaws at the walls of your stomach. Joel gives you everything, yet you make him feel like he doesn’t. Your eyes move away, falling to the corner of the wall. You can’t bear to look at him. He deserves better.

“Hey,” he says, hand cupping your jaw and pulling you back. “Don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying.”

“You look like you’re about to,” he cracks a small smile. “I don’t mind, darlin’. It’s just a fantasy ain’t it? I know that you’re mine.”

“I am,” you say tearfully. “I am and always will be.”

“And I’m yours. I just want to spoil you as best as I can, sweetheart. And this seemed doable.”

“Why do you even think Tommy would agree to this?”

“Oh he will,” he says with a grin that makes your cheeks grow warm. “Don’t you worry that pretty head of yours.”

You nod but doubt still taints your expression. You don’t doubt Joel’s words, but no one can deny that this might be a bit odd. You’re not entirely sure Tommy will be on board. But you trust Joel, so you don’t question it.

Despite all the doubt, and tension in your muscles, excitement slowly brews deep within you.

“Joel, I’m not so sure about this.”

His head turns harshly to face his brother. There’s no way he’s backing out now, not when they were only inches away from the fucking bedroom door.

Then again, he does understand. He’s ain’t stupid. But Joel had seen the way Tommy looked at you, the way his eyes would do a subtle sweep and linger on your ass whenever you walked out of a room. “I ain’t gonna suddenly choke you out if that’s what got your feathers ruffled.”

Tommy shifts from one foot to the other. Joel’s not used to seeing his brother so deep in though. He fears that if he thinks a little harder he might break his brain. With a huff of breath escaping his lips, Joel throws a hand over Tommy’s shoulder and squeezes, drawing his attention.

“Look, I’m gonna tell you the same thing I told her, if at any point you decide you don’t wanna do this, just say so and we’ll stop. No one is gonna get offended.”

Tommy visibly relaxes at Joel’s words. He nods, lips a tight line. It reminds Joel when he taught him how to ride a bike when they were kids. He had the same expression.

“A’right then, now that that’s settled, let’s not keep her waitin’ anymore.”

Without warning he opens the door and pushes Tommy in. If it was any other situation Joel would’ve laughed at the way Tommy tripped over his own feet. But his attention is immediately dragged to the bed you’re perched on. His mouth waters. He knew you were going to get dressed, well undressed in this situation, but he hadn’t thought about what you would put on. Joel’s eyes briefly flicker to Tommy, he seems just as in shock. It’s hard not to be with what you’re wearing.

The fabric is a luxurious, deep blue, reminiscent of the darkest hours when the stars come out to play. The material is silky and smooth against the skin, offering a touch of elegance and comfort. And he would know. It’s his favorite damn set. Shimmering sparkles that adorn the fabric, mimic the stars scattered across the night sky. These sparkles catch the light of the scented candle you’ve lit, creating a subtle and enchanting glow.

Joel gradually meets your gaze. As soon as he does he knows you’ve done it on purpose. His lips quirk up, amusement growing in his eyes, you’d pay for this little stunt.

“Wow,” Tommy exhales and takes a step forward. “You look amazin’ sweetheart.”

You seem a little out of breath already, it’s going to be fun to watch you crumble. Though Joel isn’t quite sure how he feels about his brother being the one doing it.

“Thanks,” you answer, unsure.

There’s a lingering tension in the air and Joel almost rolls his eyes at them both. Almost.

“A’right then,” he pushes Tommy until he’s at the edge of the bed and takes a seat on the chair he brought in this morning. “Stop bein’ shy now. Tommy, you’re her gift, are you sure you want to be the person responsible for her havin’ a shit birthday?”

Tommy’s chest raises, “N-No.”

“Then what are you waitin’ for?”

“Jesus Joel, it’s not like I'm bringin’ her a new plant, give us a second.”

Joel grins at the way he snaps and Tommy only shakes his head, turning to you and finally focusing on the right thing. You.

Tommy tenderly presses both palms on each side of your face, thumbs moving in circles. Your nipples are already hard, he can see them like little diamonds showing up through the fabric. His fingers twitch. Patience isn’t something that he has, but he’ll try. For you.

Your lips part with a soft gasp as Tommy finally brings you in, their lips brushing before full-on pressing against one another. Joel doesn’t miss the way your chest heaves. Your hands fist his shirt and Tommy tilts his head in response, Joel hears your little moans, his own cock gradually hardening under his jeans.

Fuck, you look too good in that lingerie set. It’s hard just to sit and watch.

“Take off his shirt,” Joel grunts, sounding more cross than he intended. You nod, but not without giving him a wary look first. When Tommy’s shirt hits the floor, the younger Miller roughly grabs your chin and turns your head so you’re facing Joel. His spine straightens.

“You ain’t the one given’ orders,” Tommy says. “If you want me to make her feel good, you’re goin’ to shut up and watch, understood?”

Joel’s mouth goes dry but he nods anyway. His eyes narrow as Tommy’s smile grows, his hand slips between your legs and begins to stroke you through your panties. Joel’s breath hitches, his gaze landing where you grow wetter and wetter.

“Who’s in charge baby, tell him.”

Your hips grind down to his hand, “You are.”

“Well that wasn’t much of a challenge,” he chuckles, eyes finding Joel’s again. “Don’t you think you’re bad girl sayin’ that in front of your daddy?”

Heat rushes to Joel’s cheeks, crimson spreading from his chest to his face. He wasn’t expecting Tommy to know that. A tingle he hasn’t felt before spreads from the base of his spine. His jealousy is starting to brew, but at the same time, it feels oddly nice to be helpless, even though he knows he isn’t.

“Answer my question,” Tommy commands, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Are you a bad girl?”

“Y–Yes.”

Your eyes roll when Tommy presses your clit, drawing rough circles, he smiles. “Tell your boyfriend who’s your daddy now?”

Joel holds his breath. Beads of sweat coating his back. “You are,” he hears you say to Tommy. There’s a slight quiver to your bottom lip and every part of him wants to soothe you.

But instead, his brother does.

Tommy sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and kisses your deeply, his hands caressing the contour of your body.

“Don’t worry,” Tommy says. “Daddy is goin’ to take care of you.”

You’re about to lose your mind. Your body is a flame and with each devastating snap of Tommy’s hips, your mouth drops open with a guttural moan. You’ve always assumed he’d be a gentle lover. Though you have a sneaking suspicion that Joel’s presence might be a solid reason why he’s tearing you and building you up over and over again.

He positioned you so you’re staring at nothing else but Joel, you see how hard he is under his pants, the outline of his cock visible and making you gush all over Tommy’s cock. You want him in your mouth so bad but you know this isn’t that kind of game. Joel’s eyes follow the sway of your breasts, your bra ripped from you a while ago. You were completely naked except for your panties—Joel’s favorite and now Tommy is fucking you in it.

Tommy reaches forward and grabs your throat, pulling you up so more of your chest is exposed. His cock is bigger than you imagined, nearly big as Joel. He pounds into you mercilessly, his length stretching you every day, reminding you whose cock is tearing you apart.

“Does it turn you on that he’s watchin’ how wet you’re gettin’ my dick sweetheart?” With his question another fresh wave of slick drips out of you, tears build in your eyes, your insides left throbbing. His hips stutter, going balls deep, breath catching in his throat. “Fuck. Joel, she’s soaked— does she ever get this wet for you?”

“‘Course she does,” he grunts, crossing his arms. You can’t tell if he’s upset or not, but the fact that Tommy doesn't have a broken nose already must be a good sign.

Tommy leans into your ear, loud enough for Joel to hear. “Bet the old man can’t fuck you as well as I do.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Both of them are so good at this, and your head is in shambles.

Tommy suddenly stops, and you’re a brink away from breaking down. A whine tears away from your lips. He releases your neck, you fall forward, only upright thanks to his hands holding your arms. “Answer me.”

“You’re making me feel so good,” you say instead and thankfully, he doesn’t try to gauge a different response. His cock pulses, making you believe that was all he wanted to hear. Joel observes the two of you carefully.

“Say it again baby, tell him how well daddy’s taking care of you.”

“Daddy’s taking care of me,” you slur as his pace begins to pick up again. Each thrust makes you squeeze his cock like a vice. Liquid heat drops down your spine, your stomach clenching as he edges you closer and closer to your downfall. “J–Joel,” you call out without much thought and his dark gaze meets your own. “He feels so good.”

“Oh fuck—” Tommy chokes and swiftly pulls out, prompting you to let out a disappointed whine. “Shit, baby, I’m gonna— fuck— bring your face here—”

The back of Tommy’s head falls against the headboard and you quickly hurry towards him, your glistening cunt now in perfect view. You hear Joel taking in a sharp exhale. You part your lips, dipping down to take Tommy into your mouth but he stops it, holding you by the nape. “I’m gonna ruin that pretty face of yours,” he groans, forcing you down so your cheek would be pressed right below his pelvis. He starts stroking himself, fucking into his fist, and the sight is so beautiful that you lick one of his balls into your mouth, his back arches.

Suddenly, he grips you even tighter and starts moaning loudly in harsh gasps, his hips thrusting uncontrollably against your face. He closes his eyes, losing himself in the sensation of you. You can feel him pulsing against your skin. You moan in response, feeling the rush of excitement as you open your mouth wider to take it all in.

“Tommy, please,” you breathe out, your eyes locked with his as he releases a stream on your face, covering your cheeks and lips with his release. You can feel yourself growing even more aroused as he continues to stroke himself, coating your face with his warm come. You whimper, the vibrations sending shivers down his spine as he lets out a final raspy breath.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes out, his chest rising and falling heavily as he stares at you, your face damp and covered in his release. “You look so beautiful like this.”

You can feel your cheeks heating up, the intimate moment causing your heart to race in your chest. Tommy reaches out, gently wiping some of the come off of your face with his thumb before bringing it to your lips, letting you taste yourself.

“Fuck,” Tommy murmurs, his breaths coming out in short pants. He pulls you up to him, his lips crashing onto yours in a fierce kiss. However, while you’re lost in his mouth, you don’t realize the bed dipping with an added weight. You hear a clink of a belt and suddenly Joel is buried deep between your legs, his fingers rubbing tight circles around your clit. You gasp against Tommy’s mouth, the sensations becoming almost too much to handle.

“You didn’t make her come, idiot,” he groans, fucking himself into your deeper and deeper. Your eyes roll, your lips parting an inch away from Tommy’s face. Joel sinks his teeth into your neck, hips rutting into you without leaving you. His other hand playing with the elastic of your panties, you break down around him, your orgasm hitting you like a truck. “Mine,” he growls, acting as if the two of you are alone. “Mine, mine, mine—”

Joel spills into you with a deep and visceral groan. There’s so much, his cock twitching and pulsing as he forces himself even deeper, claiming you as his. Doing something Tommy isn’t allowed to do. You shiver all over, your body weak with pleasure.

He trickles down the inside of your thighs as he pulls out, falling back to his knees. You collapse onto Tommy’s chest and you’re surprised when you feel his hand on your neck, rubbing soothingly over your warm skin.

Joel leaves a trail of kisses down your spine, “You were amazin’, honey.”

“Such a good girl,” Tommy murmurs, though both of their voices feel as if it’s coming from a distance. Your eyes flutter closed, exhaustion taking hold of you. “Let’s get her cleaned up and tuck her in.”

Joel presses his mouth against you one last time before heading to the bathroom.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x f!reader #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x fem!reader #tommy miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #tommy miller smut #joel miller x reader x tommy miller #hbo the last us fanfic #tlou fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters fanfiction

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ma1dita · 8 months

Text

anything you want

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 1.6k

summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where you and him have your first kiss. It’s just Luke. He’ll do anything you tell him to, even if you talk too much. Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader

a/n: trouble is a yapper yall should know that by now. happy first kiss to you and luke!

(posted 1/25/24 unbetad)

—

“Come on, Castellan, we’re gonna be late if you don’t hurry!”

Your foot taps steadily on the forest floor, waiting for Luke to finish his demonstration of how to slay a chimera, and at the sound of your voice, he sheathes his sword and claps Chris on the back to finish up the workshop.

“Where you off to, man?”

“Gotta help our favorite head counselor set up for Greek Legends & Theatrics,” he says matter-of-factly, setting his battle armor to the side and making the walk up the steep hill towards the amphitheater to meet you like he’s following a siren call.

“Simp,” Chris mutters before his best friend slaps him across the head and jogs away.

“My hands are full, Rodriguez!”

“You wish!” Chris calls out as he picks up his sword, watching the slight blush rise on Luke’s pale cheeks as he almost trips over his own feet.

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Watch your fucking language,” you say sternly, which makes the both of you laugh when he finally meets you at the top of the hill. Instantly, you’re relinquishing everything in your hands: your water jug, the bag of costumes, a binder of scripts, and a ukelele. Luke’s juggling everything as best he can with no complaints, following your footsteps as he bumps the body of the uke against his hip to get a better grasp as he marvels at your excitement for your little drama club.

“What’re you teaching today, Trouble?”

“Orpheus and Eurydice, and it’s gonna be great! One of my personal favorites! The kids should be ready for the performance at the end of the month,” you grin, walking backward as you descend the stone steps of the amphitheater.

You’ve both grown into your roles here at camp, finding places you shine and excel at and together you bridge what the kids, your kids, are lacking. But he can see how you let yourself thrive here, being the operative heart of Camp Half Blood, and you’re radiating as you beckon him to follow you.

Following you around has become a habit as of late, one that he’s only recently made himself aware of. Sure, he’s always loved annoying you and doing something stupid to get a reaction, whether it be a snide remark or a smile, but something in your dynamic has changed. You’re head counselor after all, and even though he’s only in charge of busy cabin 11, his hand is always extended to whatever you have to offer. Quite simply, he loves it when you look for him, there’s no other explanation for it.

You’ve always troubled him, his thoughts, his life— but Luke can’t define it, or deem it something he can live without. It doesn’t make sense, and now he often finds himself wondering what it would be like to be more than whatever you are; not enemies, not necessarily friends, but perhaps a secret third thing, something he admittedly holds sacred.

Luke trusts you with his life, but wouldn’t choose you to be his quest companion again he thinks, not after the scar only you deem pretty is an evident sign of his personal transgression. He stares at you for a second too long while you ramble, organizing your thoughts out loud that he doesn’t notice any of the actual words falling from your lips because he’s entranced by them. Slight worry crosses his sharp features as he realizes he could kill someone if you got hurt.

Fuck.

There’s a space he’s carved out for you in his heart that he reminds himself not to name yet and now you’re looking for him again, turning to him when you realize he hasn’t followed.

When did you get so close to him?

“Luke!” you exclaim, nibbling on your bottom lip as you snap your fingers in his face.

“Are you even listening to me? I need an extra hand setting up smores stuff for the bonfire later if you’re free, and then we have night shift after…” You’re leaning against the table with a delicate smile on your face and in moments like these where you rattle off your routine that he gladly picks apart— Luke feels a sort of elation better than any quest or glory he can achieve. Only you can make unpaid labor sound like Elysium.

He nods absentmindedly, eyes flickering to your lips as you continue to speak, and he can’t help but admire how the way the sun filters through your hair…

Maybe Chris was onto something…

“You okay? If you need a break you can sit and watch us, the kids should be coming soon to start.”

Your fingers graze his bicep, and he blinks at you, your eyes wide with curiosity and a fire that can’t be tamed. You drive him crazy. He probably looks like a lunatic, frozen in place as he stares at you, so he shakes his head lightly, albeit unconsciously as he furrows his eyebrows, scar crinkling with his eyes as he smiles at you.

What a dork.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” you laugh, your head falling onto your shoulder as you look at him sideways. You’ve noticed Luke is softer with you nowadays, hands always full when you keep him busy, and unlike the other cabin counselors, seldom does he fight you about camp duties. He’ll fight you about anything else though, just to get the last swipe at your attention, to make sure your eyes are on him.

And they always are, whether you can help it or not.

Luke steps forward, duffel bag still in hand and ukelele at his other side and suddenly he looks like he’s on a mission, his signature smirk stealing the air from your lungs as you forget what you’re saying.

“Like what, Trouble?”

Nervous laughter bubbles from you at the increasing proximity. It’s the first time he’s spoken since you got down here. His cargos brush against the smooth skin of your legs as you nestle your hips against the table, and the smell of sweat, musk, and citrus infiltrates your nostrils with a shaky breath.

“Like you’re about to make a mess of something. I can’t really tell,” you whisper. Why are you whispering? There’s no one here but you two and the sound of birds in the spring air.

It’s just Luke. Luke Castellan, who you glitter bombed when you were 14, who shoves you around every chance he gets, and steals food off your plate at every meal.

“I might. Not sure yet,” he swallows as he looms over you, the bag in his grasp falling to the side and the ukelele making a dissonant noise as he sets it on the table.

When did you let him past your defenses? The wall around your heart was well protected after years of whims of what you thought was love felt like running headfirst into concrete.

But Luke’s always been there, watching.

Though as a son of Hermes, sneaking in without a sound is what he does best. Perhaps a little too well, the both of you not noticing it for what it was until this moment.

“What are we doing?” you ask, and his reply is to pull you in by the belt loop of your denim shorts, snatching you closer with a curl of his fingers.

“You talk too much, you know that?”

Then suddenly, finally—his lips descend onto yours stealing your breath away like it's second nature, almost thoughtless and without anymore questions. There's a moment where you both sigh as if it was a relief to finally be touched like this, no hidden meanings, no ulterior motives, and nothing else makes sense but to be here kissing him.

Luke’s calloused hand weaves under your jaw and into your hair, propping you up as your knees buckle slightly, so intense and gentle at the same time, lips forging the undeniable connection between you that’s gone unspoken for so long. His hands are full of you, and he tastes like the strawberries you snuck onto his plate at lunch.

Your hands slide up the front of his shirt, a featherlike touch to confirm that he’s there though the feel of his tongue slipping in makes you wonder how much time you’ve wasted arguing with him when you could’ve been doing this.

Everything about this kiss feels familiar in a way you can’t describe, but this embrace lets you learn about him what you thought you were already so sure of. It makes you wonder if you’ve been here before in a different life, and then you remember who’s in front of you.

It’s Luke, who likes it when he gets to fall asleep to the sound of your voice telling a bedtime story, follows you around even if his siblings tease him, and never ridicules you for your innate madness.

Perhaps he’s just as mad as you.

Your eyes flutter open, and he’s already walking away, nervously chuckling like he didn’t give you a life-altering kiss. When your heart finally feels like it’s in your chest again, you grumble loudly, shaking your head with his name still caught between your teeth—

“LUKE CASTELLAN! Don't you dare run away from me!”

He's quite sure he hasn't sprinted away faster in his life. But as he runs up the steps of the ampitheater to try and clear his head, he stumbles when he looks at you, turning around every few paces until he finally catches the unmistakeable smile on your face. Luke eats shit at the top, falling against a tree and he hears the sound of your laughter.

He thinks he’ll spend the rest of his life running away if it means he can look back and see if you’ll follow.

—

“I don’t know how it is you are so familiar to me—or why it feels like I am getting to know you and more as though I am remembering who you are. How every smile, every whisper brings me closer to the impossible conclusion that I have known you before, I have loved you before—in another time, a different place—some other existence.”

-Lang Leav

ask to be put on general/luke taglists!

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl l @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @lilacspider @theadventuresofanartist @sucker4seresin @simpforsunwoo @zanzie @starrystormwritings

#luke castellan x reader fanfic #luke castellan x dionysus!reader #luke castellan x reader #pjo show imagine #percy jackon and the olympians #made by ma1dita ♥︎#trouble!verse #luke castellan fluff #thank you for reading my love ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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only-luce-the-goose · 4 months

Text

The Prank

A/N: my first formula fic!! My requests are open if you have someone you want me to write for!

Arthur Leclerc x Norris Reader

Trope: Dumbasses (best friends to lovers)

Warnings: Swearing, kissing, nothing else really

This is based of something I was on Twitter (I refuse to call it X): person a says “I came up with a good prank”. Person b asks what it is, a says “we should kiss”. B says “I don’t get it”, a says “imagine them walking in to see us kissing and just being like “WHAAAAAT??” B says “oh, that’s hilarious. We totally should”

Synopsis: You and Arthur have been best friends since he saved you from a bully when you were kids. You grew up in the Leclerc household, so they knew you very well. You followed Arthur around the world for his racing career. You guys had been given the nickname "Terrible Two's" for all the pranks you pulled around the paddock. Sometimes you pulled them on each other, sometimes you teamed up and pulled pranks together but there was one prank that really topped off the rest of your pranks.

"Y/N!!!" Arthur shouted from the shower in your shared bedroom. He walked out as you hit record on your phone, filming as he appeared. He had his towel wrapped dangerously low around his waist, his hair was dyed a deep red with remnants of the dye dripping down his chest. "Seriously?" he scolded "I have to go to the Ferrari pit tomorrow and my hair is bright red!" You could see the fury in his eyes as you laughed. "Yeahhhh, you're gonna be matching the cars". He crossed his arms over his muscly chest and scowled "Stop filming me, idiot" you rolled your eyes and chucked "Whatever, moron" you said as you stopped recording. You posted it to your story, with the caption "Ready for @ scuderiaferrari tomorrow!" and tagged him in it.

You heard Arthur's phone buzz from the vanity in the bathroom as he headed back in to dry off. You stood up to pack up a bit from your day, getting as ready as you can for tomorrow. This time he came out in a pair of checkered sleep pants, saw you stand up in front of your suitcase and lunged at you, tackling you into the bed. You shrieked as he started assaulting (tickling) you. "St-st-op Art- arty" giggled out. "You turned me red, then posted it for the whole fucking world to see. You deserve this" After successfully kicking him onto the floor, you noticed your phone vibrating in your pocket.

You swiped accept on the call as you answered "Ah, my favourite Leclerc brother. What can I do for you Charlie?" You heard Arthur shout and "Oi" from the floor, making Charles laugh. "I just needed to see Arthur's hair" he grinned. You flipped the camera around and showed a Shirtless, red-haired Arthur lying on his back on the ground. Charles burst out laughing "good to see the support, brother" he got out in between laughter. "I'll leave you to whatever you're doing, y/n. Thank you so much for Arthur's hair" he chuckled as you said goodbye and he hung up. You leaned over the side of the bed, making eye contact with the boy on the floor "wanna get Charles tomorrow?" you asked him. "The day I say no is the day the world ends" he replies. You laughed as you rolled under your covers, Arthur standing up and getting into the bed next to yours, agreeing to come up with the prank tomorrow.

I was lying awake in bed, I couldn’t sleep. All I could think about was how Arthur came out of the shower earlier, his glorious torso on display, towel so low you could see his v-line. All I wanted to do was go over and kiss him silly, he’s so hot when he’s cranky. My crush on his has lasted years and he has no idea. I couldn’t ever tell him, it would ruin our friendship and I don’t ever want to lose him. If we’re friends forever then so be it. I put my earbuds in and put on a good playlist, drifting off to my favourite song.

I woke up the next morning with a crushing weight on my chest and hair tickling my nose. It wasn’t until I felt the fingers tickling my ribs thats I started wriggling around, trying to get the giant on my body. “Arty what the fuck” I grumbled “I was having a really good sleep you prick”. He chuckled and rolled off me, lying next to me a pulling me body into his. I looked up, nearly bumping his nose with mine. I was really hoping he couldn’t feel how fast my heart was beating. “We have a prank to plan”

After you finished getting ready, you hopping in the car with Arthur and headed towards the paddock, brainstorming pranks in the car. “I came up with a brilliant one” Arthur tells you. “Ooo what is it?” My curiosity peaked. We haven’t been able to think of any good ones for Charles all morning. “We should kiss” he said nonchalantly. If I had a drink I would have choked on it, instead I stuck to internally freaking out while my heart started beating out of my chest. “Umm what? I don’t get it. How is that a good prank?” I stutter.

Arthur laughs “just think about it. He walks into his drivers room to find his younger brother and childhood best friend making out, our hands all over each other. You could sit on my lap and we could really go to town, Charles would walk in and freak out. He might even faint!” It hurt a little to think that Arthur only wanted to kiss me for a pranks, but there ain’t no way I’m passing up and opportunity to kiss my crush, even if it isn’t supposed to mean anything.

“Ohhh I get it, that’s would be fucking hilarious. We just have to time it really well and make sure no one sees us go in there” I add on. Arthur agrees “that’s it then, the perfect prank” I chuckle at his declaration. We pull up the paddock, scan our passes and make our way in, making small talk with people but never straying too far from each other.

We saw Charles doing some media before he needed to go in and change into his fireproofs and race suits. I tapped on Arthur’s and should and pointed at his brother, explaining my thinking. I agreed and we rushed inside the Ferrari garage, making our way to the drivers room. I hung around the front of it, keeping an eye out Charles so we could start making out at the perfect time.

A huge group of people made their way, signalling that Charles was moving closer. You could hear him and Carlos talking about the track as they came closer. I quickly slipped into his drivers room, finding Arthur already sitting on the bench. I walked over to him as he patted his lap, “hang on” I semi whispered. I could hear that Charles and Carlos had stopped walking, they couldn’t have been too far from the doors. Once I could hear Charles getting louder I looked back at Arthur, “you ready Arty?” I asked. He nodded and pulled me into his lap.

I moved me knees to go on their side of this body, my right hand slide to the back of neck, sliding my hand though his hair and I grabbed a handful of his fluffy hair. My left hand sling around his broad shoulders. His left hand dipped under my shirt to hold my waist, his other hand wound around my neck. He offered me a kind smile as he used the hand around my back to guide me towards his lips.

It started with small pecks, quickly moving to Arthur slipping his tongue into my mouth, exploring while he got the opportunity. Moved myself closer to him, gripping his hair harder which caused him to let out a low moan. I heard the door to the driver room open as I kept making out with my best friend. The hand around my neck moved to ass, moving me to grind on him a bit.

Charles and Carlos stood in the doorway, dumbfounded before Carlos turned to Charles and said “told you they had a thing for each other, cabrõn” and walked off. Charles stared at his friend as he walked off. He looked back at us, still making out as he walked in. He slammed the door shut, making us jump. “What the fuck is going on? Why are you making out? Why are you doing it in my drive room? Oh my god I need to sit down” he rambled.

I got off Arthur as we started cackling, Arthur turned to me and said “told you it was a good prank, he’s absolutely freaking out” I laughed and looked back at Charles. He looked at us like we just old him Santa wasn’t real. “Wait, this is a prank?” He asked as we nodded “I thought I wouldn’t have to listen to Arthur whine about you anymore y/n but this is going to make it so much worse” I was about to ask something when Arthur grabbed my arm and dragged me out.

Once we got outside the garage I stopped Arthur. “Hang on, Arty. Just stop for a second” he stared at the floor. “What did Charles mean when he said you were whining about me?” I asked him. He tried to deflect the question and walk off. I grabbed his hand, turning him to me and lifting his head the make eye contact with me, asking my question again.

Arthur sighed, putting his hands on either side of my face and kissed me. It wasn’t desperate like the previous make out. It was slow and loving. “I don’t really know to say this, now that Charles has outed me, but I’ve liked you for years. The more than best friends kinda like. The reason I came up with that kissing prank was to get the chance to kiss you, even if it is supposed to be to mean nothing.”

Arthur kept rambling, struggling make eye contact. He looked at him, then smashed your lips into his “I like you more than I best friend should too. I have for years” you smile against Arthur’s lips as he kissed you.

#arthur leclerc fluff #arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc x reader fluff #arthur leclerc x y/n #arthur leclerc #f1 #f2 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #leclerc

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cvnt4him · 2 months

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What do you think is the best way to get izu off?

I love this and I am going to enjoy writing this.

❝ when you're present ❞

♪

➪ ꒰ cock warming; I personally believe that he loves it so much, when you sit on his cock and gently grind down into him occasionally as a "punishment" he feels so good and so dirty he can't help but to beg for you to let him cum. ꒱

➪ ꒰ pussy eating; you don't even have to do anything, he'll cum regardless, the taste of you alone is enough to get him off, he'll literally thank you for letting him devour you whole. ꒱

➪ ꒰ anal; believe it or not I whole heartedly think that izuku is experimental when it comes to sexual pleasure, with that being said he loves when you finger him or even peg him it just makes his insides turn.

➪ ꒰ head; he loves giving and receiving, but whenever you suck him off it's like you're sucking his soul out of his body, he likes watching you struggle to take his cock completely in your mouth the stretch making your lips dry and crack, he knows he isn't long but he also knows he has a fat fucking cock, his toes curl and he throws his head back curly strands of his hair stick to his sweaty forehead while you swallow every last bit of his salty thick cum, he cums the hardest when you fondle his balls. ꒱

➪ ꒰ mutual masturbation; watching you desperately chase after your high you not even paying the littlest bit of attention to him turns him on terribly so, he can't help but to match the way you hurriedly snap your palm against your cunt your fingers going deep inside of your wet and squelching cunny, he swirls his palm across his sensitive red cockhead while whining like a slut hiccupping and sniffling as he cums hard against his. chest some even gets on his face.

❝ When izukus alone ❞

♪

➪ ꒰ pillow humping; he'll get off by desperately humping a pillow that you last laid on in his room, it's coated with your scent and now coated in his cum. ꒱

➪ ꒰ phone sex; he loves touching himself while you're on the phone, talking and rambling about whatever happened during your day you don't even notice the little whimpers and whines escaping your lovers lips as he disgustingly strokes his fat cock to your voice. ꒱

➪ ꒰ overstimulation; he owns a fleshlight 100%, uses it whenever he's sexually frustrated to the point he's cum so many times, he ends up overstimulating himself and thinking about what you'd say if you'd seen him like this. ꒱

➪ ꒰ degrading; he thinks about how you'd call him a filthy slut while his cock twitches, he uses the shower head to get himself off the spray of the shower making his cock leak so much, he throws his head back and pinches his nipples with his other hand thinking about how you'd call him pathetic for not being able to hold out, involuntarily that's what makes him cum. ꒱

➪ ꒰ edging; he strokes the tip of his cock head at an insane pace, black and green buzzes of electric crackles around his forearm from the godspeed, he grunts and choked on his moans trying to hold back his cum, his eyes cross and his brows furrow his mouth stuffed with his shirt as he hold it up in his mouth, he felt his cock getting ready to spurt out his cum and instantly took his hands away digging his nails into his thighs, he groaned loudly at the pain of being edged and the fact hid nails were piercing through his skin, he looked down at his cock and watched the way it perked up, he ended up cumming anyways, whining in defeat and angery with himself for failing.

AN: he's a fucking pervert and a gooner fr. js thinking ab how perverted he is makes me wanna cry bc hes so adorable that no one would even guess😭

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zweiginator · 2 months

Note

college!patrick corrupting innocent reader……………… gawd

thinking about this but like. him bringing art in. needs his best friend to enjoy this too!!!

oh fuck because i'm thinking that patrick wants to teach you how to give head. the only problem is that he doesn't trust himself. he knows as soon as you're swirling your tongue around his tip and moaning around him with those big watery eyes of yours--he'll start fucking your throat. he can't control it and it makes him want to be the guinea pig so much fucking more. you're such a good little student; he knows you'd take it like a champ. but he'll be good.

you don't realize patrick has an agenda here. that he has strategically thought out everything he wants to teach you and put it in the order that makes most sense. it feels sleazy to him that he hasn't even seen your pussy. hasn't felt that velvety skin against his tongue, your silky wetness coating his fingers or his cock.

but he assures himself that waiting will make it better. and patrick doesn't tell either you nor art what's on his little agenda. he just tells you to come over around seven. shoots art the same text.

so you both wait outside his door. neither of you have knocked yet. you notice how art's cheeks are dewy and pink, a mixture of his proximity to such a beautiful girl, and remnants from the five mile run he just completed.

you introduce yourself.

art wipes his clammy hand on the back of his grey t-shirt and slips his palm into yours

"i'm art. it's nice to meet you." his voice is soft. he's handsome in a way that is different than patrick, but you can't quite put your finger on why that is. maybe a fundamental difference in their first impressions with you.

patrick was unabashed in his actions. aware of his effect on other people. willing and able to use his charisma to get whatever he wants in a way that borders on manipulative but couldn't quite be classified that way.

art has more trepidation. but he still has confidence in the way he carries himself. his shoulders are back, his posture near perfect.

"are you here for patrick?" he asks, breaking the silence.

"yeah," you answer, looking at the time. 6:59. you and art are very timely. "he told me to come over at 7."

art fumbles with his phone, pulling it out of his shorts pocket. it's hard to see with the glare of the late spring sun, but he shows you the text patrick sent him. it's verbatim what was sent to you, and you tell art this.

"weird. are you guys dating or something?"

you shrug. "no, i don't think. just hanging out."

art knows what that means. and he chews on the inside of his cheek. his jaw pops.

"how do you know each other?" it's your turn to ask questions.

"he's my best friend." art knocks on patrick's door for the third time before crossing his arms over his chest. you sense more urgency in the way art is acting. "we grew up together, played tennis all throughout childhood and here we are."

"patrick plays tennis?" you notice art's t-shirt and hat. it's on backwards, but it's embroidered with stark white lettering. stanford tennis. "i didn't know that." you feel small, realizing you don't know a huge part of patrick's life. naive to his hobbies and talents and his best friend. maybe you overestimated your role in his life.

art senses your disappointment in how your voice falters.

"he's not a very open person. hence why we're both here right now. dumbass probably sent me the text by accident." art kicks the door. "pat! open the fucking door, man! it's hot out here!" the veins in his neck tremble as patrick flings the door open.

"come in, come in." he ushers you both inside.

so he really did mean to text art.

he sits between you both on the couch and puts his arms around you and art. spreads his legs wide and lets out a deep sigh.

you and art look at each other, confused. but neither of you speak up just yet; perhaps its a subconscious nod to the fact that patrick is in charge here. a way to foreshadow.

"she's pretty, isn't she artie?" patrick turns to his best friend and you see him flush a deeper shade of pink.

"um, yeah. she is." art responds.

you swallow. both of their legs are spread wide, to the point where you barely have room to fit on the couch. it seems rude, but then again, maybe patrick is doing this on purpose.

"and artie?" he turns to you this time; his broad, strong torso almost obstructs your view of art behind him. "he's handsome. lots of girls think that."

you nod. "yeah, he is handsome." it's innocuous enough. and you wouldn't lie, of course not.

"what's the deal here, pat?" art says it breathily. like he knows patrick has a trick up his sleeve.

"we've been having some lessons." patrick says, only to art, as if you're not there. "i taught her how to kiss."

your breath hitches. is he going to tell?---

"and i taught her how to give a handjob, just last week. her first one ever."

"patrick this isn't my business." art shifts uncomfortably, watching the clock on the wall tick, tick, tick.

"but there's still a lot to learn for her." patrick continues, unfazed by the obvious discomfort in the room, the shifted mood that seemingly affects everyone but him. because again, he's in power. it's his prerogative. and here you both exist, at his mercy.

you're awfully quiet, but you stay that way.

"i want to teach her how to give a blowjob." patrick says it as he picks lint from his shorts, like it means nothing. and it makes you want to do it. to impress him and stay on his radar. not to be a temporary plaything.

so you lean into patrick and press a kiss to his neck, open-mouthed at the part that makes him shudder and melt. but he pulls away from you.

"not on me, sweetheart."

you look at him, bewildered. art shares the same expression, except his jaw is clenched and a pearly bead of sweat trembles over his browbone.

"on him."

art can't pretend he isn't intrigued. maybe he should put a stop to this. put his foot down and say no to patrick. except he wants it. and god, he hopes you want it to.

art looks at you, his lips parted and pink to match the supple skin of his cheeks.

patrick watches you two. has a look on his face that reads well what are you two waiting for?

you crawl over patrick's lap so you're leaning over his body. using him like a bridge. your hands grip onto patrick's thighs until you find balance. art sits up straighter, meets you in the middle so patrick has a perfect view of your profiles.

art cups your cheek and pulls your bottom lip with his teeth before sucking it into his mouth. you feel his jaw move, opening wide so he can envelope you in an open-mouthed kiss that sets your body on fire. patrick watches spit dribble down your chins in a messy meld of kisses, of tongues, of hands all over each other.

patrick grabs your wrist, the one that rested on art's jaw, and plants it square on art's erection.

neither patrick nor you expect the carnal groan that emits from art's throat.

#ask #challengers #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig smut #challengers smut #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x reader x patrick zweig #do we want pt. 2

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fandomzwriterk · 4 months

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can i request yandere remy labeau x reader smut. Maybe he confesses his love to his darling and it leads to smut( if your comfortable with that)

My Queen of Hearts

Warnings: Yandere Remy + slightly ooc Remy + possessive Remy + NSFW content + Virgin Reader & Remy

A/n: I’m gonna do my best for this request and I’ll do the smut but be warned I’m not the best so don’t laugh. Also 3rd person reader! Pardon my poor Cajun-French I’m sorry😭😭

NSFW below 👇🏻

Remy Labeau was an eccentric man, and everyone in the X-Men knew that, none more so than Rouge, Remy’s past lover. Past? No that can’t be right… right? He still loves her right?

Nope

Remy moved on after Magneto came and moved into the mansion. He knew he stood no chance against the very man whom she could hold and touch. Much to everyone else’s surprise, even you, he said he was uninterested in her anymore.

“She ain’t my type of girl. That’s it bon amí.”

Logan didn’t believe him, after all he still loved Jean even if she was married, but he kept that to himself. Remy was just confused according to Logan. Morph and even Jubilee just went along with it… almost too well. But who were you to judge? Remy was one of your closest friends here, so of course you’d be by his side through his complicated relationship with Rouge.

“Hey Y/n can you, Storm, and Jean help me out with something?” You heard Jubilee say from down the hall

“I’ll be right there!” You spoke as you looked at Remy as he sat on the sofa, arms crossed behind his head as he listened to whatever Morph and Logan were telling him. “I’ll be right back Remy. Jubilee needs me.”

Remy smirked at you, just a classic thing he did to any girl he had “feelings” for. They weren’t real feelings, just a facade he put up around women, that’s just how Remy worked. But if you happened to be someone Remy wanted to give his attention to… he really showed you attention.

“Oh hello Y/n.” Jean spoke kindly as she waved a hello at you with a smile. It was nice to see her, she’d been gone with Scott for a few days. “Anyways Jubilee what did you want to talk about?”

“Well you know how Magnetos been here and… well I’ve just been wondering what you three have been thinking.”

Storm muttered something under her breath as she sat looking out the window thinking long and hard as a storm came rolling in. Jean couldn’t decide what she thought either.

“I think that, even with our rough past with him, he has good intentions for us and what the Professor wanted.”

“I’m not so sure Jean. He’s fought us for so many years and now that suddenly the Professor has passed and he’s deciding to forget it all? Something doesn’t add up.”

Both Storm and Jean were right. You hadn’t been around long enough to witness the bloodshed with Magneto that everyone had, but your time was long… just not long enough to meet the Professor. You’d been here when he had left, after Remy, Scott, Logan, Rouge, and Jean brought you back from a dangerous mission. You would’ve died that day if they didn’t save you from that gang and that half destroyed Sentinel.

“Well at least for Y/n it works out.”

“Jubilee!” Both women shouted

“What?! Rouge has been all ‘cuddly and friendly’ since Magneto got here and that leaves Gambit open.”

You just sighed, turning to walk out the door as the other three women stayed silent. Closing the door behind you hard, made you want to scream out loud about what Jubilee said.

“Just ignore it Y/n. Maybe it’ll-“

Your sentence cut short as a card flew in circles in front of you, doing a flip before heading into the darkness. Your eyes could barely see who it was, but you could just figure it out on your own anyways.

“Hello Remy.” You spoke to the dark hallway

Remy held the card between his pointer and middle finger, then spinning it between his other fingers. He took one step towards you, just barely being lit by the light of the moon through the window.

“My chérie what’s wrong?” Remy spoke with a smile, putting a hand over your shoulder as he pulled you along for a walk down the hall

“Nothing Remy. I’m just fine.”

“My ange I think differently. Let ol’ Gambit talk it out with you.”

You could never object to Remy’s kindness to you. He was the one who found you that day, trapped in a cell with nothing but a bucket and pieces of bones from any sort of meat. Everyone treated you with the utmost kindness. Scott and Logan kinda felt like your older brothers, sweet but also stubborn. Jean, Storm, and Rouge were like aunts to you, kind but never getting in the way as a “parent” like Scott did. Maybe that’s just because their baby hadn’t been born yet and he was so worried about a young mutant like you. But Remy… Remy was different. Remy was there on your darkest days, your companion through the nightmares, especially at nights like these.

“Alright let’s talk then.”

“That’s it ma princesse. Let your dear Gambit hear what you’re thinking about.”

You sat on the edge of his bed as Remy walked around and went straight the bathroom, winking at you before closing the door behind him. Well, that’s Remy for ya. But here’s the thing… you don’t even have to ask what anyone is thinking… you already know.

“My dulcinée… what are you thinking about?” You hear as Remy opens the door to reveal himself with nothing but his pink crop top and boxers on

“Remy!”

You sat up, coving your eyes because you were raised to be decent for people. Taking one step away towards the door, you couldn’t dare look at someone, especially Remy, like this.

“Mon amour where do you think you’re going?”

Remy followed you, grabbing your wrist as he pulls you back and spins you around so he’s against the door and you’re more inside his room. Remy, without a second to spare, locks the door with a smile on his face, his eyes scanning you up and down as if he was going to pounce on you that second.

“Remy I-“

Being much taller than you are, and able to pick you up easily, Remy walked up and pushed you down onto his bed, watching you as you stared into his crimson-black eyes. You scooted away, trying to crawl off onto the other side, but Remy was faster, practically jumping onto you and keeping you there, trapped under him. You couldn’t move, your body felt paralyzed as you looked into Remy’s adoring eyes. You always had a feeling about him… but you could never place what it was, that is, until now.

“Do you know what I’m thinking Ma Belle?”

“N-no Remy I-i don’t.”

Your words were honest, you truly did not wish to peek into Remy’s mind right now as he had you trapped under him, on his bed, half undressed already. With his one hand on your hip to keep you there, his other went to the side of your face, caressing it as he stared into your eyes, looking for something in them.

“Well darling I’m surprised you didn’t already look. Gambit’s been having some thoughts about you since he told Rouge to fuck off.”

If your face was red, you could feel it and Remy could see it. He knew what he was doing. But at the same time, what was he saying?

“You see my dear, once I realized Rouge would gladly leave your sweet and loving Gambit for some old prick, I decided to move on from her.”

His eyes stayed onto yours as he grabbed both sides of your hips, now turning to push your head down onto his pillows. His grip was hard, almost needy. Grabbing one of yours hands with his, he continued to look into your eyes, even as he brought your hand up to kiss it.

“Now looking back on it… I’m glad I did. Rogue could never compare to what I feel when I’m around you.”

“Remy…”

“Ma Belle you are everything I want, and even if Gambit can’t decide what he wants sometimes, he knows he wants you.”

Remy broke eye contact lifting himself up a little to look at you from head to toe once more, before burying his face in the crook of your neck. His body gently laid onto yours, keeping you there in his arms and trapped under him. Even if this was a trap… did you truly want to leave him when he’s right here, willing to love you when you’ve wanted it for so long already?

“Remy do you… is this a fling or are you serious?” You asked

Remy’s head perked up, staring down at you once more. He looked confused, as if you just asked him the hardest question ever in his life.

“My déesse there is no one that could ever make me feel the way you make me feel. I adore you… I treasure you… and I don’t want anyone else to have you. Not any of the other men here. Not anyone. Just me.”

Remy gripped onto your hand tightly, as if you were going to leave and never come back. His eyes searched yours for an answer.

“I want you… I’ve always wanted you my ange.”

You didn’t even have to think twice before sitting up and wrapping your other arm around Remy’s neck, pulling him closer.

“I love you Remy.”

“And I you my angel.”

Remy didn’t hesitate to let go of the grip on your hip, holding himself up as he moved closer to your face, staring at your lips. But he didn’t do anything, waiting for you to say those words he needed to hear as well.

“Chérie I… as much as I want it… I want to know if you want it too. Gambit doesn’t wanna force you to do anything you-“

You leaned up slightly feeling lips touch yours for a quick second, then moving your head to the side to show him your neck.

“I want it Remy… I want you.”

He quickly yanked off his shirt that had barely put it on a few minutes ago. Who cares? As long as Remy gets what he wants right?

“You are so beautiful my sweet.” He whispered as he started to help you take off your top, staring at your chest with wide eyes

Remy, being Remy, just kept his eyes there for a little longer than he should’ve, almost forgetting the best part of what was in front of him. It was hard to look away as he helped take off your bottoms and left you in nothing but your underwear as well. There was silence as you both looked each other in the eye, waiting for one of you to do something.

“Sweet god you are so perfect to me.”

He wasted no time, letting you move your hands to his back while he moved his face to the side of your neck. His breath was warm, yet shaky. He seemed… confused.

“Remy is this-“

“Ya. It is my dear. And… yours as well?”

You nodded. So at least both of you were willing and wanting to be each others first. You moved one hand to go behind Remy’s head, pushing down to his mouth on your neck. Then he seemed to understand where to start. One bite was all it took for Remy to start losing himself.

“Fuuuucckkkk Ma Chérie you taste so good.” Remy groaned as he pushed you deeper into his pillows, biting almost every inch of your neck as possible

“R-Remy I- fuck. Ah~”

Remy was practically laying on you at this point, and you could feel his erection through his boxers and your panties.

“My beauty you are so- fuck- sweet to me.”

Remy leaned back, staring at you as you felt your hands go for the waistband of his boxers. He shuffled a little so you could pull them down, seeing his cock pop out. He was big, but then again you’ve never seen another man’s dick before. He pulled yours down as well, flinging them over his shoulder and onto some part of the floor.

“I… how is this supposed to-“

No hesitation from Remy and he had you pushed back, putting all his weight onto you as he crushed you with his body and his lips on yours. He was hungry, and he was hungry for you. Here you were, finally in his arms and so ready to get fucked by him. Remy was shaking with need and want, holding himself back from unleashing all his feral energy into you.

“Fuck me my dear you are so sweet on my tongue.”

Your tongues fought for a few seconds, hands moving just to hold each other closer in such need and want of each other. After a couple more bites on your neck, Remy looked down to see your cute little hole wet and needy. He didn’t even have to prep you and you were already wet at all of the things going on with you two.

“F-fuck my dear I want to push it in so bad. Tell me you want it. Tell my you want me.” He growled in your ear

“I want it… I want you Remy. Please Remy I want you so badly.” You whined, practically moaning it out loud for everyone in the mansion to hear

With one hand holding onto his cock, the other set right next to your head as he carefully put the tip up to your entrance.

“This will hurt a little my dear. Don’t worry I’m here.”

With very little effort, the tip of his cock was past your entrance. You bit back the moans daring to escape, making sure nobody else could hear you two fucking just down the hall. Remy didn’t look any better, panting like a dog in heat and ready to fuck his mate. He wanted you, slowly going deeper as you sucked him in.

“Ah my darling you feel s-so good.”

It took a little bit of time, but eventually Remy was fully seated inside you and ready to go. Remy was losing himself in you, but it’s not like you were both feeling uncomfortable with each other. Being in this position with Remy just felt… right.

“I-I’m gonna go my dear.”

One pump out had you wanting him back in. One pump in and Remy had you screaming for more. Slowly, Remy waited for you to adjust to him, holding back whatever he was wanting to do to you.

“F-faster” you begged him

Remy had you moaning and pleading for him in a matter of minutes. Maybe you always did love Remy, you were just too much into denial to listen to yourself.

“Gods be damn my love you feel so-“

Remy’s inner mind snapped, staring down at you as he grabbed both wrists and pulled them over your head and pined them there. Remy’s hands wandering, going straight for your chest and grab at your tits.

“F-fuck Ma Chérie you really know how to take my cock don’t you? Is this what you’ve been wanting this whole time? Waiting for me to be alone with you and fuck your brains out? Huh? Oh yeah you feel so good.”

Remy started to ramble, letting his mind speak freely about everything he felt about you. You didn’t care, Remy made you feel good and you were happy to be making him feel good.

“Ma Belle you’re gonna- make me- ah~”

Remy was starting to get sloppy, and you were feeling a coil in your stomach build.

“Fuck yes my dear I can feel you. I can feel you squeezing my cock, wanting me to cum. Is that what you want?”

His voice was taunting you, as if knowing you’ve had feelings for him for ages. All you could do was nod, no words able to come out aside from screaming Remy’s name and any profanities that came to your head.

“Y-yes my darling. Oh yeah I’m gonna cum inside and that way, everyone will know I’m the only one who gets this. I’m the only one who gets you. Nobody can have you, and I’ll make sure of it.”

Remy had a few more to go, he was waiting for you. Feeling the coil about to snap, you screamed Remy’s name as you felt it break.

“O-oh yeah I’m cumming Ma Chérie… Ma Belle… I’m cumming inside. Fuckkk-“

And with one final thrust, Remy spilled inside you, shaky breaths coming out of both of you as you came down from your highs.

“Fuck. That felt… so good.” Remy spoke before collapsing next to you

You felt the cum spilling out of you, not caring that Remy’s bed was now smelling like the two of you. Remy pulled you close to him, your back pressing against his chest as he wrapped his arms around you protectively. You felt so drained from this whole endeavor with him, you might as well pass out right then and there.

“Sleep well my angel. Dont worry… I’m going to make sure nobody gets in the way of our love… not even our friends.”

You felt the grip on you tighten a little, Remy not willing to let you go at all.

“I’ll do anything for you… my sweet… I love you.”

A/N: I’m sorry if it sucked I’ll get better. This is literally the first smut I’ve ever written so uh… yeah I hope you enjoyed 😅

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sh4dys · 4 months

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Just for me » Chris Sturniolo

summary: chris stumbles across your diary and reads what you wrote about him out loud.

warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, swearing, pet names (ma, baby, my girl)

A/N: i love him 😔 also i think this is bad but whatever

You had been stressed about grades nearly all week, with graduation around the corner you were worried to death about failing.

Your best friend, Chris, offered to help. Leading to your current situation. He had gone through some of your notebook on your desk, stumbling across your very sacred diary. When you weren’t looking he began to flip through it, only to find several entries about himself.

“Chris did you find it yet?” Your voice brought him out of his thoughts, turning to look at you with a look of pure disbelief and shock. Your own expression dropped at the sight of what he was holding, lunging out of bed and frantically tried to grab it from him.

“Give it back! Chris, that’s personal!” You had a look of worry on your face as he continued to read, beginning to voice your personal thoughts out loud to you.

“He’s so handsome? Is there some other guy name Chris, or is it about me, Y/N?” He looked at you with furrowed brows, dropping the diary on your desk with a light thud.

“It’s you, okay? Can I not think my friend is handsome?” You panicked and grabbed the book, burying it in the depths of your closet as you tried not to think about what else he could have found.

“You know that’s not all. Y/N, what the hell was all of that? My name was in there a million times!” He slightly laughed as you looked up at him with a heavy frown, causing him to crouch down next to you and grab your chin.

“I’m not mad. I just wanna know why.” His voice was softer, running his thumb over your jaw. “Talk to me, ma.”

You could feel your face heating up even more, swatting his hand away as you stood up with a groan.

“I like you, okay? I know I’m not your type and you only see me as a friend, so spare me the trouble and just go, I guess.” You let out a huff as you tried to handle your nerves, you felt so panicked in the moment you didn’t know what to do when his hands held your waist and turned you towards him.

“Who said I didn’t like you?” He smiled softly at you, before turning to uncover the diary, quickly flipping through and opened up to a page.

“Let’s see what you wrote, yeah?” He cleared his throat dramatically, before using his finger to go over each word he read to you.

“He’s honestly the sweetest guy I know, it’s stupid, but I truly love him. Whenever he uses that stupid nickname, ‘ma’, I find myself becoming a sanctuary for butterflies in my stomach. He makes me smile without even trying, yet makes me cry because I know he doesn’t feel the same. I love hearing him laugh at my jokes, but I get so jealous when it’s another girl. I told myself not to fall for my best friend, but I did.”

He sighed and closed the book again, putting it on top of the pile of notebooks on your desk, looking down at you with a smile. “You think ma is stipid?”

You smacked his arm at his words, trying to ignore the deepening red color forming on your cheeks. “Shut up.” You turned away and crossed your arms under your chest, tucking your tongue behind your bottom lip.

“Baby, I like you too, come on.” He chuckled and wrapped his arms around you, kissing the side of your head as he looked at you. “Stop being so pouty. Be glad I stumbled across it.”

You tried not to smile at his actions, but failed ultimately when he kept kissing your face. “Okay, okay. Fine..” You rolled your eyes and turned in his arms to face him, your hands on his shoulders.

“There’s my girl.” He gave you a droopy lovesick smile, kissing your forehead and kept you close. “Now stop saying I don’t like you.” He lightly pinched your side, earning a yelp from you.

You giggled at his words, nodding against his chest. “Fine, you like me too. Now can we get back to my work? I don’t wanna fail.” You tried to move away from him but failed, his arms keeping you still.

“Let me just read a few more pages, please?”

#ᯓ★ sh4dys #chris sturniolo imagines #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x y/n #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris x reader #sturniolo triplets x reader #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo imagine

428 notes · View notes

p1hypen · 1 year

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TERRIBLE TWOS — P. SUNGHOON

SYNOPSIS! A rash decision on your end causes you and Sunghoon to break up. What you think is for the best turns out to be the complete opposite, actually. Cue two years later when a random encounter with your ex forces you to revisit past feelings that has never quite fully departed from either of you. PAIRING! Chairman!Sunghoon x Fem!Reader WC! 11.4k (Got carried away)

GENRE/CW! Exes getting back together, fluff, slight angst if you squint, smut (fingering, brief mentions of fem oral receiving, sunghoon has a 7 inch cock; i headcanon that, unprotected sex, missionary, creampie, lots of tongue kissing), swearing, reader is in denial just a tad bit, ft. non-idol!yunjin, reader is a struggling fine arts major, etc. MDNI

A/N: originally, i intended for this to be a simple one shot but it somehow turned out to be greater than that in the end lol. this was also my first attempt at writing smut; i've always wanted to try it but damn is it kinda hard. i feel like the title doesn't match or capture the story as good but whatever-- it used to be called 'seasons,' yet that didn't make sense either so... terrible twos it is! i hope you enjoy <3

“Y/n?”

A trace of uncertainty laces the man's voice, his mind racing with the possibility that he might have mistaken a stranger for someone from his past. Internally, he winces at the prospect of this awkward mix-up, dreading such an encounter with a random person. He clings to the hope that his intuition proves accurate.

Could it really be her? Amid the bustling crowd, she always managed to stand out, an unmistakable aura surrounding her. Her presence eclipsed even the most vibrant of settings, radiating a unique energy that outshone a field of flowers.

When he tentatively calls out her name in a hushed tone, she spins around on her heel, and for an ephemeral moment, Sunghoon feels as though he's stepped into a scene from a classic romance film.

Time stills and so does he.

Each of your movements steals his breath away. The way your hair dances in harmony with the wind, and how your eyelashes cast the most delicate shadow upon your high cheekbones. Your gradual unveiling leaves him struggling to swallow past an inexplicable lump in his throat.

Sunghoon notices the moment your eyes widen. Behind those enchanting orbs, he discerns a flicker of nostalgia and a touch of melancholy. During your time together, he had the uncanny ability to read those emotions hidden within the depths of your eyes.

“Sunghoon…” You say no louder than a mere whisper that could easily get lost in the summer’s wind that passes through the both of you.

Your heart throbs in your chest. The biological response is far too overwhelming that you can feel your stomach tying itself in double knots. You think you might need to be pointed to the nearest bathroom so you can barf up the swarm of butterflies that disturb your system. No doubt, does crossing paths with an ex whom you share a long history with manage to do that to you.

“H-how are you?” You’re the first to strike up a conversation despite that being Sunghoon’s unspoken responsibility.

How am I? Sunghoon has to brace himself to collect his messy thoughts.

“I’m pretty good, and yourself?”

His response is curt and short. In any other setting, he would have elaborated on his answer but he wasn’t sure how much information was too much to reveal to an ex regarding the state of his well-being. You nod at his words, not really expecting much nor having high hopes that he would give you more to work with in this conversation of playing catch-up between an ex.

See, your relationship ended amicably, with both of you acknowledging that the spark kindled between you two had faded out. With your mind elsewhere, too focused on your academics (so you like to say), and Sunghoon preparing to inherit his family’s business, there was little room for romance in either of your daily routines. Your typical weekend dates were swapped out for meetings with major corporations and other soon-to-be-chairman-related activities so that he could fully understand what the rest of his future held for him.

Even though you missed having your boyfriend's undivided attention, you refused to act as a temporary roadblock that prevented him from making significant progress. Despite your heart and brain being at war with each other, you made the conscious decision to slowly back down from being his lover and tucked your face in the pages of your academic textbooks.

With Sunghoon too busy to even acknowledge that his girlfriend was distancing herself from him, you were the first to come forward, bearing the news that breaking up would be the optimal solution to your and his fading presence in one another’s lives.

That night when you bid goodbye, he felt half his heart shatter inside of him. Little did you know that you carried the other part wherever you went, but now that you were no longer capable of sheltering that missing piece, it almost made him want to die inside more than just a tad bit— a lot, actually.

He pretended to play it cool as your back turned to him and he watched you retreat to your car, feeling both helpless and defeated. With an unflinching countenance, a tightly clenched jaw, and fingers gripped at his sides, Sunghoon longed for his feet to have chased after you, preventing your departure from his life. He yearned to undo whatever had driven you away, to rewrite his mistakes and reshape your shared history.

Sadly, not even the first star in the sky he saw at night could grant him something as demanding as that.

On the contrary, had those things happened, he wouldn’t be here today on a Thursday afternoon rekindling a connection that got tossed up in the air and fell through his fingertips.

“I—“ Before you get a chance to deliver your sentence Sunghoon’s hold on your arm prompts him to draw you to his chest.

Your breath hitches in the back of your throat, eyes simultaneously widening for the second time thanks to a certain ex. You look up at the taller one with crinkled brows. A mixture of confusion and a looming feeling in the deepest pit of your stomach that hasn’t quite left, tugging at your heartstrings. His intoxicating scent of Dior Sauvage is all too overwhelming for your nose to take in. You swear your head could start spinning any minute now.

He’s so close to you. You’re so close to him. If someone were to come by and accidentally bump into you, you would be pressed up against his chest, breaking what limited distance is keeping you two apart.

A bike rider disrupting pedestrian traffic on the sidewalk whizzes by, obnoxiously ringing the bell attached to their handlebar as if they aren’t to be blamed for riding on the concrete pavement, and it’s only then do you realize that Sunghoon was protecting you from getting hit. His body relaxes once he declares that it’s safe for you to comfortably stand in the open from any oncoming obstructions.

“Sorry… acted on impulse.” His grasp on you immediately retreats to the inside of his pant pockets and you swear that his touch leaves a ghosting sensation on your skin.

Sunghoon refuses to meet your lingering gaze, eyes averting to some random couple walking their dog across the street from where the two of you are standing. It’s almost funny how he fully believed two years ago that one day both of you would be exactly like that: dog owners who take their beloved fur baby on walks together and enjoy the simplicity of the little things that a relationship has to offer.

“It’s okay, thank you,” You murmur, unsure of where things should go from here.

A beat of silence comes and goes before Sunghoon has the chance to take the initiative to prove he’s different from his past self.

The past self you witnessed throughout the duration of your shared romanticism. The past self who failed to convince you to stay because he never wanted you to leave his side. What he wanted was to work things out and to understand what he could do to change and make things better for the two of you.

Even if that meant you breaking up with him first to realize this.

“Listen, why don’t we…” He suddenly starts. Sunghoon analyzes your face and when your features evidently show that you’re all ears for what he has to say, he takes a deep breath to compose himself. “Get dinner. Together.“

Although the question comes out more like a demand rather than a request, you’re slightly taken aback because you were almost certain Sunghoon probably resents you for the breakup— at least that’s what you tell yourself— and that he doesn’t want any business involving you entering his life for a repeat performance. The only different thing is that you’re his ex.

Can you blame him? It was so sudden.

The concealed hurt he tried to mask but failed to do so when you told him you wanted to end things, hoping it’d be left on good terms, rambling about how much you do and will continue to care for him no matter what he does in life or who he chooses to love after you. It seems you did more talking than he got the chance to, and Sunghoon wasn’t sure if you had this all planned leading up to that moment, or if he should’ve seen it coming.

Whatever it was, Sunghoon could never hate or repent you, but you’re no telepathic mind-reader and wouldn’t know how he feels about you now unless you asked.

Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth as you ponder the idea of sitting in a fancy restaurant with Sunghoon and sharing a long conversation over an expensive meal that is highly overpriced for its ridiculously small portions.

“On one condition,” You quip. Sunghoon gestures for you to keep going and you clear your throat. “No five-star Michelin places, okay? I just want a simple dinner to make up for lost time.”

The older male chuckles, nodding his head sensibly. If there’s one thing Sunghoon learned about you is that you were never hard to please and preferred the opposite of a high-end luxury lifestyle that he naturally grew up with.

“Tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at 8, how’s that sound?”

“That’s perfect but um—“ you purse your lips. “Do you… Do you still remember where I live?”

“Of course. It would take a lot more than time and distance apart from each other, for me to forget your every being.”

Sunghoon leans in to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The underlying intimacy hiding beneath his actions has you contemplating what the course of your relationship would have looked like for the two of you, had you not broken up with a man as sweet and thoughtful as him.

Was calling it quits between you two a mistake? Should you have stuck it out just a little longer?

You can only shove those thoughts to the farthest point in the back of your mind and recenter your focus to the handsome ravenette.

Sunghoon, sporting a warm grin that gradually grows into a pearly white showcase of his perfect teeth and adorable canines, makes it worth marveling if second chances are a thing that people still stand by.

The next evening, Sunghoon unexpectedly arrived at your front door 20 minutes ahead of your readiness. While you were trying to situate yourself into your cami dress that paired well with the current season, a knocking sound coming from the entrance to your studio unit startled you in its wake. You tapped on the screen of your phone to check the time and crinkled your nose when the numbers staring back at you read 7:40.

Sunghoon’s habit of arriving for an occasion earlier than expected was not unusual for his character. The taller's mannerisms crept into other facets of his social life after years of being trained to believe that "early is on time" and "on time is late." However, 20 minutes ahead of schedule was definitely new to you, and part of you can’t help but think if this is stemming from anxiety or if that’s just you projecting your nerves onto his much early arrival.

“Just a sec!” You struggled to reach for the zipper to your dress, stress-sweating due to the pressure of having to rush through the rest of your routine.

After what felt like a millennia you finally managed to seal yourself shut into your attire and scurried to the front door where poor Sunghoon was waiting for you to answer.

“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t get to the zipper of my dress and I don’t think me flashing you or my neighbors in semi-public is socially acceptable.” You awkwardly laugh, strands of hair sticking to the back of your neck and forehead from the accumulated sweat you managed to produce.

Sunghoon chuckles, shaking his head at your guilty tendency to overshare too much information for the dramatics.

“No worries. I know I showed up earlier than expected. Don’t worry about me, do what you need to do.” He smiles softly and for a second it almost slips your mind that you’re no longer romantically involved with each other.

Oh, how you wish you could leap at him and smother the dashing man with kisses all over his Greek god-like, beautiful face…

“Here,” The taller unveils a bouquet of flowers that he attempted (underline, attempted) to hide behind his back. In reality, you could already see bits of it peeking out but chose to play coy about the item he was holding back from giving you.

You fawn at the striking arrangement of tulips that come in different shades of the prettiest of pinks. Tulips. Of course, he would remember that those are your favorite. His words from yesterday ring in your ears, and believing them, you truly start to confide that Sunghoon could never boot you out of his memory as easy as a snap of his fingers.

“The prettiest bunch of flowers for the prettiest girl.” Sunghoon cautiously says, unsure if that would be stepping a line. To be fair, there isn’t an official handbook on what you should or shouldn’t say to an ex— except for some of the more common phrases; whatever that may be.

You let out a lighthearted laugh at the bold, yet cheesy, compliment and invited Sunghoon into the safe haven of your apartment, ignoring the way your heart practically skipped a beat when he said that.

He’s been here on plentiful occasions so he’s really no stranger to the arrangement of your flat and could probably draw out an entire floor plan if he wanted to. At one point he almost committed to the thought of moving in with you, but you were a firm believer that it would be best if he stuck to the minimalist mansion he decorated himself; it was passed down to him from none other than his father. Needless to say, Sunghoon was a pouty puppy that day.

“I’m almost ready I promise.” You say. “I just need to add some finishing touches and then I’m all yours for the night.” Immediately your hands fly to your mouth when realization dawns on you about the delivery of your words.

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, and luckily, you miss the faint smirk that tugs at the corner of his plump lips teasingly.

“You know what I mean!” You panic, waving off the metaphorical atmosphere that surrounds both of you.

You excuse yourself and escape to your room as the tips of your ears start to flush with embarrassment.

Once the door leading to your bedroom shuts behind you with a mellow thud, your back presses up against the surface of the entryway. A loud sigh that you weren't even aware you were repressing since Sunghoon arrived breaks out past your tinted lips. With your mind a foggy mess and your heart threatening to leap right out of your chest, you’re under the impression that you resemble the stereotypical anime school girl the way your entire demeanor changes when you’re around him.

But that’s the thing.

It’s only Sunghoon.

It’s just Sunghoon.

So what if you guys dated in high school and partially during college? So what if he was the first and only guy you’ve been with, and even though you have no one to compare him to, he would still be the best ex you could ever have? So what if you regret breaking up with him because you got ahead of yourself and refused to be transparent with him?

So what if you want him back…

You pat both sides of your cheeks to wake yourself from a philosophical dilemma. you refuse to go down a rabbit hole of emotions especially when you’re about to go out to dinner.

You shuffle through your wardrobe in search of a certain pair of Converse that a special someone gave to you as a birthday gift. When you find it neatly stored away in its original packaging and the box that it came in you’re almost too eager to slip your feet into the collar of the Chuck Taylor’s.

You halt in your steps when you reach your vanity and grab your everyday bottle of perfume, spritzing one pump, then two, then three, and four more of the floral scent, that you’re showering yourself in it at this point.

When you've deemed that you’re completely ready and satisfied with your appearance for the evening, you exit the inviting comfort of your cozy chambers. Sunghoon’s back is facing you as you ascend into the living room. You can’t make out much of what he’s doing and he’s seemingly too preoccupied to notice your footsteps stalk across the wooden paneling. His neck is craned downward looking at something on the decorative table where you have a neat arrangement of framed pictures.

“You still have this?” He turns around revealing the photograph that he was referring to, now in his possession. There’s a distant glimmer of emotion that you can’t quite make out peeking around the curves of his irises.

You let out a resigned sigh.

You’ve been caught red-handed for leaving a single trace of the past out in the open.

Of all the furniture and miscellaneous objects that collect dust on different surfaces in your flat, Sunghoon chose to go for the photograph of you and him standing under a cherry blossom tree in Ilsan Park. Your arm was hooked around his waist and his was wrapped around your shoulder. The brightest of smiles stretched across your faces as petals danced around you. It was the perfect moment captured in stillness and you wish you could leap through pictures to relive that special day. A distant memory that feels like it happened not too long ago.

“I couldn’t get rid of it. It’s— That’s one of my favorite pictures of us.” You simply explain.

It was true, because out of all of the selfies, candid photos, and other pictures you shared together with Sunghoon, your date to Ilsan Park remained your number one core memory as a couple.

You watch intently as Sunghoon places the photo back where it originally belonged on the console.

“I think that’s one of my favorites, too.” He says as a matter of fact. “That or the one where we went to Lotte World and wore matching uniforms together.” The taller laughs.

You giggled, the recollection of your amusement park date flashing across your mind. You dragged him to go on each and every attraction with you as he stumbled in your tracks, struggling to keep up with your social battery. You felt like two high schoolers in love at the ripe age of 20 because being with Sunghoon gave you the impression that you were your 15-year-old self again.

“I like that one as well! I thought I looked pretty cute in that uniform.” You grin sheepishly.

Sunghoon chuckles and it causes you to whip your head to survey him. His eyes crinkle before they’re no longer crescent and back to their original doe-eyed shape.

“You’re still cute, y’know that?”

The comment sends your heart ablaze along with the blood that rushes to the surface of your cheeks. You can only hope that the thin layer of makeup and blush you applied is strong enough to camouflage the effect that sunghoon has on you. It’s no secret that he was always a smooth talker and still is. It makes you wonder if he’s ever used that flirtatious skill on other women he’s come across after you— or if he has.

You tut your tongue at him and reach for your crossbody purse draped on the couch that you lazily tossed aside yesterday after coming home.

“Ready, m’lady?” Sunghoon twists the knob and pushes the front door open, supporting the weight with his broad frame to keep it from closing in on you two when you exit.

“Wait!” You pip, halting in your steps. You briskly retreat to your room and grab the bouquet of tulips you left on the side table next to your bed.

You scurry over to Sunghoon, cradling the arrangement of florals like it was your baby. The haired boy opens his mouth to say something but you’re too fast to retort,

“I wanna show it off. They’re too pretty to be left at home.”

He nods and motions his hand for you to leave the unit first. The taller gives himself a mental pat on the back for inquiring in a floral shop before coming to retrieve you for dinner.

Tulips are a girl’s best friend, after all. For you, at least.

Coincidentally dinner happens to occur at the one restaurant you frequently visited when you and Sunghoon were dating. It was a simple ma and pa spot only locals in the area knew of. They were popularly known for their cold noodles and ginseng chicken soup. You like to think of it as a secret only two of you know about and continue to gatekeep it from your friends or families from ever coming across of it.

The owners grew familiar with both of you through your frequent visits and friendly conversations. your rapport with them resulted in a warm welcome every time you returned, often accompanied by a generous discount as a token of their appreciation. Since your last visit to their restaurant, a while has gone by, and you both have been overdue to make an appearance at the restaurant.

“Aigoo, Sunghoon-ah, it’s been so long!” Mrs. Kim exclaims, wearing the biggest and brightest smile that brings out the crinkles in her complexion when she notices two familiar faces. “And Y/n, it’s good to see you too!” She turns to you with the same mien still permanently plastered on her face.

You bow your head. Her contagious smile has you mirroring her grin.

“Come, come, sit.” She waves her hand for the two of you to follow in her trail as she leads both of you to your— undesignated but designated— table that you and Sunghoon would constantly sit at.

Before you even have a chance to pull out your chair, Sunghoon beats you to it with surprising swiftness. The aged wood scrapes gently against the floor as he courteously pulls the chair back for you. A warm smile tugs at your lips as you appreciate this chivalrous gesture, unable to contain a soft giggle of delight.

Mrs. Kim watches the interaction between the two of you and smirks, completely out of the loop that you have broken up; still under the assumption that you’re both dating to this day. Who could blame her when in her eyes you were the perfect missing piece for one another in this world like you were made for each other from the start.

“The usual?” She asks despite already knowing the answer to her question.

“Yes please,” Sunghoon nods.

He sits after folding his blazer in half so that it can rest neatly on the chair's backrest. To add some fuel to the flame, he unbuttons the cuffs to his long sleeves and rolls them past his forearms so that they stop an inch below his elbows. The expensive watch that rests snugly on his wrist glistens, almost blinding you. You’re reminded that the man sitting across from you is responsible for an entire company under his name and capable of powerful things.

You gulp. You feel like you’re watching something you shouldn’t be and instead take an interest in the condiments that are pushed to the side of your table.

Soy sauce, vinegar, napkins…

When you think that you’re ready to re-center your attention onto Sunghoon once your racing heart has calmed down from its high, the taller has his eyes closed as he combs his fingers through his hair. His lips are parted ever so slightly and there’s a shine to his plush tiers.

He has to be doing this on purpose now.

You watch the way his Adam apple bobs when he swallows and you swear it should be a sin to look this effortlessly good in warm overhead lighting.

You huff, a little too audibly for the male across from you to hear and his doe eyes flutter open. The sudden eye contact catches you off guard and you’re struggling to maintain yourself from the tension your mind is projecting. You shift around in your chair trying to find a more comfortable position.

This is going to be a long dinner.

After Mrs. Kim returned with your delectable dishes, the food vanished quickly as you guys delved into stories and shared the exciting highlights of your respective journeys. You and Sunghoon spent the rest of your meal at the table reminiscing about the past two years including the many ups and downs you’ve dealt with.

You learned that a month after your breakup, Sunghoon’s father officially stepped down, handing over the reins of the company to his son as the new successor. The ravenette confided in you, revealing that even though he had been groomed for this role his whole life, the transition wasn't as smooth as he had envisioned. The weight of responsibility felt overwhelming. Taking charge of a major company brought with it a level of pressure he had never experienced before. The expectations were high, both from the company's board and the employees who had known him since he was young.

As he grappled with the complexities of his new position, Sunghoon couldn't help but reminisce about a simpler life. He missed the carefree moments he used to share with you, the laughter, and the ease of his unannounced visits when he would turn up at your door with snacks he bought from the corner store and canned beer.

Eventually his determination and drive to persevere kept him standing strong in the face of these obstacles. With his family behind him, a supportive workforce, and you in the back of his mind, he knew he had people to look back on and make them proud.

You praised the older for his character development, gushing at his transition from uncertainty to confidence, while sympathizing with the initial troubles he first started off with. Being a chairman at his age is bound to weigh heavily on his mental and emotional health, and you can’t help but wish that you had stayed by his side through it all in order to be that support pillar he needed at immediacy.

“So, what about you? I didn’t really get to hear your answer yesterday.” Sunghoon asks.

You blinked. “Me? Well, uhm…”

A bubble of insecurity creeps into your stomach. Your mind races through a mental checklist of your own achievements, or rather, the lack thereof, especially when compared to Sunghoon’s impressive journey. While your lives have taken very drastically different paths, you can’t shake the feeling that at the end of the day, the two of you are worlds apart from each other. He’s the chairman of a highly respected company. And you? You’re just a college graduate with a bachelor’s degree in fine arts. A pursuit that feels miles away from Sunghoon’s milestones.

During the period that he was absent from your everyday life, all you managed to build was your art portfolio, which you eagerly sent to numerous galleries in a desperate bid to gain recognition as a struggling artist. Rejection letters became an all too familiar sight, each offering the same hollow praise— impressed but not interested. Those were dark times, where self-doubt loomed large.

Thankfully, your situation started to improve when you summoned the courage to step out of your comfort zone. You took to social media, opening art accounts on Instagram and Twitter, and sharing your artistic odyssey on TikTok. Yunjin, one of your closest friends and best friend since middle school, commissioned you to paint a mural inside a cafe she was working at. “I begged my boss for this to happen!” She said enthusiastically over the phone the night she asked you for the favor. Everything to you was a leap of faith, a glimmer of hope that prompted you to fully believe in the light at the end of every tunnel.

In spite of your situation turning out for the better, it was impossible to ignore the inescapable sense of solitude and loneliness that clung to you like a shadow. It followed you everywhere you went. A mental reminder that, no matter how bright life was starting to seem, you still felt trapped and not completely content with yourself.

You convey these exact thoughts and feelings to Sunghoon in a messy ramble, hoping that this unintentional therapy session you’ve turned dinner into won’t scare him off. You can only hope that you’re not ruining the evening with a sob story of another art kid struggling to make a name for themselves in a society, where choosing art as a career path is at a greater disadvantage in comparison to your stronger counterparts.

When you find yourself coming to the end of your rant, a wave of silence washes over the table, and you grab the nearest cup of water to gulp from. Ignoring the condensation that sweats around the glass and soils your palms. Your eyes look everywhere, purposefully avoiding Sunghoon and the tragic visage he’s probably giving you right about now.

“Y/n, look at me.”

You raise your head, complying to his soft demand.

“I’m proud of you,” he begins, and in that instant, a surge of emotion that has been suppressed for far too long wells up within you. “It takes a lot of courage and willpower to continue to follow a path you’re uncertain of.” The comment makes Sunghoon chuckle dryly, closely reminded of himself, shaking his head. “But look at you, you’re doing so great.”

The warmth in his voice, the sincerity in his eyes— they combine like a gentle storm, and suddenly, tears brim your eyes, begging to spill over. Your vision is splotchy and you refuse to blink, save for ruining your mascara. You weren’t planning on being an emotional wreck tonight, especially over dinner with your ex.

“I understand how hard it must have been dealing with those struggles alone, and I wish I was there by your side to help support you when it happened.” Sunghoon continues. He pauses to take in a breath before resuming, “But I’m here now… I’m not going anywhere, and if you’d let me— I want back into your life again, Y/n.”

A solitary tear breaks free, followed by another, and then another, until suddenly your eyes unleash a torrent of waterworks like a relentless downpour from a stormy sky. You hide your face in a handful of napkins you hastily grabbed, unaware that Sunghoon got up to move from his seat and slipped into the chair next to yours. His touch catches you off guard but you immediately relax as he guides you into his embrace, allowing you to hide yourself in his arms; your face tucked away in his chest. He caresses your hair, his slender fingers thread through your styled locks as he lulls you to comfort from your shaken state.

The two of you stay rooted in that position until you confidently and mentally reassure yourself that you are okay; you’re going to be okay. Your breathing has calmed down from its high and returned to a normal, healthy rate as your tears subsided and are non-existent.

No longer conscious of your makeup— a matter far from substantial to care for anymore— you wipe away the mess around your eyes. Black clumps of mascara and some concealer transfer onto the napkin. Seeing the stains garner a weak laugh to emit from you. Sunghoon cranes his neck to survey what you’ve become engrossed with. He sees the ruined makeup and laughs lightly into your hair.

You’re thankful that there aren’t many customers dining in tonight and that it’s just you, Sunghoon, and three other parties who are far too busy drinking, conversing, and laughing amongst themselves to acknowledge the young couple tucked away in the corner.

Mrs. Kim leads both you and Sunghoon out of the restaurant with a warmth akin to a grandmother bidding her grandchildren farewell, her heartfelt wish for your safe return home evident in her loving smile.

“Goodbye, Mrs. Kim. Thank you, again, for another delicious dinner.” Sunghoon bows at a 90-degree angle and the formality stirs a boisterous laugh from the frail old lady. You mimic his actions, also expressing your gratitude for the lovely meal and free dessert she served to you guys ‘on the house.’

“When you guys come back I better see a wedding ring on her finger, Sunghoon-ah.” Mrs. Kim scolds lightly. You almost choke on your own saliva at the remark, coughing awkwardly to cover up your bewilderment. Sunghoon does his best to maintain his composure for the sake of the elder’s oblivion.

“You guys disappear for two years and still no diamond in sight. I was hoping some big change happened!” She clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth, crossing her arms.

Sunghoon dips his head again in an apologetic manner. “You and Mr. Kim will be the first people we come to with a wedding invitation.”

You whack the taller’s arm giving him a what-the-fuck-are-you-talking-about look, eyebrows scrunched with perplexity. The last thing you want is to continue to feed into Mrs. Kim’s false reality that the two of you are still a couple. Who’s to say that Sunghoon isn’t actually on the same page as you and everything is just a facade? I mean, sure, he’s been flirty here and there, bought you flowers, comforted you at dinner, and practically asked you to take him back…

Your trust in Sunghoon has clearly waned, a result of your fluctuating self-confidence that leads you to confide in the pessimistic "what ifs." Your clouded judgment and self-doubt gnaw at your thoughts, casting doubt on the possibility of a reunion between the two of you.

Sunghoon ignores the daggers slicing at the left side of his face and the buzzing pain you inflicted on him from the harsh impact of your hand. His digits dig gently into your side, drawing you closer to him. You stumble ever so slightly and flash an unconvincing awkward smile to the old lady.

You situate yourselves into the driver and passenger seats of his Hyundai Ioniq. You’re quiet when you pull the seat belt over your upper half, and for the first 10 minutes, not a single word was uttered from either you or the male sitting behind the wheel. Your mind loiters as you watch the building lights illuminating the dark troposphere of Seoul whizz by at 2x speed.

You and Mr. Kim will be the first people we come to with a wedding invitation.

Yeah right… You almost roll your eyes but catch yourself prolonging the idea of a hypothetical engagement and wedding ceremony with Sunghoon as your groom.

Would he have gone down on one knee to propose to you had both of you remained lovers?

You shake the contemplation loose from your prefrontal cortex.

“Is it okay if I roll the window down?” You’re the first to break the ice. Sunghoon nods, his attention still focused on the road in front of him. Without looking, his fingers find the car’s air-con button to turn it off and he gives you the ‘go’ to proceed with your desire.

The tempered glass descends and you’re immediately greeted with the beating rush of the summertime air. You giggle and rest your arms on the weatherstrip trimming of the Hyundai, your head poking out like an excited dog who’s riding in the car with its tongue hanging from its mouth. You close your eyes, taking in the wind that messes with your hair and brushes past your skin. It’s enough to transcend you into a different headspace, almost forgetting that you’re in a moving vehicle and not on some speedboat skidding across the water in Europe.

Sunghoon looks your way, unable to suppress the natural smile that lights up his face whenever he sees you. You truly are a surge of energy he needs when he wants to uplift himself if he’s feeling down. You’re his happy pill— so much so, that he wishes he could keep a chibi version of you for him to carry in the pocket square of his suits and let you rome on the wooden surface of his office desk to help him get through the work day. It’s silly and love-sickening, but Sunghoon only knows how to act a fool with you around him.

His fingers drum against the padding of the steering wheel, waking you from your daydream. You hadn’t realized that you’ve already made it back to the city and are soon approaching your apartment complex. Your neighborhood is only a couple of turns away from your current destination as the two of you sit at a red light. You roll the window up, at least it was fun for the duration it endured.

When he pulls up on the side of the street in front of your building, you try to find some lame excuse to stay with him for another minute longer, not wanting to say goodnight to him. You’re scared that this evening will be a one-off event and you'll return to your old ways, enveloped once more in the arms of self-isolation that consumes you completely.

Your grip on the door handle tightens.

“Sunghoon,” you shift your view in his direction. “You don’t mind walking me to my front door, do you?”

The male smiles with his eyes.

“Who am I to not accompany a lady when needed.”

Sunghoon makes quick work to unbuckle himself from the driver’s seat and rounds the front of the car to open the door for you. He holds out his hand for you to take, which you generously do so, and grants him the unspoken permission to whisk you away into the levels of your residential building.

The elevator ride is a close resemblance to the trip back to your place, however, there’s a contrasting atmosphere waiting to burst like a champagne bottle and spill over. Sunghoon’s holding your hand the entire way and you don’t resist the notion.

When you approach your unit at the end of the hall, you fish for your keys that are sitting at the bottom of your bag. Sunghoon’s hand slips out of your grasp and you almost whine at the loss of his warmth and touch, but you know he’s only doing it for you to use both free hands to ultimately unlock your door. The click! of the lock coming from the other side is an indication that you can push past the door once the knob is turned.

You stand there, hesitant to enter your own home.

“I guess— this is it?” You murmur tentatively to yourself and the taller. You rock on your heels purposefully stalling time as you force both him and yourself to stare a little longer at the iron numbers detailing your front door.

You let out a rigged breath.

“Tonight was great. The longest I’ve been out of the house in a month, really.” You cringe pathetically at the confession knowing that a month ago Yunjin was the one who pulled you out of bed to get some fresh air and sunlight because you were hiding away like a vampire. "Thank you... Sunghoon, for treating me to dinner and spending the evening with me..."

He remains stoic and unusually quiet, making it challenging to decipher what he’s thinking or feeling. You wish you could enter his mind to get a glimpse of how his brain functions. You’d hate to seem pitiful for hoping that his advances from today were, if at all, genuine.

If what he said at dinner was coming from the heart.

As you contemplate what might be your last encounter with your 'the one who got away,’ Sunghoon astounds you with yet another trick up his sleeve, when he secures your wrist in his delicate grasp. Forever one step ahead of you, his lips collide with yours in a passionate fervent. The only appropriate reaction that you can give him in response is to return the kiss with just as much fervor. The strap to your purse slides off your shoulders and lands below you with a little thud thanks to Sunghoon’s antsy hands pushing it out of the way.

He cages you against the surface of the door, your back bumping into it when he forces the distance between your bodies to dissipate. Bothered by the tiny gap that prevents you from being as close as you possibly can to him. The only active barrier is now the layer of clothing he’s wearing and the tiny dress that nearly clings to your every curve. He can’t wait to impatiently rip you out of it and slip in a “I’ll buy you a new one, princess.”

Your hands find sanctuary in his soft hair. How you missed tugging at their roots when he’d go down on you in bed, on the kitchen counter, and in the shower with your one leg supporting your entire weight as Sunghoon made the other side dangle over his shoulder. Those positions are tempting, and biologically the flashbacks of your sexual activity with the male feed into the expansion of your slick that gradually soils your panties.

You squeeze your thighs together. The pressure of your inner fat is an empty feeling of pleasure that you wish Sunghoon could replace with his tongue, fingers, cock, or all three one at a time. The male notices this cry-for-help and trails his right hand down the sides of your waist. He stops at the lace hemming of the cami dress, bunching the material to provide easy access to your mid-thigh. His fingers dance on your skin, traveling upward ever so slowly in an antagonizing fashion that almost infuriates you for his teasing manner in the heat of the moment.

Sunghoon reluctantly breaks the kiss. The evidence of your already smudged matte lipstick has left a faint trace on his plump tiers. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, mouth ready to latch onto the sensitive area he knows best that will cloud every crevice of your mind with nothing but want and lust. At the end of this night, all that you will know is how to be his obedient cocksleeve like the good girl he’s conditioned you into.

The sound of someone clearing their throat on the opposite end of your apartment’s hallway is akin to a record player scratch. You’re grateful that the construction workers, or whoever built this place, designed the structure of your building to be a certain way so that the split-off point from the elevator wasn’t a simple corridor style where you could see both fire exits at each side. Instead, it was more so a wide V-shape.

In other words, no one really caught you and Sunghoon in semi-public eating one another’s faces.

You stop to share a quiet laugh with Sunghoon and ultimately enter the safe space of your flat, out of your neighbors point of view where they could have had a free, front-row seat to some juicy content. The door closes behind you, you can barely get out of your shoes and make it past the front step leading to your living room when Sunghoon’s haste to have you underneath the sheets with him in your bed has you stumbling backward. He catches you before you can register that you would have fallen onto your ass against the hardwood. His lips serve him well, contributing to the situation as a distraction that redirects your every inner thought bubble.

Sunghoon casually kicks off his shoes, adding them to the haphazard pile alongside yours— the least of his concerns at the moment.

The kiss from outside repeats itself, and this time, Sunghoon can contently resume what he intended to do had another tenant not interrupted the mood. But the voyeurism exploration kink in him would have liked either sequence of events.

His tongue traces a wet stripe up your neck, sending a shiver cascading down your spine. You dully bite down on your bottom lip, trying to stifle the whimper that is sanctioned at the back of your throat, trapped by a surge of lust and anticipation. Sunghoon’s mouth ghosts over the shell of your ear, and his hot breath tickles.

“I wanna hear you, baby.” He slurs. “Don’t be shy on me now.”

Sunghoon’s lips sheathe that sensitive spot on your neck, causing you to gasp. Your shoulders tense at the foreign feeling of his mouth on your body, and you’ve forgotten how good it was to receive a hickey. You relax under his touch when he gives the soft fat of your waist a reassuring squeeze.

His canines graze your skin while he sucks on the same patch, switching interchangeably to lap his tongue at the area when he begins to see a blossom of red and purple hues mix together, creating the prettiest bruise that would surely take more than a couple of days to fully heal. You groan when his teeth apply the right amount of force onto your flesh, leaving indents in their wake. His perverted mind relishes in the fact that only he is capable of marking you in ways that no other man could ever come close to.

He steps back to fully appreciate his canvas, that is you, and the absolute masterpiece that you are to him.

He leans in, pressing another kiss to your lips, this time with a gentler, more tender spirit, devoid of any sloppy motions. It’s delicate, a striking contrast to the heated lip-locking session the two of you were entranced with just moments ago on the other side of your apartment door. His larger palms cup your face as the pads of his thumbs caress the apples of your cheeks, making you feel loved and cared for.

Sunghoon lures your tongue into his mouth, clamping his lips around the muscle. He suckles at it, eliciting the cutest whimpers that he missed hearing from you since you’ve been gone.

“Hnngh… Hah,” you pry yourself off of him, a string of your shared saliva connects the two of your equally moist lips.

Your puffy lips shimmer in the moonlight streaming into your livingroom, as if the moon itself decided to play a starring role tonight. You squeeze his bicep, noticing that the muscle has doubled in size since you last touched it. You peer up at the taller through your eyelashes and Sunghoon has to conceal his primal instincts from fucking your throat with his raging hard-on.

Your fingers graze the fabric of his long-sleeve collar, tracing delicate patterns across the black tie donned around his neck. Something about being able to witness a man up close in a suit never failed to provoke a flood of arousal from overwhelming your erogenous zone. Specifically, Sunghoon. It’s a shame— not really— that it eventually has to come off. With a deft touch, you begin to unravel the four-in-hand knot, a testament to Sunghoon’s meticulous self-preparation. The silk unravels, revealing its intricate texture beneath your fingertips.

You assist Sunghoon in removing his suit jacket next, observing it gracefully descend to the floor. You briefly wonder why he's so nonchalant about leaving such an expensive garment on the ground, but he dismisses your concern with a wave of his hand. After all, as a chairman, he has the means and privilege to easily replace such clothing items.

You decide that it’s your turn to take the lead for once and initiate another heated session of sultry lip service. Your mouth kisses Sunghoon’s with primal hunger. Teeth clash, and you see no remorse for your hostility sponsored by pent-up sexual frustration and longing for some sort of relief that only Sunghoon can render.

In a poor attempt to unbutton the last layer of clothing that shields Sunghoon’s upper half, your fingers fumble with the small disks that are fastened by the slits. You whine frustratedly against his lips once you realize you’re not making much progress. It is incredibly hard to multitask when your tongue is being manhandled by his.

“Here, lemme do it.“ Sunghoon mutters in a low growl.

He tears open the placket just like he would to a bag of chips, and the buttons you were struggling to relieve him of pop off in ease, taunting you for your lack of efficiency at getting him out of his attire. He wriggles his arms free from the restraints of his sleeves and shrugs the apparel from the summit of his shoulders, allowing the ruined piece to join his suit jacket on the floor.

“Your turn, babe.”

He twirls you around, your back fully pressed against his front as the tent in his pants pokes at your globes. The thrill of his length nestled between your ass spurs you to grind yourself on him, a staggered exhale of his hot breath fans the curvature of your trapezius, prickling your skin. The cotton material of your underwear cultivates a sticky sensation the longer you stay trapped in it.

“S-shit baby, you’re a fucking tease.” Sunghoon grabs your chin, forcing your head to turn his way so that he can seize your lips in an inconsistent kiss. Alternatively, it’s a tongue duel of him wanting to shove the muscular organ down your throat.

“A-ahh,” You moan helplessly.

He yanks the zipper of your dress. The item peels off of your bust, exposing your bare skin and naked torso simultaneously. You have to wriggle your hips past the remaining fabric in order to fully reveal your bare figure to Sunghoon— besides your damp panties that is.

“No bra today? It’s almost like you were expecting this to happen…” Sunghoon taunts.

“N-no…” You squeak, shaking your head.

“No? Use your words baby.”

You turn to face him, your perky mounds that come into his view are a sight for sore eyes. Even in the dark and scant amount of natural lighting from the celestial object in the night sky, is Sunghoon competent at reading your flustered features. How you manage to be cute yet look so lewd all at once is beyond his comprehension.

“I-I didn’t wear a bra because I thought it’d be easier to go without one.” You mumble, telling the truth.

“That’s better,” Sunghoon coos. He pecks your cheek and you smile at the reward.

“Eeek! S-Sunghoon!” You burst into a fit of shared laughter and giggles when said name scoops you into his arms, your body cradled against his chest, as your legs dangled over his one arm while the other supports your back.

“Just practicing when we’re both walking down the aisle at our future wedding.” Sunghoon jests.

Tenderness fills your eyes when you look up at him. He’s joked about the hypothetical conception of marriage twice in the night that you’re fully convinced it wouldn’t be all that bad of an idea. Given that both of you are ready and first rekindle the status of your relationship, of course.

Sunghoon grins. There’s a gentle kindness to his pearly whites, and you reach up to press a chaste kiss to his jawline.

He relocates to your bedroom. Gently, he lays you down on the bed, your body propped up on your forearms, bearing the weight of your upper half. With an unwavering gaze, you study Sunghoon closely, every detail of his expression and every nuance of his presence.

His eyebrows knit and meet in the middle, fixated on undoing his pants to escape from their restraints, followed by his underwear soon after. His stiff member rebounds off his lower abdomen, precum leaking from the mushroom tip. A satisfied exhale leaves his mouth. He stalks over to you with a sly smirk, towering your smaller frame when he crawls on top of the bed, his knees plant themselves into the mattress and his additional weight dips the space where you lay.

You whine when his length ghosts at the expanse of your inner thigh, suspense and arousal continue to bubble inside of you. Sunghoon murmurs for you to lay back. “Make yourself comfortable,” were his initial instructions before hooking the waistband of your panties with his fingers and dragging them below your legs. The undergarment was tossed to the side.

You nibble at your bottom lip and screw your eyes shut when a slender finger circles the perimeter of your labia.

“You’re so wet babe,” Sunghoon purrs.

Your breath hitches at the back of your throat when he slides his index finger through your inner lips, gathering an abundance of your slick to bring to his mouth for a taste. Both eyes flutter open in time to witness Sunghoon suck at the digit drenched with your arousal. The sight is sinfully lewd, nearly too much for you to handle. Your face reddens and you fight the inclination to hide behind your hands.

“You taste so good, too.“ He licks at his lips. “Wanna try?” Sunghoon cocks his head to the side, and you can’t find it in you to turn down his offer when he looks so innocent— yet acts like the devil himself when he’s overcome with lust. You nod your head with approval.

His duality needs to be studied at Harvard, you think in the back of your mind.

Sunghoon plunges his index finger past your hole, triggering your back to arch an inch off the bed. He chuckles lowly and watches as your hands grab desperately at the sheets beneath you to steady your sanity. The singular digit curls inside of you. Your unforeseen shock is vocalized in the form of a moan and Sunghoon repeats the motion several times.

“O-oh my god—“ You gasp.

The ravenette withdraws his finger and taps at your mouth, signaling you to open. You submit to his implicit dictation. Your lips encase his pointer, tongue swirling around it like a piece of sweet candy you’re tasting for the first time.

You bat your eyelashes prettily and moan. “Mmmh…”

“Dirty girl,” Sunghoon sniggers. He retracts his finger and you let it slip past your mouth with a ‘pop’ sound.

“Can you please give me your cock now?” You plead with a pout, doing your best impression of an endearing set of puppy eyes.

Sunghoon chuckles. “Let me at least prep you first, baby. How long has it been since you’ve had someone’s cock inside of you, anyways?”

You part your lips but close it just as quickly. To be candid, you've never been one to actively immerse yourself in the 'I'm single' scene. Your only foray into it was with Yunjin, roughly three weeks after your split with Sunghoon. The two of you ventured to a club, but it proved to be a brief endeavor. Within two hours, the fifth shot became a catalyst, turning you into an unending fountain of tears.

“Y/n?”

“Huh? Oh. Sorry…”

“I’m sorry baby. Did I overstep your boundaries?” Sunghoon cups your face with his right hand, his eyes scan yours, sincerity and concern laced in those chocolate orbs of his.

You stifle a giggle. Of all boundaries he could have crossed he draws the line at asking for your body count and not him fingering you.

“What? What’s so funny?” He asks.

“Nothing just… I think it’s ironic you ask me that now and not before we did all of this.” You motion to your bare bodies when you say ‘this.’

Sunghoon’s ears redden.

“But don’t worry, Hoonie.” You hook your arms around his neck and pull him closer to pepper his face with several reassuring kisses. “I don’t mind it all. Now can you please fuck my brains out!”

Your ex (whatever he is to you at this point) throws his head back to share a quick laugh, shortly pressing his forehead against yours.

Without warning, he buries three fingers in your pussy; your hips twitch at the sentience. They slide in and out without strain and together the two of you watch as he finger fucks your hole to “prep” for his cock. The squelching noise of your juices fill the room in addition to your moaning, and Sunghoon confronts a hurdle of his patience wearing thin, wanting to fuck you senseless.

His digits leave your hole and you whine immediately at the loss. Sunghoon uses the mass quantity of slick as a substitute for lube to lather on his angry cock. He shuffles against the bed, forcing your legs even further apart to fit himself in between them. The stretch burns your muscles but is soon forgotten when the tip of his length is rubbing your folds, occasionally bumping your swollen clit which generates a needy whine.

Sunghoon’s face screws with ecstasy when his shaft inches past your entrance. Your walls hug his length and he whimpers at the tight muscles that suffocate his erection. You squirm under him, tensed and breathing heavily. It’s hard to relax when seven inches feel like it’s splitting you in half after a long hiatus from sex. Sunghoon notices your discomfort and stills his hips from pushing further, allowing you the necessary time to adjust.

“Sorry baby, I know it’s been a while. You can take it, right? Like the good girl you are?”

You nod. He kisses your forehead, cheek, and lips to soothe your anxiety, using his lips as a distraction to keep your mind from zoning in on his cock. He seizes the opportunity to fit the rest of his length inch-by-inch, and you feel like a virgin all over again when the burn of his cock stretching you open is almost too unbearable.

“Sshh, it’ll be alright, baby.” He wipes away a loose tear. “I’m gonna move, tell me when and if it’s too much, okay?”

“O-okay, Hoonie…”

Steadily, Sunghoon recedes his hips, cock following in suit, just enough for the tip to be the only thing that your pussy clenches on. He snaps forward, your boobs jiggle at the motion and your eyes are rolling to the back of your head when he repeatedly thrusts at a steadfast pace. The pain you were once scared of is no longer a fear you have to worry about, as pleasure is the only thing you know how to feel.

“F-faster, harder, p-please Hoon.” You fight through broken moans to let your voice be heard.

“Shit—“ He curses.

Sunghoon’s fingers dig into the plush fat of your waist while his other hand presses into the space of your bed next to the side of your head. His eyebrows knit, focused entirely on increasing the speed of his thrusts. He continues to piston fuck your pussy, abusing your hole in the utmost gratifying procedure. Your thighs jiggle each time that his balls slap against your skin. Everything reminds him of an amateur homemade video he’s seen from other couples perform on Pornhub. He’ll have to ask you some other day if you’d ever be open to filming your own tapes to watch back.

“Mmh, right there, Hoonie.” You sigh dreamily, locking your legs around his waist and linking your ankles together. “You’re fucking me so good— Aah!” A high pitch squeal slips from your vocal box when his tip probes at your G-spot.

“F-fuck,” Sunghoon leans in close, relying only on one forearm to hold himself up from crushing you with his entire weight. He hides his face in your boobs, tongue flicking at the sensitive bud that hardens in response. He persistently thrusts deeper, his cockhead pressing against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Hnngh… Y-yes, yesyesyes!” You chant. Your fingers tangle themselves in his hair, scratching gently at his scalp and tugging whenever his mouth would suck or massage at your breasts. “You’re gonna— make me c-cum!“

Sunghoon’s unrelenting despite your warning. He can feel your walls clamping around his shaft, signaling your impending orgasm, and it taunts him to force himself deeper within your warm cavern at every jerk of his hips. Your hands fall to his biceps. Nails digging into his skin as your face distorts into extreme pleasure.

“I’m so close too, baby.” He groans. “Just.” Thrust. “A.” Thrust. “Couple.” Thrust. “M-more!”

“I’m cumming! I’m c-cumming—“ Your hips tremble with a frenzied urgency as your pussy pulsates around Sunghoon’s cock. Your mouth opens in a silent gasp and a long, impassioned moan escapes your lips. The sheer intensity of the moment leaving you incoherent and lost in ecstasy.

Sunghoon twitches inside of you. “Hah— you’re so— fuck!— s-sexy,” He grunts. Your head thrashes at the overstimulation of his length continuously pumping into you and you push at Sunghoon’s chest weakly, crying on his cock for him to slow down. You whine, whimper, plead for mercy so that your pussy can recover from the intense orgasm you just experienced not too long ago. In spite of that, he ignores your pleas and concentrates on finishing. It isn’t until white ropes of cum are shooting at your walls when his thrusts start to get sloppier and progressively come to a stop.

“Fuck.” Sunghoon exhales through gritted teeth. Both of you are a panting mess trying to catch your breaths as your chests rise and fall synchronously. The ravenette pulls out slowly and he groans when he sees his seed spill out of your hole, it closely reminds him of those hentai comics he’s read through illegal websites.

“I’ll get something to help clean you up.” Sunghoon lifts his weight from the bed but you reach for his forearm to grab him. You don’t have to say anything for him to understand that you don’t want him to leave your side. He brings a hand to yours, the pad of his thumb grazing the hills of your knuckles soothingly. “It’ll be fast, I promise.”

Not even 30 seconds has gone by when he re-enters your room with a damp cloth. He wipes at the areas where a mix of your cum and his seed litter your skin with sticky residue. He discards of the ruined cloth before joining you in bed where you welcome him with open arms. He plops down next to you and you turn to lay on your side so that you can get a proper view of his handsome face in post-sex afterglow. You reach out to gently touch his moles that adorn his features. The moles you missed seeing as the first thing in the morning when you’d wake up with him by your side. He grins lazily and cranes his neck to bring his lips to your forehead.

“Sunghoon…?” Your faces are merely inches apart from one another. Though the close proximity is not a foreign situation— especially after just having sex— you speak to him with a hushed tone.

“Yes?” He inquires.

“At the restaurant, you implied that you wanted to get back together again… Is it true? Do you really mean it?” Your lips are quivering and you mentally berate yourself for being so soft hearted in these types of scenarios where emotions are high, vulnerable, and transparency is called upon.

Sunghoon breathes shakily. “I really mean it. I miss you, Y/n.” He tucks away loose strands of hair that fall on your face. “These past two years without you have been hell. The first couple of months were so bad, I almost reconsidered being the chairman for father’s company so I could fight for us. Fight for you. I’m sorry if that part of my life got in our way as a couple, and I wish I had made more of an effort to be around you.”

You sniffle, “It wasn’t just your fault. I should’ve communicated instead of thinking I know better and that I thought what I did was for the greater good— because it wasn’t. And you’re right, the two years I spent without you were awful. I never wanna go through that again.”

Sunghoon loops an arm around your waist and guides your head to bury against his chest.

“We don’t have to.”

Morning rays gently infiltrate the room as Sunghoon stands before the full-length mirror in your shared master bedroom. His voice carries across the space as he greets his loving wife, 'Good morning, Mrs. Park,' while he meticulously adjusts his tie.

You stir in bed. The unwelcome intrusion of sunlight forces you awake despite the supposedly blackout curtains you requested when you first moved in with Sunghoon. You sigh in irritation. Dismissing the hope of another ten minutes of sleep, you push yourself upright, your arms stretching above your head, accompanied by a vibrant yawn. Sunghoon, amused by your morning ritual, chuckles softly.

“Still sleepy?” Your husband turns to face you after successfully finishing the Windsor knot of his tie. You blink away the fog of grogginess from your eyes and grin when you get a clear vision of your husband clad in his usual work uniform.

“Mmm… you’re so handsome.”

Sunghoon's face lights up with a genuine smile, touched by your kind words that always seem to set the perfect tone for his day. He approaches your side of the bed with a confident saunter and takes a seat beside you.

“Any plans for today, my lovely wife?”

You can't help but giggle at his endearing habit of calling you 'wife' and 'Mrs. Park.' It's become a sweet tradition between the two of you, a reminder of your loving bond that has grown since your wedding day. You twist your hand to observe the silver band that ornaments your ring finger. The diamond twinkles back at you in the bask of the light.

“I think Yunjin and I are getting brunch, then we’re going shopping right after, and later in the evening we’re gonna drink some wine and paint as we gossip about our husbands.”

Sunghoon laughs. “You’ve got a busy day ahead of yourself then.” He nudges your side playfully and you giggle. “Don’t forget to fit me into your schedule. Let’s go out for dinner tonight.”

“Cold noodles and ginseng chicken soup?”

“Where it all started.”

You envelop yourself in your husband's embrace, showering him with affectionate kisses. Starting from his moles and moving to both cheeks, his nose, forehead, and, ultimately, his irresistible lips, you express your love and absolute adoration for him with each tender peck.

“I love you, Mr. Park.” You murmur against his plush tiers.

His fingers delicately sweep aside the loose strands of hair obscuring your face, as he lovingly takes in every captivating feature, examining them with deep worship.

“I love you more, Mrs. Park.”

Two years ago you and Sunghoon sealed the knot in California. The ceremony took place at the Alila Ventana wedding venue, perched on a cliff along the rugged coast line of Big Sur. It offered a dramatic landscape, nestled amidst towering redwood trees, and a breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean; the perfect picturesque backdrop for photos and videography. The outdoor spaces, gourmet dining, and coastal elegance were truly significant factors of your reception.

Sunghoon kept his promise to Mrs. Kim when the time came to send out the wedding invitations. Her excitement was beyond words as both of you entered the restaurant, radiating a newfound delight. Her gaze immediately fixated on the sparkling diamond ring on your finger— the same one she had scolded him for, which was now complete.

Come time to exchange your vows, Sunghoon's heartfelt declaration to cherish and devote himself to your love made it extremely difficult to keep your makeup in tact. Yunjin, your appointed maid of honor, had to step in to hand you tissues one after the other. The audience laughing to themselves at your showcase of emotions.

True to his words, Sunghoon carried you bridal style as he stalked down the aisle. Your families and friends cheering from their seats, their joyous applause resonating through the air. The warmth of their smiles and the happy tears in their eyes mirrored the love that enveloped you both in that moment.

Since then, life with Sunghoon after marriage was anything but dull.

#cgi-aenergy #enhypen fluff #enhypen smut #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen #enha #park sunghoon #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon smut #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon enhypen #minors dni

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mrsbarnesblog · 6 months

Text

girls' night

masterlist ko-fi ao3

Soft!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: your boyfriend is now really happy that you want to go to the club with your friends without him.

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: kinda +18? mentions of sex, drinking, reader is slightly drunk, Rafe's being needy and horny

Author's note: sooo, i'm happy to introduce you my new crush (idk how did i live without him tbh). I haven't even finished watching obx, but Rafe/Drew holds me in a chokehold. I had no choice but to write something because the voices in my head became too loud lmao. so yeah, I hope you enjoy my version of him💘

“I won’t be there for too long, baby. Don’t be so dramatic.” You softly laughed while you applied your lip gloss in front of the mirror. Through reflection, you saw your not-so-happy boyfriend sitting at the edge of the bed, eyeing your outfit with a pout.

“Do you have to wear that? Couldn’t you wear like sweatpants or something?” Rafe mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes looked up and down your body from the back, stopping at the edge of your pretty dress that barely covered your ass. “And why can’t I at least go with you? Give me a reason.”

“Because it’s a girls’ night. Boys are not allowed. We just want to go somewhere, talk, drink cocktails and dance. What are you gonna do there anyway?” You took a last look at yourself before grabbing a purse and coming closer to Rafe.

“Your point is weak as fuck, princess.” He rolled his eyes. “You know I hate it when you go somewhere alone. Especially looking like a fucking desert. Especially when there are tons of dumbasses who think they can hit on you.” Rafe’s voice was gruff but you knew that he wasn’t angry at you.

Despite the rumors about Rafe being a total asshole, he had never treated you even remotely badly. Well, you were the only person who was blessed with his soft and caring side. Rafe was the best boyfriend you could’ve possibly asked for, even with his mood swings. He was so overprotective and he got really panicked just at the thought that something might happen to you.

You stepped closer, now standing in between his legs, and put your hands on both sides of his face to make him look at you. Two large hands immediately flew to your hips as Rafe soothingly rubbed your skin through the material of the dress.

“You trust me, right? You know I don’t care about them. I want only you.” You smiled at him, leaning lower and touching his nose with yours. Rafe exhaled, bringing your body closer to his and lowering his head into your neck.

“Of course I trust you. I just don’t trust everyone else.” You smiled at his words, burying your right hand in his hair. “Fine, if you don’t wanna stay here tonight and ride my face for hours and then get fuc—“

“Rafe!” Your laughter filled the room as you pulled away and slightly slapped his shoulder. “You're disgusting, you know that, hm?”

“You didn’t mind me saying it this morning.” He shrugged, half serious.

“Fine, you big baby. I am going out with my girls right now, and you can do whatever you want with me afterwards. Deal?” You offered him a pinky. That man was ready to have sex 24/7 so you knew that you had no choice but to give him something, otherwise, he would bother you for hours.

Rafe curiously looked from your eyes to your finger, but then finally gave up, wrapping his pinky with yours.

“Deal. Just be safe, baby. Call me if something happens. Promise that you will.”

“I will.” A smile stretched across your face as your heart flattered inside your chest with love and warmth.

The night was amazing. You met with your friends who you hadn’t had a chance to hang out with for a few weeks and all of you were dancing and laughing for what felt like eternity.

It took you forever to climb the stairs to your and Rafe’s bedroom in the big ass house that you were living in. You hoped that he was already sleeping, but even your drunk brain understood how ridiculous this thought was. Your boyfriend would never go to bed without you by his side.

“You said that you wouldn’t be there for too long, Y/N.” Rafe said as soon as you stepped into the room, holding your heels in your hand. The clock showed that it was almost 1am, and you slightly shook your foggy head to figure out how long you spent in the bar.

“I’m sorry, baby. But it was sooo fun! We had such a great time.” You laughed, tossing your shoes on the floor and slipping out of your dress, standing only in your underwear.

As much as Rafe wanted to be mad or argue, he couldn’t. He felt ill just thinking about you alone in the club without him, but you were clearly happy. Drunk, with flushed cheeks and sparkly eyes. You looked so pretty, and now seeing you without that goddamn dress only in a blue lingerie set that he had bought you not so long ago made him hard within seconds.

You went to your vanity to take off your makeup with wet wipes, barely having any more power to stand. Rafe stood up from his place on the bed, stepping behind you and wrapping his arms around your body.

“You look so fucking hot, baby. I want you so bad.” You felt warm lips leaving light kisses on the side of your neck while hardness pressed against your lower back.

“Noo, Rafe. I’m so tired and drunk right now. I want to go to sleep. Let’s do it tomorrow, please?” You whined, still moving your head to give him more free space on your neck.

“My dick is going to explode. I haven’t touched you since morning.” He grumbled, brows furrowed, as you quickly slipped out of his arms and dove under the blanket on the abnormally large bed.

Your eyes trailed back to your boyfriend, who was obviously annoyed and tired but still had a visible boner. This thought made you giggle again while Rafe muttered something under his nose, running a hand through his hair. If you weren’t in such a state of mind, you would’ve definitely found it hot.

Yeah, annoyed Rafe was your guilty pleasure.

“Can you, like, do it while I’m sleeping? Just don’t wake me up.” You lazily asked, almost drifting to sleep.

“Excuse me? Who do you think I am?” Rafe’s brows shot up, genuinely shocked that you really suggested that. “I’m not fucking you while you’re unconscious, babe! What the fuck?”

“Then wait for tomorrow and come cuddle with me.”

He looked at you for a few seconds in silence. You were almost asleep, snuggling into the pillow and Rafe had no power in him to not find you adorable. He threw his head back in defeat, then removed his clothes and winced as he realized how long it would take for his dick to calm down.

He slipped beside you into the bed, turning off the light. On instinct, you moved closer to him, your head on his naked chest and your hands wrapped around his torso.

“‘m sorry, Rafey.” You mumbled against his skin. “I promise that tomorrow I'll be all yours.”

Rafe sighed, kissing the top of your head and hugging you back. A soft smile crept onto his face when he heard you almost purring under his touch. “Mhm, you’re lucky that I love you, princess. So, so much. You know that, right?”

“Yeah. I love you too. So, so much.”

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #obx fic #obx fanfiction #obx x reader

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shawnxstyles · 1 year

Text

personal

DATE: JULY 24, 2023

summary: you and harry are best friends who tell each other everything. or so you thought. when harry finds out you’ve barely done anything sexual, he offers to change that. and then things get a little… personal.

song: Glitch- taylor swift (this song seems fitting)

words: 6.5k

warnings: SMUT (f- receiving [rubbing, fingering, nipple play, praise kink], mirror sex, cum tasting??, dirty talk), and language.

note: i literally wrote this in a few days i think. this idea is so basic, but who doesn’t love a cliché concept? PART 2

bestfriend!fratrry x inexperienced!reader (because i literally write no one else and fratrry is the love of my life)

—

Harry had a lot of friends. People that he grew up with and some that he met along the way that just stayed. But you were his number one overall, and he told you everything. You told him everything too.

Well, almost everything.

It never really caught his attention that you guys never talked about sex. You guys have been friends for 15 years, since you were five, so you’d think it would have been brought up at least once. But now that Harry thinks about it, he can’t think of one time you’ve talked about the act.

He didn’t think it would be like this. And he didn’t think you’d answer like that.

You and Harry were casually hanging out on a free school day, just like you always do. And then you start talking about this date you went on and how the guy was great. Harry was happy for you, he really was. All he wanted was to see his best friend happier than happy. However, being the best friend he was, he was nagging and joking with you.

“Think he’s the one, eh?” Harry jokes, nudging your shoulder playfully on your couch.

“Oh, stop it. Don’t get ahead of yourself,” You roll your eyes and cross your arms. Yeah, Mike seemed like a decent guy and maybe you could have a relationship for a short time, but he was nowhere near “the one.”

You weren’t too desperate for a relationship, you liked whatever came to you. This cute guy asked you on a date a week ago and you weren’t going to say no. Because what if he was the one? He wasn’t, but what if?

“Imagine it, Doll,” Harry started. He began calling you Doll when you two were just kids. You loved to collect dolls of all sorts, but you never dared to take them out of the box. Harry thought it was silly, but also cool. “picket white fence, beautiful lake house. Kids runnin’ ‘round—”

He saw your face cringe at the word kids. He tilted his head in confusion, arm moving to rest behind you on the couch. He scoots closer to you and waits for you to respond.

“No kids for me,” You awkwardly chuckle. It seemed almost sad the way you sounded.

“What? Thought you wanted to be a mum?”

“Not anymore,” You breathed out with an awkward smile, “need a husband to do that.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout getting a husband. Shouldn’t stop you from wanting ‘em,” Harry smiled sincerely at you and you nodded while looking down.

“Plus, you could always just go out on the street and ask some good-lookin’ lad to be the father of your kids!” You socked Harry hard in the shoulder. He lets out a hearty laugh because he always ruins a sweet moment with a stupid joke. That’s just how you like it though.

“I’m not a prostitute!”

“Never said tha’.”

“Can we just watch some TV? You’re annoying me,” You roll your eyes as you reach for the remote. Harry continues to laugh as you switch the television on.

When you’re indecisive, you toss the remote to Harry and he shuffles through the stations. He lands on a random one, also indecisive. You guys were too similar sometimes.

“Look on your phone for somethin’ and then I’ll find it. I’m done searching.”

“You looked for like two seconds!” You laughed at his laziness. He shrugs with a smile, leaning into the couch. Again, you roll your eyes playfully before doing a bit of research on your phone.

Suddenly, a moan echoes throughout your living room and your whole body stiffens up. Harry notices and tears his eyes away from the screen, which was portraying the sexy noises. You don’t look at him even though you can feel his eyes burning into you.

“Alright?” he asked out of concern, peering at your rigidness. He’s only ever seen you get like that when you were anxious or scared, but nothing happened. Maybe you saw something scary on your phone?

“Uh, yeah,” You squeaked as the TV moaned again. Your face cringes and you force yourself to keep your eyes on your phone.

“Y/N, seriously,” Harry stares between you and the screen when she noisily moans again. The woman was being eaten out by the man and was being overly loud. Her back was arching and her breasts were on display. The movie was inappropriate, 18+ for sure, but it was nothing you hadn’t seen before. Right? You were both 21 years old.

“This… just makes me a tad uncomfortable is all,” You answered honestly, voice quiet as your legs tightened together. Harry’s eyebrows pursed together.

“Uncomfortable? Why?” he couldn’t help the question that slipped out of his mouth. He was too curious to know why a little movie made you stiff yet fidgety.

Unless… you were feeling something different than uncomfortable.

“No,” You shook your head and attempted to push yourself off the couch. Harry didn’t hesitate to grab your wrist and pull you back. He didn’t want you to run away and for you to feel like you couldn’t tell him something.

“Just tell me.”

“No,” You stood your ground, way too embarrassed to say something. Way too embarrassed to admit that you’ve never had sex before. Way too embarrassed to admit you’ve never done anything more than rub your own clit. Once. And it didn’t even feel that good.

Your skin was fiery and… tingly. Harry was much closer to you than he previously was because he pulled you closer to him. Your bare thighs were touching, warm on warm with a sudden spark. You didn’t know you weren’t breathing until you inhaled deeply at Harry’s hooking stare.

“Doll, you tell me everything, but you can’t tell me why a little porn makes you uncomfortable? Because I know it’s tha’.”

“Ugh,” You groaned between clenched teeth. You threw your head back until it hit the top of the couch. Harry’s grip on your wrist never left you. He squeezed it reassuringly, letting you know that he supports you in whatever you’re going to say.

Are you really about to say it?

“Y/N, just—”

“No.”

“I thought we were best friends—”

“Do not pull that card!”

“But—”

“I’ve never had sex before, okay?” You shouted over Harry’s pleading voice and the echoing moans from the television. You’d think by the time you had a whole argument they’d be done having sex, but nope.

Harry was cut off, so his mouth was slacked open. Once he realizes his jaw is on the floor, he blinks a few times to really process what you’ve said. If you had told anyone else, they would have harshly judged you. Harry wasn’t necessarily too different, but he was your best friend, and he was going to try his hardest not too. Harry was just more shocked if anything. He had a handful of different bodies, enough to give him a good amount of experience. So when he finds out you’ve done nothing, he’s beyond surprised to his core.

“But you’ve had so many dates,” Harry looks over at your face, which was looking down at your lap. Your wrist was still trapped in his hand, but you were twiddling your thumbs like you were in trouble. He starts rubbing reassuring circles with his thumb over your knuckle. Your skin was so hot, and Harry’s theory of you being turned on continued in his mind.

Did you even know what that meant? You were naive, right?

“So? That doesn’t mean anything,” Your attitude was shining through. But deep down, you were more embarrassed than anything. This was just your coping mechanism. And of course, Harry knew that.

“Surely you’ve done something else,” Harry suggests. You pin him with a knowing look and a long blink.

“I haven’t,” You answered before even hearing his question. He clearly doesn’t care about your reply because he’s asking you a series of interrogation questions.

“Have you had someone eat you out—” Harry points to the screen, but it was on a commercial break now. You got the point, but Harry clearly didn’t.

“No,” You grumbled.

“What about fingering—”

“No.”

“A toy?”

“Where would I even buy that?”

“Or—”

“No, Harry. Nothing.”

“Not even rubbing?” he asks. You stay quiet, unsure if you want to admit the one-time experiment you did.

Why does it even matter? You tried it and you realized you don’t like it, so you never have to do it again right?

“Not… really,” You hesitated. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion while your skin burned at boiling temperature.

“Humping?”

“No—I tried to…” You couldn’t get the words out. Not ever you’d think. But especially not with Harry so close to you. His body was warm, not as warm as yours, but it was eliciting something inside of you that you couldn’t comprehend. The way he nonchalantly said so many dirty things made you dizzy.

“Tried to what?” Harry was thinking of so many things you could say. He wanted to finish your sentence, just like how he wanted to finish you until you were crying his name and soaking him. But he wanted to hear you say it. He’s never thought of you in such an explicit way, but with the words and tension floating in the air it was hard not to.

“…do it myself.”

“And how did that work out, Doll?”

“Um,” You didn’t expect him to ask. Your neck and cheeks light up in small flames. Where did this come from? “I…”

“What? I thought you could tell me anything?” When your eyes flickered up to his, they were a dark, swirling green you’ve never seen on his face before. Your heart skipped a dangerous beat, frightened with anticipation.

“I know, I can. But this… it’s different.”

“How so?”

“It’s personal—”

“Best friends are personal.”

“But not like this. Best friends don’t do this,” You tried to get up again, nearly ripping yourself away from his grip. But you were in too deep now. Harry wasn’t going to let this one slide. His mind was thinking about one thing and one thing only.

You.

He yanks you back and twirls you around, releasing your wrist in the process. He grabs you by the hips and pulls you down to his lap. You couldn’t contain the slight gasp you let out at the feeling of his strong legs beneath you. Your legs were on either side of him, tempting to squeeze shut. Every movement you made Harry would feel in this position.

“Best friends can say anything. They can do anything too,” Harry’s hands caress your thighs. They’re comforting and inviting, but are also sending a field of goosebumps along your skin warning you to flee. It’s hard to focus on anything but his touch and the vibration of his words through the air. “Now, tell me, did you rub yourself?”

“Yes,” You stutter, trying to stop your hips from squirming on his lap. He notices and grips one side of your body to steady you. It only makes you want to shift more. His touch was almost overwhelming, but you wanted more of it.

Was it wrong to want more of your best friend’s touch?

“Did it feel good?”

“No,” A part inside of you was a bit disappointed that it felt so bland. You thought masturbation was this great thing, and that’s why people did it so frequently. You heard it was also a stress-reliever, but for you, it was just a stress-inducer. Harry could tell by your tone that you weren’t lying.

“Well, you probably weren’t doing it right,” Harry replies and you look up at him with a slightly startled expression and a scoff. You didn’t expect his response to be so straightforward, like he was a doctor diagnosing you with some disease.

“How could I do it wrong? Don’t I just rub…?”

“Baby, it’s much more than that,” Harry said sincerely. He’s never called you baby before, but the nickname had your heart jumping. “Were you even wet?”

“What? I—probably? I don’t remember…”

“You would remember.”

“The experience wasn’t very memorable,” You grumble with an eye roll.

“Do you want me to show you?”

His question had your head spiraling. He wanted to what? There is no way. There is no way those words just left Harry, your best friend’s, mouth.

“W-what? That’s way too personal!” Your eyes were wide and your skin was burning. You were nearly dizzy with this whole conversation and your stomach was tight. You thought you might need to lie down for a while.

Maybe you were sick. Yeah, that’s it.

“Best friends are personal, Doll. Just let me show you, yeah? And then we never have to talk about it again. If y’don’t want. Please,” Harry’s charm was convincing you. Everything about him was luring you in, completely different than ever before. The way his eyes was dark and his touch was warm made you feel wanted and needed, which was contrary to your past dates. They didn’t look at you this way, nearly beg for you this way. They didn’t show you anything. They wanted you because they wanted to get their dick wet, but they hated the idea of a virgin.

And Harry’s familiar. He’s safe. You don’t have to be afraid when you’re with him. But then why are you so nervous?

Harry was willing to teach you how to do the one thing you’ve been curious about your whole life, and you’re going to pass up the opportunity, why? Because he’s your best friend?

Isn’t that supposed to make it better?

“Okay, fine,” You inhaled as your hands gripped onto his T-shirt on his shoulders. You had convinced yourself to let the words slip out. “Show me.”

You were agreeing almost as if this wasn’t a big deal for you. But to Harry, it was. He would take your firsts, and something about that filled him with pride. A smirk slowly rides up on his lips, “Now?”

A blush cascades through your body. Of course he didn’t mean right now!

“I-I thought you meant—”

“Shh, relax, Doll. I was just makin’ sure,” he smirks again, pulling you closer to him. He loved watching you get all squirmy and flustered more than he thought. You could feel his body heat more than ever now, and you’re surprised you lasted this long on his lap without dying. “I’m going to give you a few options, okay?”

With anxiousness, you nodded and swallowed.

“When we do this, you have to talk. So use your words, Y/N,” You knew he was being serious when he said your name, so you replied with yes and then he was giving you your options.

“So, I can lay you down right here on the couch and show you how to rub your little clit,” his explicit words were making your privates ache, but it wasn’t painful. It kind of felt… good? You felt a foreign liquid dampen your underwear, and you can only assume that’s the wetness Harry was talking about. “Or, you can do it yourself on m’thigh with my help. Which one sounds like something y’want to do?”

“The first one,” You answered, painfully desperate to squeeze your legs together to stop this ache. “But how will I see what you’re doing?”

Harry thought for a moment. You made a good point. How were you supposed to learn simply from feeling? Harry knew you were a bit of a visual learner, so he wanted to make sure you saw how to pleasure yourself correctly. And he knew the perfect way to do that.

“I actually have a third option. But s’not really a choice anymore,” Harry doesn’t say anything after, he just lifts himself and you off the couch without warning. You wrap your arms and legs around his body like a koala, making sure you don’t fall. His warmth encompasses you back and you wish you could just stay there forever.

Familiar. Safe.

When your head peers up from his shoulder, you’re in his bathroom. Your eyebrows pinch together, curious as to what his third choice was.

He sets you down on the floor until your feet are planted. You unwrap your arms from him, still confused.

“Do you trust me, Y/N?” Harry’s eyes were still dark, and you wondered if they would ever go back to the strong, emerald green they used to be.

“Yes, of course,” You didn’t hesitate to answer. There was no one that you trusted more than Harry that wasn’t in your bloodline.

“Okay,” Harry breathes, “Strip f’me. Keep your bra and underwear on.”

You nearly questioned him in shock. But then you remembered what the whole goal of this was. He was going to show you how and you were going to listen, right? So you did.

Carefully, you stripped yourself of your clothes. He’s seen you in bathing suits before, and some were revealing, so this can’t be as bad, right? Harry didn’t peel his eyes away although you wanted him to. He hasn’t seen you naked since you two were little kids, and even though you weren’t naked, it felt like you were with his burning gaze. Obviously, there were some changes too. Like height, hair, breasts, ass… the whole thing. Harry doesn’t say anything until you’re in your undergarments.

A swimsuit is definitely different.

“Good. Now, c’mere,” Harry sits down on the floor, a few feet away from his full-body mirror. His body was up against the bathtub wall to keep himself steady. You slowly lowered yourself to the floor, wondering what was going on through his head.

He pulls you between his legs until you’re pressed against his body. His warmth radiated through you far better with less clothes on and your body ached some more. Your legs closed to squeeze it away.

“Nuh uh,” he declines. Harry grips your thighs with his ringed fingers and yanks them apart. You gasp at the extreme vulnerability and the coolness that waves over your privates. He throws your legs over his and bends them slightly, making you unable to move at all. “Keep them open, yeah?”

You nodded, but that’s not what he told you to do.

“Words.”

“Yes. Keep them open.”

“Good girl. You’re learning,” Harry smiled and looked towards the mirror. His eyes instantly zoomed in on the growing wet patch on the front of your cotton panties, and he couldn’t help but smirk. He saw and felt your body squirming similarly like how you were on his lap. He’s had a rock-hard cock since this conversation started, so he’s not surprised if you can feel his hard-on poking your back through his shorts.

His hands rested on your knees as you watched him in the mirror. The entirety of it all was extremely erotic, like something that would be on TV.

“If you like something, tell me. If you hate something, tell me. It’s important that you do so, okay? It helps both of us learn.”

“Okay,” You were nearly shaking with anticipation. You were so nervous, but why? It’s just Harry. It’s just Harry. “I kind of like when you say I’m doing a good job. Makes me feel… nice.”

“Yeah?” Harry tried to conceal the smirk that threatened to rise on his lips. Of course his best friend, who happened to be the most innocent person in the world, had a praise kink. It just made too much sense. “Like when I call you a good girl?”

You sighed and nodded, but Harry didn’t say anything this time. He just kept going.

One of his hands rested on your knee, tracing delicate circles. He stayed in the same spot, for god knows how long, and you wondered when he would do something. He seemed to be in a trance. He was hyper-focusing on every centimeter with those circles, and although you were getting impatient, you felt cared for.

One of his hands snakes to your chest and rubs your nipple through your bra. Just when you were about to protest, his fingers moved a tad lower. The roughness of his pads tickled your skin just right and caused your thighs to squirm. It was entertaining for Harry to watch you get all squirrely from such a simple touch.

He’s going to have fun with you.

“It… tickles,” You observe as your eyes look down at his fingers, very gradually moving closer to that ache in between your legs. You felt like a kid exploring a new world for the first time; naive and curious.

“What does?”

“Your fingers,” You stare at him in the mirror almost as if he’s stupid. What else would tickle?

“Does this tickle?” Harry’s knuckle brushes the inside of your thighs, lower than he’s been. You inhale at the subtle sensitivity.

“Not much,” You answer, and his knuckle continues to sway leisurely. Your breath picks up, rising faster at his hand’s proximity.

“What about this?” His index finger traces the hem of your panties with purpose. You gasp when he gets deep in between your legs, outlining your cunt with ease. Your legs attempt to shut with a shake, shying away from the vulnerability, but it’s impossible with his strong legs prying you open.

“A-a little.”

“And this?”

As if his touch could be anymore teasing, he finally dances along your clothed cunt, tracing your lips with curiosity of how you’d react. A mix of a sigh and a moan wavers out of you unintentionally, hips pushing closer towards his finger. Your mind blanks, light and fuzzy. Your face immediately falls to gaze at his movements, attracted to the air-headed feeling.

“Eyes on the mirror,” Harry demands while delicately caressing you. It was ironic, really. His voice was so rough and stoic while his touch was ever so gentle. With a few blinks, you're focusing in on the mirror, obeying his command. “How does this feel? Does it tickle?”

“Good, and yes,” You swallow your moan as his finger keeps petting you lightly. You were almost getting used to it, but you wanted more. “Is this what I was supposed to do?”

“Sort of. This is called foreplay. Heard of tha’?”

“I think so?” You were breathless.

“S’basically where I get you all wet and ready f’me. You like that?”

“L-love and hate relationship right now,” You pant as his finger rises away from your weeping, covered hole and travels up to your clit. You choke out a gasp as he strokes it nonchalantly.

“Oh,” Your hand drops to his thigh, gripping it strongly as your body begins to tingle. You strain your neck to keep your eyes on the mirror ahead of you, trying to watch how he does it.

His familiar smirk never fades from his face, cheeks a tad rosy from the heat waving between you two. His wrist is probably sore from the tedious, repeated movements he does. His thick fingers delicately circle your covered clit, applying generous pressure until you’re panting.

“More. I think I need more,” You suggest when his pace stays a consistent speed. You needed to feel his fingers on your bare skin. If he was going to touch you, you wanted him to just do it already.

“Y’think?” Harry’s tone was taunting yet serious. He wanted you to be firm with what you wanted. He didn’t want you to second-guess your own pleasure. If you needed more, you needed to tell him that. The best way for that to happen was for him to train you. “Beg for it.”

As your head becomes floaty with the stimulation, you don’t even hesitate to throw out pleads.

“Please, Harry. I-I need it, need more,” Your head slowly falls back onto his shoulder before his touch is gone. “Wha—”

Harry couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to see you. All of you. He needed to see what he did to you, and if you were really as desperate as you seemed. As shocking as this all may be to you, it was just as shocking to Harry. He couldn’t believe he was this turned on from his best friend’s inexperience. He’s always liked when a girl knew what she was doing and knew how to reciprocate. But something about Harry teaching you and showing you the ropes just fills him with a kind of power and pride that he can’t get from anywhere else. And he’s feasting off of it.

“M’gonna take these off, alright?”

“Everything? O-okay,” He unclipped your bra as you slowly slid down your panties. The tile beneath you was colder than before, but Harry’s warm body behind you kept you comforted.

“Have you heard of the traffic light system?” he asks, hands resting gently on your bare shoulders. He gets straight into the safety part first. It also distracts him from ogling your naked figure against him. He could feel his cock twitch in his briefs at your fluttering pussy and peaked nipples.

“I assume you don’t mean the ones used for driving?” You both chuckle and break some of the swollen tension in the room. It was a nice little reminder that it’s just Harry.

“No, Doll. The one for safety and consent,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, no, I’ve never heard of it.”

“If you say red, I’ll stop instantly and ask what made y’red. Communication is key. If y’say yellow, I’ll slow down and ask you again. And then we can either continue or stop, whatever y’want. But if your color is green, I’ll keep going. Understand, love?”

There was a lot of information, but you were able to keep up. It was actually similar to the traffic light system, which makes the name very fitting. You reply with a firm yes to note that you understand.

All while he was talking and explaining everything, you were getting used to looking at yourself in the mirror. You weren’t always confident in your body, but staring at it in between Harry’s made you feel safe and sexy somehow.

Before your mind can wander too far, Harry’s hands are falling down until they’re at your nipples. His rough fingers lightly pinch the already-hard buds until you’re pushing up into his touch. The warmth and the nakedness made you overly flushed all over. He gropes your breasts with care, slyly sliding another hand down lower.

Throughout this entire process, you’ve been soaking; in your underwear, in your shorts, and now on his bathroom tile. Your lower body has been throbbing in desire to be aided, and Harry seems to know just what you need.

His fingers hover right above your mound that’s screaming for him to go lower. Your heart rams against your chest in anticipation of his bare hands on your bare body, on your most sacred and vulnerable parts. No one has ever touched you beside yourself. A small part inside of you was glad that the first person was Harry because you knew you wouldn’t regret it.

Right?

“Stop thinking s’much,” he says, rubbing a warm palm over your belly. His face moves your head, so his lips can kiss your temple reassuringly. You slightly arch your back, so maybe he could see how desperate you are. Your legs were still spread by his, so you know he can see your wetness. If you can see it, so can he. “Just let me show you how it’s done.”

“Okay, Mr. Cocky,” You roll your eyes as he shifts your hair behind your ear, “What if I don’t even like it?”

“The name is very fitting. But that’s for a different day,” he says with a cocky smirk on his face. Now that sounds like something Harry would say. But your entire face gets warm and your head gets a little fuzzy when you actually imagine it. “and you will. Trust me.”

You take a deep breath. You weren’t sure how far you guys were going to go, but you’ve never felt more ready and more safe. With the system Harry told you about and all his reassurance, it was clear that even if he was teaching you, you were the one that had all the control.

“Now watch me.”

With those words his hand turns into just one finger and resumes on your clit. You gasp into the air as your body jolts. The roughness of his thumb paints your arousal over and over on your skin.

“This little thing is important. Don’t neglect it.”

His rhythm is slow and tedious as he circles the nub. You see and feel him dip down to collect some more of your wetness as he continues stroking you.

“How’s this? Color?” he gruffs in your ear while staring at you darkly in the mirror. You could barely understand him because you were panting embarrassingly and trying your hardest to focus on the reflecting glass in front of you.

“Good! Wait—green,” You corrected yourself as a moan elicited from you, his touch feeling even better each second.

“Good girl.”

“Fuck,” You feel yourself clench around nothing but your own wetness at his words. You both watch as the liquid quenches out of your dripping hole, making Harry groan from behind you.

“Do y’think you can handle one finger? Hm?” his voice rolls perfectly into your ear as he twists your peaked nipple. You couldn’t control your moans at the pleasure. His voice sounded just as good as the feeling of his hands.

“Yes, yes. Harry, please,” You nearly cried from how bad you needed it. You didn’t even know you needed it this bad. You thought you were going to hate this feeling, but you’re far from it.

“So submissive, so responsive,” Harry’s middle finger pushes against your hole, teasing the opening. You hold your breath as he makes you wait. “Breathe, Doll. Relax.”

Your eyes close for a moment. You breathe deep and feel your limbs lose their sudden tenseness. Before you can open them again, Harry’s finger is slotting inside of you easily. A gasp falls from your mouth as your hand grips on his meaty thigh for support.

“O-oh.” The feeling was insane. Intense. Nearly overwhelming. You clenched around his digit, consuming and caging it like it would fade away.

You’re so tight around him, he swears his finger might fall off. Harry’s cock is pulsing and pleading behind your back, but you don’t seem to notice. He’s making sure he doesn’t rut into you, but it’s so difficult when you’re all spread out and submissive for him.

He’s never thought of you like this, but fuck, now he can’t think of you any other way.

“Color, Doll?” Harry grumbles in your ear, voice low and breathy as it fans over your skin warmly.

“Green. What’s more than green? B-blue? Just–don’t stop–God,” Your squeaky voice rambled as his finger pumped in and out slowly. You can hear his smile behind your screwed eyes. The pad of his thumb rubbed delicate circles over your throbbing clit to escalate the pleasure.

Your chest was beating fast when your legs started to shake. Your hips bucked closer to his hands, needing more as you chase the glorious feeling.

“Look at you, takin’ me so well,” Harry praises, subtly curling his finger as your back arches. You know that one finger isn’t a lot, barely anything, but you were melting at the praise that Harry gave you. His constant encouragement is what made you putty in his hands. Literally.

“Harry,” You moaned into the heated air, causing Harry to groan desperately behind you. And you’re not too stupid to deflect that Harry might be turned on from the scene unfolding. If you knew more, if you knew better, you would have offered to help him after. But you were inexperienced, and you assumed he wouldn’t want someone to give him head who could possibly bite his dick off.

“Are you close, baby? Hm? Gonna come for the first time on my hand?”

“Y-yes! Please,” You begged as you climbed your high, wondering what the top would feel like if the chase was this blissful.

Your head falls restlessly on his shoulder while his right hand keeps focusing on your cunt. It was covered in your arousal as his pace picked up. The stimulation was almost too much, your body wanted to push away. But your mind was pleading to feel a release you know your body needed.

“Is it gonna h-hurt?” You groaned as your cunt clenched around him again, stomach tensing. A strong rush you assumed could only be an orgasm was approaching you all too fast.

“No, Doll. It’s gonna feel real good,” He twisted your nipple again, pushing you over the edge. You felt his thumb and index pinch your clit, causing you to scream his name against his chest. “Look in the mirror. Watch yourself fall apart f’me. Watch and make sure this time is memorable.”

You always thought Harry had a way with words. You never thought that about dirty talking though. His hands were as skillful as can be, and maybe one day you’ll be able to make yourself feel as good as he made you feel. But his words are something that you’ll never be able to treat yourself with. You don’t think you’ll ever meet another person whose voice is as fitting as Harry’s.

With his demanding tone, you came right over the edge. An overwhelming ripple of pleasure ceased through your body, shaking your legs to the max. Soundless moans and clawing nails were all you were capable of as you came on his large hand. Although you were straining, you never took your eyes off of the mirror. He told you to look at yourself as you came, but you were only staring at the glaring green eyes reflecting back at you. He rubbed all of your orgasm until you were trembling from overstimulation.

Just when you thought he was done, he raised his ringed hand to his mouth and tasted you. You thought that was something that they only did porn or movies. You swallowed intensely as his hum vibrated through you.

“Do you always… taste it?”

“If I think it’ll taste good,” he smirked as you scooted forward to grab your shirt. As you throw it over your head, you just had to ask.

“Did mine taste any good?” You slightly cringed as you asked the question. Does cum usually taste good? What does it even taste like?

His smirk widens, a hint of evilness rising, “do you want to find out?”

Your skin flushes even against the chilling tile. Your heart skips a beat at trying yourself. You hadn’t ever thought of it before. But you’ve come (literally) this far tonight, so why not just take it a little further?

“O-okay,” You slowly lift up your shirt, revealing your fucked-out cunt to him again. “So I just…?”

“May I?” he suggests.

“Yes.”

Two of Harry’s fingers swipe over your cunt, which was still covered in a mix of your arousal and cum. You jolted from the stimulation, tensing quickly before his touch was gone.

“Open,” and without thinking, you do. Your mouth falls open as his fingers lay flat on your tongue. Salty and creamy, it spreads over your tastebuds. You hummed around his fingers just like he did because it tasted good. Yeah, it was a bit odd, but once you got past that, you realized how erotic and sexy it was. “How’s it taste?”

After a bit of suckling on his digits, he puts them out way too soon for your liking. “Good, actually.” You creak from your dry throat.

“I think so too. Let’s clean you up real quick.”

Still sitting on the floor, a warm, wet towel soothes your sensitiveness as he wipes away all of your liquids. A smile broke out on his face when he finished before his hand landed on top of your head. He shook your hair like crazy until it was already wilder than it was. The action was childlike and friendly, almost as if everything between you guys never happened and you were back to square one. It was better that way, though. Right? To just go back to how everything used to be?

Harry grabs the small hand towel and exits his bathroom. You assume he went to discard it and add it to his laundry, but you just sat there in oblivion. You already missed his touch, longing for something you should’ve never even had in the first place. He was the one that offered himself to teach you, but now you’ve been taught, so where do you guys go now? Are you really supposed to just go back to the way it was?

He saw you in ways that no one else has before. You always thought that you would be intimate and have your groups of firsts with someone that you were dating, someone that you loved. Because of this, you realized that Harry was the safe option. Doing this with Harry changed your views on everything, and your body, heart, and mind couldn’t keep up with the rapid reversal.

You knew that Harry had a few notches in his belt. But were they all from relationships or just one-night stands? You didn’t know because you two rarely ever discussed the topic. Was it easy for Harry to go from girl to girl? Or did he get attached like you?

If there was one thing you always feared from sex and sexual doings, it was the intense attachment. You had heard about the infamous addiction intimacy laces within your veins that makes you crave a person. Now that you’ve been with Harry, that won’t happen to you, right?

You’ve known Harry forever, yet you’ve never craved him. He’s your best friend, and you’ve never seen him as more than that. If it was anyone else, you’d probably lose all control because you have no significant relationship with them. It would be easy to latch onto anybody because it would be easy to lose them too. Harry, on the other hand, was not easy to lose.

The last thing you want is to convince yourself of anything. You don’t want to “crave” Harry just because you saw something about an article online about “sexual chemicals fusing.” You couldn’t. No, it was too risky.

You’ve known Harry forever, so you couldn’t lose him forever too.

“I think I found a good movie to watch!” Harry’s voice echoes from his living room and all the way into the bathroom where you haven’t moved a muscle. Your overthinking was louder than it’s ever been. With a shaky breath, you rise from the tiles and stare at your disheveled appearance in the mirror. The same mirror you watched Harry finger fuck you with.

“Be out there in a second!” You shout back as your heart beats rapidly from his heartwarming voice laughing loudly at something. You clutched your chest, wondering why the fuck you were feeling the organ lurch for him in a way that wasn’t meant for him.

You knew that it was way too fucking personal.

—

thanks for reading angels 😙 part 2

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