#she looks nice in different fashion

[drenched-in-sunlight]

a while ago i discussed some similarities in design shared by Marika and the Deathbed Companion, now i just want to draw her in that dress pls I’m a simple painter 😭

[lucydoodlessometimes]

sometimes, a teenage girl's gotta wear atrocious shoes based on her own alter ego.

[zenlesszonezero]

Join Zenless Zone Zero with Tsukishiro Yanagi, the deputy leader of Hollow Special Operations Section 6! Beneath her ordinary office lady exterior lies a meticulous, emotionally intelligent big sister to the team.

[kuromi-hoemie]

thinking about older women

[idk-i-want-mcl-content]

[nimblermortal]

God grant Cliopher a quick and merciful autism that he might say “I refuse to touch polar fleece” “no bad touch” “denim bad no” and thereby rid Ylette of 2/3 of the room.

[peapod20001]

Sometimes I think about the girl in like 7th grade who was a furry and drew furries boinking it and apparently SO many people saw it and they were telling me about it and all I could think was how I, probably the only other open furry at school, wasn’t shown these

[marvelsswansong]

melting snow

summary: the subtle, obvious, sweet, and at times - dangerous - ways Coriolanus shows his love for you.

tags: coriolanus snow x fem!reader, possessive and lovesick!Snow, mostly fluff with light allusions to smut, significantly off-canon from movie (no lucy gray and no sejanus betrayal), CW possessive/dark behavior, graphic descriptions of murder, violence (it's only the last bit of this fic that's quite dark/violent, so feel free to read up until then. Please take care of yourself!!!)

☆ word count: 4.6K+ words ☆

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

one: subtle praise

At the beginning, he would mask his true feelings and physical urges towards you with a tight lipped grin and a reserved compliment. Something that acknowledges something you've done objectively well, with a genuine softness that didn't apply to any of his other classmates, but seemingly delivered in a nonchalant matter to feign indifference.

"Great dodge." he'd say to you, both of your chests heaving from adrenaline during fencing class. You'd nod gently, a shy "thank you" leaving your lips.

But when Clemensia wins the next round against him, Coriolanus doesn't go above simply shake her left hand in courtesy before leaving the arena briskly.

"Well played." he'd joke, when it was revealed during the final student appraisal that you'd beaten Coriolanus' marks by a few points. Despite Archane and Felix throwing subtle jabs at his way for "losing" the star student title, you'd just shrug off the compliment profusely, praising him endlessly.

"A mere fluke, really. You're the brilliant student. I reckon I just study hard and get lucky." you'd reply, straightening the cuffs of your jacket nervously. The blonde always found it so endearing how bad you were at taking compliments.

So different from the rest of the scum in Capitol, he thought.

Eventually, he'd start to turn his verbal compliments towards things unrelated to your capabilities and work. And more towards things that were of a personal nature, like your looks and dress.

"Your hair looks very nice today." he comments one afternoon late after school, his shoulders brushing against yours as you both await your rides home. Your hands fly up to your hair, to the small crown of daisies adorning your head, as if you've almost forgotten what you were wearing.

"You think so?" you shyly ask, looking up at him nervously. "I wouldn't have worn it to the academy if we hadn't been called down on immediate notice. It's just that the family I babysit for on the weekends, their daughter just turned six and... well, she was very insistent on making me a flower crown."

He finds your embarrassment awfully cute.

"But I swear, when Dr Gaul turned to look at me today, I thought she was going to kill me."

Coriolanus only rolls his eyes playfully at that, knocking his shoulders against yours.

"And what would she know about first rate fashion? You look amazing."

It's the nicest compliment you've gotten over a silly crown of flowers, your heart warming and your breath stuttering at his words. It's what motivates you to lightly squeeze his right arm before you get into the car, your touch lingering in his mind long after you depart.

A month later, Coriolanus runs into you at the farmer's market on a Sunday. His instructions by Tigris to "buy some bread and oranges for tomorrow" are almost forgotten in one fell swoop when he sees you. Free from your usual academic attire, you're wearing a flowy lilac dress which sits right below your knees, the silky fabric glowing in the yellow sunlight.

"This color really suits you." he decides to whisper in your ear after discreetly sliding into the space next to you, the action so sudden that it causes you to jump. Your shoulders soften when you recognize his striking blue irises, and then you pout, punching him right in the chest.

"You scared me, Snow." you jokingly scold him. "And where are your manners? You should always introduce yourself first to a lady."

He pretends to be wounded by that, hand on heart whilst leaning backwards.

"My deepest apologies. Would this help?" he asks, effortlessly pulling a white rose from his back pocket. He revels in how your gaze lightens up in awe and amusement at the gesture.

"Perhaps so." you reply back, fingertips brushing against his.

The blonde takes it as a sign to slide it behind your ear, the memory of your etheral form with his flower tucked behind your right ear etched into his mind before you're called away by your friends.

------------------------------

two: soft touches

Once he's sure that his feelings are reciprocated, Coriolanus would start to step the line over into something more serious. He's not willing to open up immediately nor is he necessarily a man of romantic prose. A large part of him is scared, even, of the way you make him feel.

After all, what is love if not vulnerability?

And how he could be vulnerable with you, a woman so far out of his league, widely adored and your family amongst the wealthiest in Panem?

So it would start off when the class seating arrangements are changed and you're seated next to Coriolanus for the remainder of the year.

He'd start to purposefully spread his legs a little bit wider than usual, his knees always brushing against yours.

He'd take every chance he could to lean over to explain something to you, his face a few inches away from yours, if you ever seemed stuck on a question.

He'd open the classroom door for you in the mornings and offer to carry your heavy textbooks back to your family's car after school, insisting that it was because he wouldn't want you to trip on your heels. And if you'd ever insist on carrying the books on your own, he'd keep a gentle hand on your upper back to keep you upright "in balance."

Once, whilst presenting a speech at your father's fundraising dinner that you'd stayed up all night preparing for, you accidentally lose track of your speech. You stumble on your words, voice cracking in panic as you start to scan the page of thick text, all of which suddenly seem jumbled up and nonsensical.

Sensing distress, Coriolanus' hand quickly moves under the table to squeeze your left hand (hanging by your side) in a reassuring manner.

It's only then, somehow, that you find yourself able to re-focus on the printed text and continue your speech. Afterwards, you squeeze his hand back and whisper your gratitude.

"I owe you, Coriolanus."

Another time, it's a formal ball being hosted by the academy to mark the holiday season. After a few drinks, you're tipsy and manage to drag your friends up towards the balcony, despite it snowing outside and being below zero degrees.

Cautiously watching your every movement by where he's leaning by the bar, Coriolanus quickly makes an excuse to exit the conversation he found himself trapped in, before walking outside towards your shivering figure.

Your dress certainly isn't helping your situation, it being a satin slip dress with sleeves and a conservative cut out by your shoulders. It exposes your chilled skin as you rub the naked space with your arms, your staggered breaths coming out in white puffs of smoke.

"Corio! What're you doing he-" you start to walk towards him but nearly trip, his arms coming to supporting your body last second to save you from falling completely on your face.

"You shouldn't be outside in this weather." he comments, amused, as he helps you find your balance once more. But you refuse to re-enter the ballroom, choosing to instead excitedly ramble about how wonderful winter in the Capitol is and how you can't remember where you've placed your bag.

Listening earnestly to your ramblings with a smile on his face, he quickly shakes off his blazer.

"May I?" he asks. You blink slowly, heart fluttering at the gesture.

"O-okay."

The boy then carefully drapes his blazer over your shoulders, the act immediately enveloping your senses in his signature smells - oakwood and rose. Your fingers clutch the lapels of the jacket, your nose burrowing in to the softness of the fabric.

"Are you sure you won't be cold?"

He's freezing, of course, but he keeps his posture straight and tuck his hands into his pockets.

"I'm just fine. Don't you worry about me."

-------------------------------

three: nicknames

Once you two become an item, Coriolanus moves on to calling you affectionate names.

Of course, he'll prefer to call you by your name in professional settings - like during a presentation, in front of the Academy staff, at formal galas and dinners - but when it's just the two of you, or around people you both trust, or when he's jealous -

He almost never calls you by your name.

Darling is the classic, lovestruck expression he uses when he's being his most vulnerable. It's what he whispers into the gap underneath your neck when he's waking you up in the morning, landing kisses across your collarbone during sunrise. It's his greeting when he surprises you with a bouquet of flowers on your birthday, right before he whisks you away to a trip to district 1. It's what he cries into your hairline when you are hospitalized following a rogue rebel explosion on your trip home.

"Darling... darling, can you hear me?"

Coriolanus' voice is foggy, your head still ringing from the loud explosion earlier, but your heart still races at the sound of his voice and the touch of his hand on yours. Throat croaking, you try to respond with an affirmative "yes", to which your boyfriend responds by quickly grabbing a near by cup of water.

Gently guiding the glass to your lips, he treats you as if you're a fragile porcelain doll: smoothing down your hair gently and fluffing up your pillows to lay you back down. It's only then that you get a good look at him under the flickering lights - the bags under his eyes look heavy, his usually neat hair a complete mess, his blue irises blood shot.

"Have you been sleeping, Corio?" you ask, worried, your thumb rubbing circles onto his palm. He chokes up at that, shaking his head sideways with a sad smile.

"How... how could you ask me that, darling? You've been in the hospital for days."

"I hope that doesn't mean you haven't been sleeping for days." you quip back, raising your eyebrows. Your boyfriend opens his mouth to lie, but the twitch of his lips gives him away. So you instead shift towards the left of your bed, making space for him on the mattress.

"Come on you silly man."

He smiles a guilty grin before snuggling up next to you, letting out a heavy sigh of content at your warm body against his.

Petal is his sweet, infatuated name for you when he's referring to you in conversation or calling out for you in front of friends and family. Tigris never fails to tease Coriolanus for the name, but he doesn't mind it - you're his flower, his precious petal.

"I can't believe you think this is ugly." Tigris sighs at the dinner table one night, shuffling through the myriad of designs on the desk. "This was going to be the design I send off to the boutique tomorrow."

"I didn't say it was ugly, I just think this design is far nicer." Coriolanus responds, pushing forward the blue design in front of him. His cousin pouts at that, clearly unsatisfied with his answer.

"Petal-" Coriolanus calls out for you, where you're cooking with grandma'am in the kitchen. "Could you come in for a moment?"

When your confused face pops into the room, Tigris quickly calls you over, dramatically stretching out her arms to grab you.

"Mr Snow seems to think this design - the gold sweetheart dress with lace trimmings - is uglier than this blue version. What do you think, (Y/n)?" she earnestly asks, pushing over the two designs to your direction. You shuffle through the papers intently, studying each drawing up close, before ultimately taking Tigris' side.

"I'd say your eye for design is impeccable, Tigris. And that Coriolanus should perhaps stick to things other than fashion."

That makes both grandma'am (who is listening in from the kitchen) and Tigris, burst out in laughter, with the latter throwing her arms around your waist in a sideways hug.

"Ah, I knew you were my favorite for a reason." she jokes.

"Petal, you wound me." your boyfriend jokes, a small scowl on his face for show. Though, when you lean down to kiss him, the scowl easily melts away.

My doll is what he calls you when he's driven sick by jealousy and possession. As, much to Coriolanus' distate, you have many admirers - due to you coming from a wealthy family and being a well known socialite in your own right.

Coriolanus has never liked Felix Ravinstill, but he swears his hatred for the president's son only tripled after you and Coriolanus became an item. Felix was never shy about his attraction to you - the forward compliments, the invitations to his house after school, the rush to sit next to you during lunch periods. But now, the blonde thinks, it's getting full on desperate.

As you sit reading a book in the hallways of tha academy, waiting for Coriolanus to finish his talk with Dr Gaul, the dark haired boy decides to chat with you. When your boyfriend opens the door discreetly, upon hearing your voice mingle with someone else's outside, his vision nearly turns red at how close the other man is to you.

You're pointing out something in your book to Felix, your innocent eyes fixated purely on the black and white text and thus completely missing how shamelessly the man next to you is eyeing you up and down. It takes Dr Gaul's shout - "actually, Ms (Y/n), could we have a word regarding your last proposal" - for Coriolanus' rage to slowly fade.

Instead, he starts to feel cold, hardened logic putting a plan into motion.

And once you're inside the classroom, Coriolanus doesn't hesitate to slam Felix up against the wall, making sure to angle the boy's head to hit directly against a marble statute. The impact isn't hard enough to crack the man's skull, the last minute measurement in Coriolanus' head ensuring that he wouldn't be punished for injuring the president's son.

But he makes sure that the impact hurts enough to leave a mark.

It makes Coriolanus' heart twist in pleasure.

"You better leave my doll alone, Ravinstill. She's not interested in you. She's never been interested in you." he spits, snarling like a ravenous dog.

"You're delusional, Snow, if you think she'd ever want to stay with you." Felix manages to spit out, trying to wiggle his way out of the taller man's hold, but Coriolanus is too strong.

"You're the only delusional one here. It's pathetic, really. All that money and social connections in the world, and it'll never be good enough for my doll."

Coriolanus can tell that hit a nerve with Felix, so he lets go of the shorter boy, nearly throwing him away to the side in the process. Pride and ego surges through his veins when you appear and call out for Coriolanus, so the blonde makes a concerted effort to kiss you fiercely for show.

His arm snaking around your shoulder to pull you right up against him, a devious smile on his lips.

-----------------------

four: lavish gifts and deep marks

Things only escalate once Coriolanus' tribute ends up winning the hunger games and he's crowned the winner of the Plinth Prize. Now saddled with money, reputation and a full ride scholarship to the university funneled by the Plinth family - he finally finds himself able to spoil you in all the ways possible.

Fresh flowers adorn your windowsill every morning. The finest jewellery and newest luxury bags are delivered to your doorstep at random. Perhaps most impressive of all, he buys a two bedroom apartment near the center of the Capitol for you two to move into.

"How'd you..." you can't even finish your sentence when you first see the place: the prime location, the high arched ceilings, the stainless marble... He hadn't even allowed you to pitch in any of your own - or your family's - money to buy the place, insisting that it was to be a complete surprise.

His arms come around your shoulder to hug you close, swaying you from side to side.

"Generosity of the Plinth family and the spoils of being the victor, darling." he drawls in your ear.

You're still in awe, hands tracing the intricate patterns of the roman columns supporting the ceiling, when he starts to tug you up the stairs.

"Would you like to see the view from our bedroom? It's magnificent."

Of course, Coriolanus' new elevated status and recent memory of acting as a mentor in the hunger games - planning, guiding, and having a role in the extended play of human lives - it all makes him quite obsessive and possessive of you. Given that you're one of the few people in his life who has known him for years now, before he was a mentor and before had all this money and status...

He has to make sure to keep you in his life. He's made a lot of enemies, after all, many of whom would like to harm him. And with his undying love for you, hurting you becomes an attractive option for his enemies.

So Coriolanus gets more possessive by becoming more shameless in public. He'll gladly call you his love in front of crowds of hundreds. He'll kiss you breathless and squeeze your lower back if he thinks a man is staring a bit too long at you. And when he knows you two will be separated for a few days - usually due to him having to travel out of the Capitol on business matters - he'll leave bite marks on your neck.

You didn't even think about how noticeable the marks might be when you rush out of bed one morning, having promised to attend an engagement dinner of a fellow classmate, Clemensia's. Your rude awakening comes when, mid-way through the rehearsal, Sejanus leans over to quietly ask if you've brought your foundation with you.

You scrunch your face at the odd question.

"Uh, yes... I have a powder compact in my bag, why?"

Your friend smiles at you apologetically, before motioning to your neck.

"Because, (Y/n), it looks like a vampire has bit you."

And when you look at your reflection in your wine glass, it's clear that you have odd, dark, bite shaped marks littering your collarbone and neck.

Later in the week, when Coriolanus has finally returned from his business trip, you try and scold him for it.

"I nearly died of shame, Corio. Seriously, you should've seen how Arachne was looking at me the whole night." you sigh, just as he laughs.

"You're over thinking it, darling. Besides, you weren't complaining when I was leaving those marks on you on Tuesday."

You open his mouth to scold him again, but find yourself unable to mutter a smart response, your thoughts flying away when he's back to attacking your skin with his mouth.

After all, you're like a drug to him - he can never get enough.

---------------------------------------

five: killing for you

Once Coriolanus is sure that you're not going to leave him, he finds it appropriate to take it to the next level: marriage. He drops a few thousand dollars on a large diamond ring, a ring which he makes sure you never take off (except in the shower).

At this point, the thought of losing you nearly equals his fears of losing everything he's built so far: becoming wealthy, powerful and well known amongst the Capitol's elite. He's terrified of living in a world without you and so he considers anyone who is deemed a threat must be dealt with in a secure, efficient manner.

No mercy, no hesitation.

After all, Coriolanus thinks one night, whilst sharpening a spare knife in the kitchen: if you give a rebel an inch, they'll run a mile.

The first person he kills is a security guard who fails to do their job correctly in protecting you.

He'd been hired by Coriolanus to protect you in your daily transport from the mansion to anywhere outside the Capitol (most often, to districts 1-3 to support your family's business dealings). But the bodyguard had failed to protect you one fateful winter day, leaving you to stumble back home with a twisted ankle and a busted lip as your bodyguard was only able to neutralize the threat after a few minutes of tussling with the gang's leader in the snow.

Your fiancee was fuming, sending you off to a near by hospital with grandma'am, before he motioned for your bodyguard to come downstairs to the empty garden.

The blonde didn't even feel an ounce of sorrow as he pulled the trigger, simply ordering the next bodyguard he'd hired to do the messy job of disposing of the body.

The second person he kills is a rebel who attempted to sneak a bomb underneath the car transporting you to the Capitol, following Coriolanus' announcement as candidate for the presidency.

The rebel was apprehended by the security detail team pretty quickly, so fast in fact that you weren't even made aware of the threat on your life. All you're told that day by Coriolanus' subordinates is that "there had been a change of plans" and you were to go to a fundraising dinner at an art museum instead to raise funds for the campaign.

And whilst you're off at the dinner, making a passionate speech for his presidency, Coriolanus makes an order for the rebel to be dragged out into the fields.

"You dare threaten the love of my life?" he sneers into the rebel's face, which is already bloodied and broken beyond recognition. The animalistic rage pumping through Coriolanus' veins is unlike anything he's ever felt before, and the gun in his hands suddenly feels like too much of a merciful ending for the rebel's crime.

"Just kill me." the rebel spits, but that only makes Coriolanus let out a sinister chuckle.

"Don't worry, I will. But I think a gun shot will be far too quick."

Instead, Coriolanus orders the man to be placed into a cage - a prototype that was being designed as a trap for the next year's games - and for a tub of venomous snakes to be released.

Whilst the other workers in his campaign look away from the horrific sight, Coriolanus just stares in great interest and pride. Once the screaming dies down, he calmly disposes of his bloodied shirt and hails a ride to greet you at the museum entrance.

"All good?" you ask, noticing an odd expression on your lover's face. But he just kisses you lightly on the lips, chuckling.

"Of course, petal. Why wouldn't it be?"

And so on and so forth. Whether it's directly or indirectly, Coriolanus becomes ruthless in securing your safety and your love. And he's so good at hiding it, he thinks, until one day he becomes a bit sloppy.

It was supposed to be an easygoing dinner at the mansion, a wealthy donor - his top donor, his campaign manager had informed him - named Robert Hemingworth had requested a private dinner. Coriolanus intially wanted to refuse, hating the thought of inviting a stranger to his home, but both you and his campaign manager agreed that it was best to play nice given the money at stake.

"For your troubles." Robert had said on his way in, a snarky smirk on his lips. In his arms were a basket of wines and grapes worth a pretty penny, but Coriolanus couldn't help but think that there was something about the brunette's gaze that he didn't trust. But with pursed lips and a fake smile, he forced out a thank you and invited the man into the foyer.

"What a... charming little abode." the oil tycoon had drawled, his gloved hands tracing along the walls. The sly comments and odd compliments (in truth, backhanded compliments) continued through out the night, all the way from appetizer to the main course. Sipping on copious bottles of red wine in an effort to keep himself grounded, Coriolanus was managing to keep his temper down until the older man asked about your whereabouts.

"Will your charming fiancee not be joining us?"

He froze at the man's questions, the hungry look in the millionaire's eyes and the underlying threat weighing down the atmosphere. The desserts had now arrived, two maids scurrying in with small plates of bread pudding, both of whom Coriolanus quickly dismissed with a wave of his hand.

"She's out with Tigris. Dress shopping." he'd decided to leave it at that, his left hand squeezing his glass so tight the glass started to crack. Coriolanus had hoped the man would leave the discussion there, as he wasn't sure what he was capable of doing if the older man didn't.

But the man continued. A disgusting moan escaping his lips in satisfaction after biting into the pudding, a devious smirk on his lips to match.

"Ah. Well, what a shame. I was hoping she would be part of the dessert."

No sooner than those words leave the millionaire's mouth, Coriolanus' left hand grabbed the knife laying on the board in front of him, where moments ago the maids were cutting cheese and ham. He then brings the blade to swiftly meet the older man's stomach, white dress shirt staining crimson red, all the while Coriolanus refuses to break the man's gaze.

"You fucking disgust me. Everyone in the Capitol fucking disgusts me one way or another, but you? You dare invite yourself to my home?" he retracts the knife, before stabbing it back into the suited man's flesh, each pause accentuated by another driving force.

"You dare speak about my love in such a vulgar manner?"

"You dare insinuate such sinful acts with my beloved?"

"You dare try and buy your way into her body?"

The marble floors are now flooded in a sea of red, the man's dying chokes and Coriolanus' heavy breaths overwhelming the room. The room stings of the smell of copper when you enter the space, quietly closing the door behind you, as you were only able to see the man on the floor and your boyfriend standing on top of him from the entrance.

"Corio? Love?"

The blonde turns around at the sound of your voice, face etched with annoyance.

Annoyed that you'd have to be subject to a vulgar sight like this. Annoyed that he'd stained your new kitchen set with an unworthy man's blood... And most of all, annoyed that he can't tell what you're thinking: your face kept completely neutral as you slowly approach him.

"You're back early." is all he decides to say, testing the waters.

You look down at his hands, soaked in hot blood, then down at the man who is writhing on the floor.

"Found what we wanted quickly, I suppose." you reply, stopping next to Coirolanus before leaning down to get a better look at the dying man. "Right, what was his deal?"

"Hm?"

It's only then that your plain expression breaks, your usually light eyes swimming with sinister charm, a coy smile breaking out on your face.

"Come on, Corio. You don't seriously think I didn't notice the amount of odd stains on your cufflinks? Or the terrified looks the house servants give you since the beginning of our engagement?"

He blinks, surprised. Coriolanus had always assumed he was covering his tracks well. Or that, at the very least, you'd have something to say about it all.

"He was making rather vulgar comments about you, darling. The bastard seems to have been making donations in an effort to get closer to you." he slowly explains as you stand back up, nodding slowly.

"Hm... Yes, that is rather concerning. And I suppose you've gone too far ahead for us to save him, always the temperamental lover you are." you tease.

Your humorous response and your unwillingness to run away from the darkness of the situation, it awakens something fierce in Coriolanus that he hasn't felt for you before.

"I suppose."

The euphoria he feels when your delicate fingers lace his to grab the knife instead, before you finally drive the blade down and end the man's life, is indescribable.

"I think you owe me a new dress." you say quietly, dropping the knife onto the floor.

The blonde wastes no time gathering you up in his arms, kissing you so fiercely that it almost hurts your neck.

"I think I owe you more than that, darling. How about the entirety of Panem?"

He'd do anything for you. The entirety of Panem be damned.

a/n: omg this has got to be the darkest piece of writing + fucked up ending I've ever written in like years of writing on tumblr 😅😭 but idk I'm obsessed with an idea of Corio's partner being someone who embraces him wholeheartedly and surprises him by being darker than she seems on the surface.

please leave a like/comment/reblog/ask if you've enjoyed, your support is what motivates me to write!

ALSO I've just re-opened my requests bc I would love to receive some corio fic ideas, so please send in your corio thoughts if you have any 🥺🥺🥺

[afterglowsainz]

we used to have more | oscar piastri

part 2 part 3 part 4

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

summary: while working as community manager in formula 1 you have to follow a rule of no fraternization with the drivers, which keeps you and oscar from being together

fc: different girls from pinterest

warnings: some characters have names (because there’s only so many y/f/n that i can use), some mentions of oscar’s girlfriend as her ex

a/n: so i have this one shot called guilty as sin? (that you should totally go read) and i’ve been thinking about expanding on it a little because i keep getting ideas around the same concept so welcome to an au version of my own fic in smau format, enjoy!

—

liked by oscarpiastri, lissiemackintosh and others

yourusername another season, another year of trying to make f1 fun for the girlies🎀

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yourusername occupational hazards 😝

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f1gossip mclaren’s oscar piastri was seen this weekend next to y/n y/l/n (the community manager of f1 social media) on different occasions. the people who sent us the videos said that oscar was the one that looked for her and approached her every time

tagged oscarpiastri and yourusername

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username yeah no

username pls lord let this be fake news

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username pls if she wants to date a driver then it’s her business, doesn’t take away everything she’s done for women in motorsports

username i love y/n and oscar separately, together …. uhmmm

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oscarpiastri back to my roots in baku 🏎

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[caption 1: milesbaldwin, declanmurray] [caption 2: yourusername my 💗]

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f1gossip mclaren’s oscar piastri was seen this weekend with his ex girlfriend at the paddock together, emerging rumors of possibly getting back together after six months of breaking up

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[reshinless]

sylus is a girl dad.

sylus whose daughter loves telling everyone hi, with a wave and a cheeky smile (in hopes to find a mom and a wife for her papa)

she, who bumps into you while running around the candy isle.

"oh sweetheart, are you okay?" she immediately gets up to see who she bumped into-

"oh wow.. you're so pretty, lady!" she cheers as you pick her up. "mmhm? where's your parents, honey?" you search signs for any parents.bmaybe she was just wandering?

no no, a kid with this type of fashion would not just 'be roaming around'. she had a necklace with her own name on it.

"my daddy would like you." the small white-haired little girl looked at you with awe. playing with your hair as she leaned onto your chest, as if she was ready to call you mom.

you started to walk around the store, asking around if they'd seen her parents. but every stranger you met- to no avail did you get to find any clue. let alone the man himself.

"sweetheart, do you know what you're papa looked like?" tucking in one of her stray strands of hair behind her ears as she nods her head. "yeah, handsome and very nice. he is very tall too! and.. ummm... he has my hair!" huh.. you couldn't find anyone else that seemed to have similar hair to hers.

"ah, there you are scarlett. don't roam around aimlessly. you heard a low voice coming from behind you. oh this must be her father.

oh- wow. he was definitely a lot more different than expected. you expected an appearance similar to the way his little girl had dressed. "papa! look i found pretty woman!" she pulled on your collar, asking you to get closer.

'you.. you're her dad?" you looked back at the little pearl you had in your arms, she was wearing all pink and a dash of white. and compared it to the man in front of you's look. a black suit paired with a few touches of red here and there.

you chuckled at first, getting to converse a little deeper with the tall man, although he looked scary, he was not as unfriendly as he seemed.

"you're good with kids, hmm?" the white-haired male hummed, looking into your e/c eyes, he definitely could hold it. "I suppose!" you cheer as you watch the small girl run back and forth, grabbing unhealthiness off the shelves.

"miss! can you pretty please buy this for me?" she grinned, oh what a cute little smile! sylus suddenly stopped you by your shoulder; "I'm really sorry for her behavior, she doesn't usually act like this. scarlett, go put it back." the last of his sentence almost sounded nice, but a twinge of anger in it. well, understandably..

"don't worry, i can buy it for her. which one did you want again?" you stepped closer, kneeling down to her level, watching her point out what chocolate bar she wanted.

he had to marry you.

after a quick trip to the counter, the small girl happily munched on her candy, smiling a teethy grin at you. bits of chocolate over her mouth. "hey, careful now, chocolate can stain easily.." you walked to her, wiping her mouth with a part of your clothing.

"hey- you didn't have to do that." sylus was too late to stop you, the mocha already stained onto your shirt. "huh? oh it's nothing much really, I'm fine. they're just clothes anyway."

"let me repay you."

"no, no need really!"

"let me."

"no! it's fine!"

he grabbed your hand not too roughly, but places what looked like at least one-thousand dollars?!

by the time you looked up from counting the money, he had already gone. oh, what's this? a note?

"call me XXXX-XXX-XXX when you find something." huh. his number? now that's interesting!

[chunghasweetie]

𝐈 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋, 𝐎𝐇 𝐈 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 | J.JK

— pairing | assistant!oc x flirty boss!jjk

— summary | jungkook’s assistant (you) finally admits her feelings for him

— warning | bad writing (i’m doing my best)

protected sex, dirty talk, cursing, praising kink, adult dialogue, work affairs

— word count | 5.0k words

— song suggestion | the party & the after party— the weeknd

“You look very nice Y/n.” He opened the door for her.

“I have the prettiest assistant in the industry.“ He bit his lip, linking arms with her as the two entered the business party together.

The two were always together. Every day for hours upon hours.

She had been working for the CEO of Jeon Industries for the past 4 years.

It was another night of being with him. This time she was accompanying him to a business party at some mansion in the east.

“Thank you Mr. Jeon.” She thanked him.

She had went all out tonight. How could she not with the amount of luxury outfits and accessories he supplied her with?

She was an ambassador on the side for many different high end fashion companies.

Dior. Prada. Chanel.

All because of Jungkook.

He always helped represent her from the start. The second he laid eyes on her, he knew she couldn’t let all her beauty go to waste.

He pushed hard for her to rep these brands, knowing well she deserved to have every opportunity out there.

She was an extremely hard worker too, sending her to anyone was a true gift.

Tonight she was dripped out in Chanel from head to toe.

She wore a vintage black and gold Chanel couture dress paired with matching gold heels.

Her entire look was priceless.

He supplied with her with everything simply because he wanted to.

Y/n was too independent from the get go, and Jungkook wanted her to understand what it’s like to be truly taken care of.

Although Y/n worked for Jungkook, she was almost on his level of fame by her success that came naturally after he got her name out there.

Many rumors speculated that she slept her way to the top but, the rumors couldn’t be more untrue.

Jungkook was obsessed with this woman.

Repeatedly asking her if she was interested in him. He was constantly offering himself out to her.

He flirted with Y/n every day. It wasn’t enough to bother her. They were comfortable enough to where she could reject him over and over.

He understood her rejections. She was afraid how others viewed her. How if they ever broke up, it could make her entire career plummet to the bottom.

His eyes roamed over her figure, taking in the way the dress hugged her curves, the way her heels made her legs seem to go on forever.

He couldn't help but let out a low whistle. “That dress really working for you. Glad I spent the money.”

“I appreciate it Mr. Jeon.” She thanked him once more.

Y/n was absolutely gorgeous and every investor and supervisor at the party turned their head when she entered with Jungkook.

He noticed the way everyone was gawking at her and he couldn't help but smirk.

He was used to this. She was a prize and knew that all too well.

Y/n was his, and his alone.

He hated how oblivious she was. She didn’t think of herself to be this powerful woman.

She thought of herself as average, which could make Jungkook grow insane.

There was no way she was serious.

“Can you feel all the eyes on you?” He whispered to her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. They’re greeting us. This is just business matters and nothing more.” She replied, straight faced.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You're right, of course. Business first.”

He led Y/n through the crowd, making his way to the group of investors.

But as he walked, he couldn't help but place a hand on the small of her back, enough to display a slight sense of possession.

She went around with him, introducing herself as well to all of Jungkook’s business partners and potential partners.

He watched her, impressed by her confidence and grace as she charmed each and every one the important people.

“All these years and you’re still so good at talking for me.” He said, leaning in close to her so that only she could hear him.

“Of course. We’ve been doing this for years.” Y/n replied.

A small smile appeared on his lips as he imagined the number of times she must have helped him in his business ventures.

“And hopefully for more.” He muttered under his breath, before straightening up and clearing his throat.

“Can I get you anything to drink Mr. Jeon?”She offered.

He chuckled at her formality, but he couldn't help the way his heart fluttered at the sound of his title.

“Yes, please. He said, before taking a moment to decide. A glass of whiskey would be nice.” He instructed.

“Yes Sir.” Y/n nodded, walking off and requesting him a drink at the open bar.

Once his drink was finished she walked back over to him, handing his drink over.

“Go get yourself something.” He told her.

“I’m fine.”

“Go. I know you’ve been craving a glass of rosè.”

“Fine.” Y/n finally gave in, heading back over to the open bar.

Finally having her glass filled, she started to head back over to him.

Before she could start to Jungkook, she was stopped by one of the executives.

“Excuse me, Ms. Y/n was it?” He stopped her. “I was wondering if you had a minute.”

She didn’t look up, not expecting to start a conversation.

“Yes, I’m Y/n. I actually have to head back to my boss I’m sorry.” She began to walk but he stepped in front of her.

“It’ll only be a second. I’m Kim Namjoon.” The man spoke. “I just have a proposal for you.”

Her eyes flickered upwards. She locked eyes with the man, surprised someone so high up had an interest in speaking to her.

“You’re Kim Namjoon from Kim&Kim.” She rose her eyebrow. “What kind of proposal are you talking about? I’ll go get Ju—“

“This isn’t for Jungkook,” Namjoon shook his head. “It’s is for you.”

“Me?” She looked at him in confusion.

Jungkook's eyes narrowed as he watched the executive checking her out, his grip on his glass of whiskey tightening.

He downed it in one swift motion before stalking over to where she was, his eyes flashing with possessiveness.

He was watching this entire conversation go down.

“You don’t need to answer me now but,” He began. “I’m in desperate need of a new assistant. You’re one of the best assistants in the industry and I need you�� bad. Whatever Jungkook is paying you, I’m offering you tripple the amount.”

Y/n stood there in utter shock. Her mouth was agape and she couldn’t say anything.

Jungkook could almost choke.

The nerve of this guy.

Jungkook's expression darkened as the man offered her the position and a much larger salary.

He could see the hesitation in her eyes as she took the card, and he couldn't help but feel a small surge of fear that he would lose her to someone else.

Maybe she was truly considering.

Jungkook was imagining everything he’d ever done with her.

Did he push her too much?

Was she overwhelmed?

Did she feel underpaid?

‘There’s no way’ He thought to himself.

“Like I said,” Namjoon was handing her his business card. “You don’t need to answer me now but, just think about it. You’ll be rich and you’ll have a lot more of those luxury companies to add to your collection.”

“Thank you for your time.” She simply nodded, biding her goodbyes before heading back to Jungkook. “Sorry that took so long.”

Jungkook watched Y/n return, his expression unreadable as he took in her words and the lingering scent of another man on her.

Namjoon’s cologne was annoyingly contagious.

He couldn't help but feel a surge of jealousy as he reached out to grab her wrist, his grip firm but gentle.

“Is there an issue Mr. Jeon?” She looked down, feeling his grip.

“Come on.” He walked her over to the balcony outside, where the two could be more secluded.

He pulled her closer, his voice low and husky as he leaned in, his breath hot against her ear.

"I think you know exactly what the issue is. It’s us.” He whispered. “I heard Namjoon.”

“What about it?”

His hand tightened around her waist, his thumb pressing into the small of her back as he held her close.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about, Y/n. That exec trying to poach you.”his voice was a low growl, laced with greed.

You weren’t for sale, why would Namjoon pull such a stunt?

Y/n sighed. “I didn’t want to be rude. So I took Namjoon’s business card.”

Jungkook's eyes flashed with irritation, but he controlled himself, not wanting to make a scene. “But you didn’t throw it away. So you’re thinking about his proposal.

“Mr. Jeon like I said, let’s keep this professional. I believe your personal feelings are getting in the way.” She replied. “I was being respectful.”

"I don't give a damn about professionalism right now, Y/n," he said, his voice strained as he struggled to keep his composure.

Her eyes widened. “Like I said, I just took the card to be respectful. I didn’t have any intention behind it.”

Jungkook's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he studied her face.

"Then why did I catch you staring at him for an uncomfortably long time?" he asked, his voice low and suspicious.

“Oh my gosh Mr. Jeon. It’s called eye contact. This really shouldn’t matter.” She grew irritated with him.

Jungkook's grip on her waist loosened, but he still didn't let go.

"It does matter to me," he said, his voice softer now. "You know I don't like it when other men look at you."

“This is a work setting Mr. Jeon. In order to do my job I must conversate with many men. Can we drop this now? Please?” She begged.

Jungkook's expression darkened a little at the sound of her calling him Mr. Jeon, but he otherwise seemed to calm down at her words.

"Fine," he said curtly, letting go of her waist and taking a step back. "Just... don’t consider his offer too much. I just— I don’t know what I’d do without you."

Y/n swallowed. “Okay Mr. Jeon.”

He reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Come on, let's get out of here," he said, his voice gentler now. "My treat.”

“But what about the business party? Shouldn’t we stay longer?” She blinked.

Jungkook shrugged. "They'll manage without us," *he said. "It's been a long day and I'm sure you're over all these people."

He reached out a hand towards her, a slightly pleading look on his face. "Please, come on.”

“Okay.” She gave in. She bid her goodbyes to whoever the two walked by as they strutted to the exit.

Jungkook smiled when she agreed and said nothing as she bid her goodbyes.

He was leading her out of the party, opening the door for her to get in the company car.

She took a seat on the other side of him, answering work emails on her phone the second she got inside.

That girl could work. She was always working.

Jungkook admired how driven she was.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, his voice low and warm. “Because I am.”

“Me too.” She nodded.

Jungkook smiled at her response. "Good," he said, before leaning close, his lips brushing against her ear.

"Because I'm taking you to the best bar in the city." His tone, though husky, gave her assurance of his sincerity. “Not letting that dress go to waste.”

“You don’t need to do that.” Y/n objected.

“I want to," Jungkook said, his eyes flicking up to finally meet hers, a serious expression on his face.

"You know I like spoiling you." He placed a gentle hand on her thigh before leaning back to give her some space.

She knew there was no point in arguing with him. “Alright.

As much as she rejected him, she didn’t mind how touchy he was with her.

Y/n definitely could admit she liked it.

Jungkook's eyes lit up at her acquiescence, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

"That's my girl," he said, his hand squeezing her thigh affectionately before releasing it to recline back in the seat. "We'll be there soon."

Once they arrived at the bar, Jungkook went around, opening the door for her as she got out of the car.

“That dress is really working for you.” He bit his lip. “Have I mentioned that?”

Y/n chuckled, walking with him inside. “You have.”

Although she was hearing these flirtatious words everyday, she couldn’t help but blush at the constant compliments from her boss.

Once they took a seat and ordered a few drinks they got to talking.

They went to discussing random business deals and even going off topic and speaking about their personal lives.

“I never thought I’d have to spend so much time with someone because of my job. I thought I would hire many men as my assistant and sectaries but you’re all I’ve ever needed.” He told her.

“I didn’t think I’d ever have the honor of working for someone so head strong and successful” She laughed. “And for these many years.”

Jungkook smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You know, you're the best assistant I could've ever asked for," he said, his hand finding its way to her thigh once more. "I don't know what I'd do without you.”

“I don’t actually know what Id do without you either. I was in such a rough spot when I got hired…” She trailed off.

Jungkook's grip on her thigh tightened, his thumb rubbing small circles on her skin.

"I'm glad I could help, even if it was just giving you a position," he said, his voice low and husky. "But it's not just about the job, is it?

“What do you mean?”

Jungkook's gaze met hers, his eyes filled with a fiery intensity. "You know what I mean," he said, his grip on her thigh tightening even more.

"I think it's more than just a boss-assistant relationship between us." He brought up once more.

“You keep saying this.” She sighed.

“I’ve built up my career Mr. Jeon. I can’t fraternitize with the one guy who could ruin my life in seconds all because we stupidly decided to date.” She shook her head.

Jungkook's grip on her thigh loosened a little, his gaze dropping to the ground.

He nodded solemnly. "I understand your concerns. I do." He paused for a moment before continuing. "But please don't think of it as stupid.”

“How can I not? Say we decide to be official. How do you think that makes me look? What if we get into an argument and I lose my job? What if someone accuses me of sleeping to get the job?” She rambled.

Jungkook's expression hardened, his jaw clenching. "I'd never let anything happen to you, do you understand that?"

He reached out, his hand cupping her cheek. "You're more than just an assistant. You're... so fucking special to me."

“I don’t know still Jungkook. This could ruin everything.”

Jungkook's gaze softened as he looked at her. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear.

"Don't worry about a thing. I'll protect you, no matter what happens." He whispered. "Let me take care of everything. Trust me."

“I—“

He interrupted. “Whatever he offered you, I’ll pay more. So much more. I’ll give you whatever the hell you want. I’ll do whatever you ask me too.”

“You don’t have to date me Y/n. I’ll stop flirting with you forever,” He continued, “Just please, don’t accept Namjoon’s proposal.”

Y/n exhaled, finally giving into him after all that time.

“I want to give us a chance.”

Jungkook’s ears perked up, the last line he’d be expecting from her.

“What?”

“I’ve always been attracted to you but I’ve pushed it all to the side so we can work as normal but— I’m wiling to try with you.”

His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest.

“You’re serious?” He was choked up, jittery from how worked up her reply made him.

“More than serious.”

“Oh Y/n you have no fucking clue how long I’ve been wanting to hear that.” He hurriedly rushed her out of the restaurant, almost pushing her into the car.

She was giggling in the backseat. Jungkook was kissing all up on her, mumbling sweet sayings into her ears.

He couldn’t believed this was real— that it all unfolded in seconds.

After asking asking and asking. She finally agreed.

She wanted to give them a try, just like he always desired.

He couldn't believe he finally had her in his arms.

The smile plastered on his face could be seen from miles away. He smiled against her skin, unable to allow it to fade.

Jungkook's hands were exploring her body as he kissed her and made his way down her neck.

He sucked on her neck, leaving a mark as he did. "Fuck, I can’t stop kissing you." He growled into her ear.

“You’re a really good kisser.” She couldn’t help but chuckle. “Can’t wait until we get to your penthouse.”

Jungkook grinned, his eyes shining with excitement. "I can't wait either." He replied.

"I'm going to show you how bad I’ve feigned you." He nibbled on her ear.

Before the couple knew it, the vehicle had already been passed security and pulled up to Jungkook’s place.

Jungkook guided her out of the backseat, helping her onto the ground.

He took hold of her, leading her into his luxurious penthouse.

He shut the door behind them and immediately pulled her into his arms, kissing her passionately.

"Finally all to myself." He murmured against her lips.

She was easily able to keep up with his demanding kisses.

He had her brain cloudy and unable to be her usual rational self.

His kisses and touches had her in a daze. She was burning for him.

“Y-Your room already. Please— I’m trying to be a lady but It’s so hard” She mumbled against his lips, almost ashamed of the words she spoke.

He had been chasing after her for years. Now they switched.

Jungkook chuckled, a deep, husky sound. "Shit baby. I didn’t think you’d get like this. I didn’t know I was this good." He boasted, nipping at her bottom lip.

"You're such a naughty girl. I’m barely doing shit and you’re already a mess." He picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her towards his bedroom.

She was a shy mess, embarrassed at so easily he was able to unfold her.

Her bashful expression wasn’t easy to hide, and Jungkook took notice almost instantly.

Jungkook laid her down on his bed, climbing on top of her. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about." He comforted, tenderly brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

"I love how you respond to me." He kissed her again, slow and deep.

She kissed him back eagerly, smacking her lips against his. “It’s embarrassing. I haven’t been with anyone in—“

“Years. I know.” He interrupted, chuckling. “You’ve been too busy with me.”

"Don't worry about any of that." He flipped her around, pushing her face down onto the bed.

"You're with me now." He whispered, slowly lifting up her dress.

Jungkook couldn't help but smirk at the sight of her.

“Oh look at you.” He breathed out.

Her panties were practically stuck to her pussy like glue. Her pool of wetness making a statement on her panties.

"All this and I haven’t even touched it yet." He smirked, running a finger along the seam of her panties.

"I should take these off huh baby?" He slowly pulled them down her legs.

“Gonna taste you first.” He bit his lip, examining her panties before having his eyes locked on her plump and glistening pussy. “Is that alright?”

“P-Please. Now.”

“What was that sweetheart?” He taunted.

“Jungkook please eat it already.” She turned her head slightly to look at him, humiliated that she was so desperate for him like this.

“So needy.” He teased.

He couldn't help but smirk at her words, he wasted no time in doing as she said.

He spread her legs apart and started lavishing her pussy with his tongue.

Her body instantly retracted at the pleasure, a gasp leaving her lips.

Jungkook couldn't help but chuckle at her reaction, he continued to eat her pussy, determined to make her cum on his tongue.

He reached up with one hand and started rubbing circles aroundz

He went stupid on her pussy, licking and sucking on her clit.

“Jungkook you’re so good with your mouth.” She muttered out, barely able to speak by how distracted his tongue made her.

Jungkook looked up at her, his eyes gleaming with desire as he continued to pleasure her.

"Mmm, you're so fucking sweet." He murmured against her pussy, his tongue delving deeper into her folds. "I could eat you out all day."

“D-Don’t say that.” She swallowed, his claims made her blush even harder.

He continued to eat her out, his tongue expertly flicking over her clit as he watched her reactions. "But it's true. You're so fucking beautiful and delicious.”

“I need to make you cum over and over again.” He continued. “Until my fucking jaw snaps. You taste so fucking good it’s addicting.”

She was already feeling the pressure in her lower body build up, the orgasm rushing through her.

“Jungkook I’m close.” She whined.

“Let go baby.” He continued working her pussy. “All over my mouth.”

It didn’t take long for her to do so, thighs clenching together before releasing herself all over his tongue.

Jungkook groaned against her as he tasted her, sucking and licking up every last drop.

"Fuck." He looked down at her with a satisfied grin. "I think I'll have to make you cum every day now. I seriously can’t get enough of this shit.”

Jungkook helped her get into a more comfortable position, allowing her arched back to rest.

She took initiative, eagerly kissed him the second he looked away.

He couldn’t help but smirk into her mouth, his tongue slipping into her mouth to taste herself.

Not that it would stop her.

He pulled back and looked down at her again. “You’re a lot dirtier than I thought Ms. Y/n.” He chuckled.

“I just didn’t realize how much— how bad— I needed you.” She admitted.

"You needed me?" Jungkook asked, his voice low and husky.

He reached up to brush a strand of hair out of her face, his fingers grazing her cheek.

"You're mine now, aren't you? You need me to take care of you? I’ll do just that.” He pecked her lips.

He got up from the bed, walking over to his large closet.

He searched an empty shoebox, before finding what he needed.

He strides back over to his bed. “Condom. Just forgot.” He pecked her lips once more.

“Need you missionary tonight baby. I’m trying to be a gentleman.” He smiled smugly.

She didn’t say anything, slithering the condom from his fingertips.

She maintained eye contact with him, tearing the package open with her teeth.

“May I?” She placed her hands on his belt buckle, “Please.”

“Fuck. You’re gonna make this so hard.” He cussed. “Put it on.”

She hurriedly unbuckled his belt, sliding his pants down and pulling out his cock from his boxers.

She gasped.

It caught her so off guard. She didn’t think he looked like that at all.

Now she knew why he talked a big game about his dick.

The boasting and bragging finally made sense to her.

“You okay?” He chuckled. “Just noticed the rumors were true hm?”

She nodded quietly.

“It’s all yours Y/n.” He hummed. “Slip it on. I’m aching right now.”

She nodded, snapping out of her trance. She slid the thin material onto his length, trying to hide the enthusiasm displayed on her face.

Once the condom fit comfortably on his dick, he laid the girl on her back.

He positioned himself between her legs, double checking her comfort before his own.

She looked up, staring at him hovering over her. She had a blush spread across her cheeks. “I’m loving the view right now.”

Jungkook chuckled, pleased by her admiring gaze. "I'm glad you finally like what you see, baby.”

“But I definitely have the better view. You're gorgeous, all flushed and spread out for me." He hummed.

She giggled in response, too flushed to continue.

Jungkook grinned and slowly pushed inside her, savoring the tight heat enveloping his cock.

“Oh fuck,” He cussed, not expecting her to be so tight after what he already did to her.

“Fuck, you feel amazing." He started to move, thrusting steadily in and out of her. "So wet and tight for me... shit I can’t think.”

He was finally inside of her and she felt even better that he had ever imagined. He fit inside her like a missing puzzle piece.

“Fuck Jungkook.” She whispered out his name, still adjusting to him.

“Y/n... fuck... so good..." He panted, his eyes locked on hers as he started to move more urgently, driven by the intense pleasure of finally being deep inside her.

"You were made for me, weren't you? This sweet pussy, it's mine now. Isn’t it Y/n?” He panted.

“Mm fuck- all yours Jungkook” She nodded vigorously. “Shit that’s good.”

Jungkook groaned, feeling her tighten around him even more. "That's it, baby, take my cock... milk it."

He pistoned into her harder and faster, the bed creaking with the force of their movements. "You love this dick, do you baby?“

”Y-Yes I-I do” She swallowed, body working up a sweat at the heat.

“Such a pretty girl. Had to beat my dick to the idea of this for years.” Jungkook growled, his grip on her hips tightening as he drove into her harder and faster.

"You make it so worth it. So fucking worth it." He went on.

“Jungkook you’re making me feel so good— never had dick like this” She hiccuped.

Jungkook smirked, his hands running up and down her body possessively. "Gonna get dick like this for the rest of your fucking life."

He grunted, thrusting deeper. "No other man will ever touch you like I do, make you cum like I do.”

She was in a crazed and corrupt state of mind.

It’s like he hit the right spots instantly.

“Shit.” She cussed, knowing damn well he was right.

He fucked her so good she probably wouldn’t be able to get the same sensation from anyone but him.

“So hard to fuck you like a gentleman.” He began, “Shits too fucking hard.”

“No one fucking told you to.” She growled, “Need more. I don’t care how you do it.”

Jungkook chuckled, leaning down to whisper in her ear. "Not at all?”

“Not at all.” She bit her lip, smirking.

He easily noticed the glimmer in her eyes when she agreed, and he knew just where to go from there.

His dirty words were ones out of a romance novel. She didn’t even know real men even acted like this.

She didn’t complain.

He worshipped her body in no way she thought anyone could.

When she became devoted to being single, she thought her vibrator could be the only thing to ever make her cum.

Now she knew she was wrong.

And to throw that shit away.

"Such a dirty girl. All mine." His hand reached down to squeeze her throat in a dominant gesture, knowing she liked it. "You take dick so well babe."

“All for you.” She answered. She didn’t realize how easy it would be for him to turn her out but she wasn’t complaining.

"My girl." He praised, rewarding her with a particularly hard thrust that made her gasp.

"Now come for me baby. I’m fucking close and I need you to cum with me." His hand slid between their bodies to rub her clit, determined to make her cum on his cock too.

“Can you feel how close I am?” He almost let out a whimper in her ear. “I’m so lost inside you.”

“Y-Yes.” She replied to the lewd plea, “Mm close too”

“I feel it pretty girl I feel it.” His voice soothed her. “Shit shit”

He fucked her good until he could feel her orgasm reach its peak.

Soon after he quickly pulled out, cumming on her stomach.

He collapsed right beside of her, panting and cussing as he tried to catch his breath.

Jungkook lay beside her, still trying to catch his breath as he stared at the sight of her cum-covered stomach.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he said in a rough voice.

Jungkook got up, wiping himself off before returning to the bed with a warm towel.

He gently cleaned her up, taking his time to ensure he didn't miss a spot.

He used the rest of his energy to clean her up.

Once done, he tossed the towel aside and laid back down beside her, wrapping his arm around her waist.

She pecked his cheeks and lips happily and satisfied. “So much for trying to be cute and romantic tonight.”

Jungook chuckled and pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"We'll have plenty of time for romance later, babe," He laughed. “Isn’t it better for us to get comfortable like this now? You already know everything about me.”

“That’s true.”

“I thought I knew everything about you.” He stared into her.

“What do you mean?” She furrowed her eyebrows.

“I didn’t know you were a fucking freak!” He laughed. “All conservative and shy… You’re a fake. You’re a fucking sex maniac I’m appalled.”

He put his hand on his chest. “You had me fooled.”

“Oh my gosh.” She rolled her eyes.

“Don’t give me that. I’m not the fake. I’m very open with how I am.” He shook his head.

“I hate you.”

“No. You like me.” A stupid grin was spread on his face. “Finally.”

[where-does-the-heart-lie]

Revolutionary Army Punk AU

Ft: Luffy (not punk)

Steampunk is cool but i think just straight up punk would be cooler. I just think what they stand for lines up a lot better

Design notes:

I did some research and talked to a punk friend of mine for these as i am not a punk, myself, and I dont want to look like a poser. I think i did a really good job translating them and i want to explain my thoughts!

Sabo was first, of course.

I not only wanted to make the characters punk, but i also wanted to crank their designs up about 20 notches, so i gave Sabo’s scar one hell of an upgrade. In this version I tried to make it very clear that that cannon ball hit him head-on. I think it works really well with his punk vibes because under-cuts and shaved parts of the head in general are very popular in punk culture.

I largely tried to keep the silhouettes the same with this au, and It was really easy to keep it with Sabo because of the fact that he already has a lot of design elements that translate well to punk. His big pants into tall boots were perfect to translate, crust pants and steel toed boots fits him well. Trench coats arent a staple in Punk, but i couldnt take the coats away from him… him or Belo. They deserve it…

I threw away his cravat for a choker, i replaced his vest with a red tank top and his undershirt for fishnets, Patches up the wazoo, he looks very cool.

Belo Betty was next, she was super easy to translate. She’s already in the punk spirit with her tits out, we love to see it. Her hat was really difficult to translate, along with all the other hats, but a red knitted hat that has those two points cuz it’s essentially a scarf sewed together looks nice on her.

My punk friend suggested i give her a bunch of nets and harnesses and i really agreed that was her style, so i gave her red tie to Morley, slapped some harnesses on her and just overall just turned her sexy up like 50 notches. I think i was clever how i adapted her striped stockings here with how they have runs in them.

Karasu is almost the exact same. I just threw out his dinky little cravat and gave him a bandana and harness. I also gave him piercings. That’s the only difference. In the words of my Punk friend “hes naked and wearing a spiked mask, He can hang”

Speaking of what my punk friend said, he said that Lindbergh would get “demolished” in the pit, and that he looks like he’s scared of bees. The consensus was that he couldn’t hang. But also i still had to make him punk, so then he suggested CBGB punks:

Redneck, bluegrass, southern american punks. I was really in a rut with his design, I didn’t know what to do to keep the silhouette of his backpack. But everything changed when I chance got the idea of a guitar. And then everything flowed from there

Morley was really really fun. Punk friend suggested i make him Pop Punk, inspired by this pic

Mainly Lindsey way with this plaid skirt and tie

He was so so fun to draw, i love his fucked up eyes.

For dragon, i didnt change much at all, even though it’s only his bust that’s shown. Imagine everything is the same, except now he has piercings. Dragon isnt concerned with the punk fashion, but the punk cause.

For Luffy, I wasnt trying to make him punk, but he felt a bit plain looking like base Luffy next to punk Sabo, so i just did the “turn design up 20 notches”, and just gave him a more visibly tattered hat, bangles and waist beads.

That’s about it! Ive been getting a lot of comments and asks lately saying that you guys like when i go on my design explanations, and i realized that i didnt do that for the last few AU’s, so i thought id type this up :)

Thank you for reading!

[kooyabooya]

SPECTRE

m reader x giselle // 32k words

part one of silken promises

This astonishing thing about fate you realize - probably, is that it doesn’t have a solid line on the end of a paper for you to sign off on. And honestly, if that were to be the case, you’d wipe off the ink immediately after; call the offer off and hide under the flashing lights, waiting to reap you of your secrets. 

In pure and utter laziness, you’re saying: “Well, I just had a different vision of it in my head, of how all of this would play out.” 

Giselle twists her face to you with a raised eyebrow, clearly insulted. 

“Sure, the simple life of having a house outside of town and in the woods sounds nice and all, maybe some kids to fill the empty space between the rooms, but I just thought that we would have-” 

She flicks away her cigarette. “It’s an arranged marriage, you dumbass. They wouldn’t care how we thought it’d go either way.” 

The conclusions were already drawn up, and agreements were already in place. You have your reasons for stalling the talks. She tells you that the deal’s ludicrous; you consider it to be archaic - as a counterargument, you think, and holds your point there. 

“Now that you’ve signed the damn papers finally,” Giselle proposes, “How do you want to go about this?” She asks, already wondering what will make the two of you being ‘officially’ together. 

Your answer didn’t matter to your parents nor hers, but just with Giselle and Giselle only. She sees this forced entanglement to be a matter of principle; to appeal the masses, and suffer the flack in the latter later. You see it as your own life being sealed away, without fully grasping your head at the fact of what you’re getting yourself into. 

–

To address the armageddon of narratives bouncing around and between the headlines capped in bold fonts through the phone screen, this is what you know: 

You’ve got a stake in the family business - a rough, sizable percentage in the double digits if you want to consider it comfy but - no point in disputing the diluted shares over your father’s dead body. He’s overseen the company’s growth from when you were in diapers, blindly convincing you on a dare to work alongside him; law and business degree aside, you wished that you’d focused on writing, or architecture. You’re not so entirely sure yourself, but your luck in being born into a family that’s made themselves well off two to three decades away from retiring and enjoying the tempting pastures that life has to offer; it’ll happen soon, but needless to say: you’re rich, and pretty famous. 

There’s this new family merging into the family business group: the Uchinagas. At first glance, the family is like yours, probably placed on the other side of the coin. The father’s been a longtime friend with your father since college, starting up various start-up projects before eventually parting ways to build their own business to high degrees of success. The same could also be said for the mother: knee-deep in the fashion industry with connections and almost every top model that she could ever call in her contact list, and your mother’s got her nose in some brands that crossover with her mutuals. Then, there’s the daughter.

On another refresh and through a different outlet of news on your phone, you see this one website was claiming that the Uchinaga’s are a bright new addition to the family business, a cover photo capturing you and her standing side by side for a gala event that was hosted by her family. Her birthday party, as a matter of fact. 

Right off the bat, she looks amazing in the photo, there’s no denying that. It’s got everything within the lines of glitz and glamor, considering the amount of effort that they’ve put in towards the party held in their backyard, let alone the sizable guest list (that you had no idea of making it in, but it’s written in ink); Giselle Uchinaga’s shoulder brushes against yours - drinking in the moment - where all the eyes, cameras, and lights are solely on her, and you also arm your look of genuine admiration to her at the side. 

Her hair is in these embered, wavy locks, resting right beside the bust of her off-white dress, wrists and neck shining with the most expensive jewelry that could ever be gifted to her. More of the pictures from her birthday celebration actually make it into the article, building a profile for the hottest global ‘it girl’ that’s got nearly all the rich guys or guys with notable profiles fawning over her when she’s in close proximity. She seems very camera shy at times, and that’s apparent when your shoulder shields half of her face when you’re beaming the widest smirk that you could wear. In a way, this still serves as a clear foreshadowing that’s yet to be foreseen, since the posse that you two possess almost candidly appears that way: a wedding celebration, or a grand coronation of something bigger, like royalty. 

(It’s a pairing that the people realize that it’s the kind of pairing that wasn’t wanted, but needed.)

The pictures from the party continue to get swiped across the screen. And you can kind of see what everyone’s been talking about. 

Sure, there’s the shared history of attending the same law school together, taking the same classes, meeting in various events with the respective families in different showcases and brand engagements. Sharing a few words with each other but never really escalating above that imaginary barrier that you’ve falsely put up in your mind to make sure that you’re not thinking about the different kinds of ‘what if’s’ and ‘maybe’s’.

You and Giselle aren’t exactly friends, just mere acquaintances - to better the title between you two at best. 

(You’ve played it safe, however: away from the tabloids, not getting yourself into any kind of trouble whether it’s outside of office hours or in various business dealings that you were tasked with. Needless to say, you’ve got it easy; while the same can’t really be said for Giselle, who’s always getting herself into trouble. She’s no stranger to scandals, let alone having her name and face on the front page of a newspaper or the first thing you see starting up your computer in the mornings. Always involved in some form of drama that gets twisted by the journalists, some of them wanting to taint the image of not only her’s, but the family’s as well.

Aside from that infamous picture of you and her together at the birthday party, there’s also one other article from a shady news source that only focuses on the worst in celebrities. She’s managed to put herself right into the primed position - where she’s getting busy with someone she met from the nightclub on a whim, fingers twiddling with the belt buckle of said lucky contestant, while his hands are about to get busy, pressing deeper into the mix of fabric harboring the skin of her hips. Everyone within the first five seconds of seeing that picture can immediately put two and two together - write up different points of commentary and subtext between the lines; but the words, especially the ones that are created soon after - it sparks a supernova of sorts in the media.) 

But you switch to the original tab and scroll back up to the photo from the birthday party, just to get a good look at it. A double take with the provided optics. You can see why people are in awe between you two. It’s laughable that people online are calling for this waiting ship to sail. 

So much for saying that you and Giselle are just ‘mere acquaintances’ to each other, but you’ll let the rumors curdle in speculation. 

–

This merger, however, was supposed to be seen with a positive outlook in mind. 

It was supposed to be seen as a healthy, mutual relationship between the two parties of your family and Giselle’s family, along with the deeply rooted rapport lying underneath the professional connection. It was supposed to be a step towards something great; not only for the business, but the image of all companies involved to gain a massive boost in profits from the public. 

Doesn’t help with the fact that there were some ambitious individuals in the field of journalism who were willing to undermine this special moment, threatening to expose a scam that involved your father and Giselle’s father in a business venture gone bad years ago. Murky details aside, but we’ll just say that there’s blood on someone’s hands. No amount of money bribed could ever sway those guys to walk away from a story that will create shockwaves throughout the industry - if it did get out. 

Luckily, they agreed to the hush-money settlement, with some persuasive (and questionable methods, but you couldn’t care fuck all about their overall condition physically) methods from your family’s legal team, but that incident was just the sole catalyst for more people to start sniffing around the business. The questions keep coming in, and the news are always hungry for a story born out of blood. 

So.

There was an agreement that’s nearly set in stone. An agreement without you or Giselle knowing of the deal in the first place: to have you and her to be used by the family as trojan horses - as scapegoats - to veer the burning spotlight away from the anticipating merger and have it focus on the forced relationship fabricated between you two. 

The announcement has still yet to be made, the primary reason is because you were reluctant to show up to the three meetings prior with Giselle’s family to discuss terms and conditions, but she’s also done the same in not being in attendance. A form of protest that you didn’t even get in contact with her to do, but you’re also content that she’s on the same page as you. 

Albeit this was a clear non-verbal middle finger to both your parents and Giselle’s, you’d do everything you can to drag out the talks for as long as you could. This proved to be effective, until your father started to meddle with your personal stake of the company, intimidating you to reconsider the offer; or else your piece of the business, the one that you’ve created from the ground up, was absorbed back to his control. 

You’re fighting a battle that you cannot win. Not when you’re cornered and bottlenecked to the point where it feels like you’ve got no way out. 

At least you’re not alone on your side. 

–

“The Uchinaga’s are waiting,” someone says to you. Your eyes fixated on the monitor and the packet on your desk being skimmed through with a twirl to your pen, “Should I let them know that you’ll head over in a minute or two? Sir?” 

Then it hits you when you look up. The deadline. This arrangement was the last round of talks before the final decision could be drawn up, regardless if you put in your own word or not. It’s a little late in the morning, and you’ve got yourself knee-deep in paperwork. What’s even the point of showing up to the meeting if you haven’t been to them for the past couple weeks? 

“My bad, Winter,” you say to your secretary, dropping whatever you were doing at your desk to prepare yourself, listening to the clicks of heels along the floor as Winter helps you put on your jacket, following her out of your office, “I completely forgot that the meeting was today. I owe you for that.” 

“You can save it for after when you get out of your own little pickle,” Winter tuts, sitting back down at her desk right outside the main walkway. “May I remind you that you’re also the one that got into this mess in the first place?” 

“Do you really have to remind me with that question every time these meetings are about to happen?” 

“What? It's a good starting point in conversation.” Winter answers, looking over along with you to the increase of people pooling through the main entrance past the elevators. “Look at that,” she says, raising her eyebrows when you're doing the double take, “And so the hurricane comes crashing in.” 

Even from a distance, you can still single out Giselle and her parents as they walk more into the floor of your office. The visuals are still insane to see; not a flaw to be noticed from any of the three. It’s a little bit frightening. Giselle takes her place right behind her father and mother, as if they too, were her own line of defense, protecting her like some prize that was worth attaining, diverting some of the attention towards her in a different direction. The surrounding office workers take a pause to look, watch as they meet your parents, exchange greetings and the usual niceties since it’s second nature. Your mother looks at your father, assuming that the inquiry was about your presence, and your father actually flashes his eyes in your direction, telling you from afar: We’re expecting you to be here. Don’t be stupid and make us wait here all day. 

As much as you’d want to refuse with a simple turn the other cheek, you know that today was not that day to do that. Not anymore. With a simple nod, you comply with your father’s demands, and he nods too. He then motions your mother, along with Giselle and her family inside the assigned room set up for the gathering, looking back to ensure that you won’t be long behind. 

“Are you busy?” you ask Winter, surprising her with the sudden question that makes her tense up in her seat, “Normally you’re not busy since you’ve done the stuff that I’ve asked you to. So I’m just gonna assume that’s a yes.” 

“How’d ya know? What are you, some kind of mind reader?” She laughs, hands up to emphasize the sarcastic propositions, “Who do you think you are, me?” 

You shake your head, nicking it to the side to signal your request, “I’m not even gonna answer that. Just walk with me.” 

Winter obeys, immediately standing up and rounding her desk to be at your right hand side, bearing down the pathway to the main conference room where the meeting was happening. “I gotta ask: Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” 

“Haven’t had an idea in the slightest.” You answer, speeding up your pace by one or two bigger steps in your stride. “Remember that preliminary assessment we had on Giselle? Why don’t you run that by me–” 

Winter clicks her tongue, mind already fast enough to pick up on what you were asking: “Giselle is the only child of the Uchinaga family. She graduated top of her class with a degree in law at your alma mater, also has degrees in finance and business. She’s got praises from well-known individuals to be the poster child with her line of work. Oh hey, that really reminds me of someone else now that I think about it-” 

“You smartass.” you smirk at the hidden verbal jab thrown at you, walking past the cubicles and heading right up the walkway, “Keep going.” 

“She’s got herself in business and ambassador deals with brands that upped the stock prices for posters, billboards, social media posts, selfies with fans, daily engagements and appearances, etcetera etcetera-  you name it.” Winter continues with the mini info exposition dump, matching your stride. “Every picture or tag that has her face or name plastered and attached is never ignored. Not to mention she’s-” 

“I need to hear what matters, Wint.” 

“She’s also a bit cynical, blowhard, a pretty pick-me girl, uncrowned royalty, someone that’s a bit reckless and in for the thrill of trouble. A bit spoiled with her things, I think. Bratty might also be another term thrown up in the air. Presents the refined etiquette when it matters, but in most cases, she doesn’t really care.” Winter muses, listing all of the different characteristics with her dainty fingers, “Is that too much, or can I add more?” 

You stop at the door of the conference room. Behind it was your parents and Giselle’s, along with some considerable figures orchestrating the deal along with them, waiting for your arrival to commence the meeting. Right when you were about to enter, you bridge your eyebrows together towards Winter, nearly appalled at all the things she’s mentioned about the girl you’re being paired with, “Are you sure that’s what you assessed, or is what you’re saying about her just out of spite?” 

Winter cocks her head, rolls her eyes up to where the eyelids rest at the top, “If you wanted me to be nicer, why didn’t you say so?” 

(You know that Giselle’s got some good graces in her heart - but she’s not perfect, clearly - she’s on the same boat as you: a little problematic with a thing or two that’s worth hiding.) 

“Just wanted to see what was your personal angle about Giselle, that’s all. Nothing too deep.” 

“Among other things,” Winter breathes, stopping herself with a hand on her hip, “I think she’s amazing, aside from everything I just said about her,” she concedes soon after, sighing,  “Most people with a status would kill to be in your position right now, even if they knew what was happening behind the scenes or not.” 

“Are you telling me that there’s benefits to this?” 

“Giselle’s a heartthrob.” Winter puts it simply. “Play your cards right with this deal, and who knows what might happen.” 

Winter then walks away, walking backwards while maintaining eye contact with your widened eyes. There’s something in the back of your head that wants to admit some form of defeat, finding comfort that there’s a possible silver lining in a connection with Giselle. You don’t hate the girl. No. That would be too harsh - a spectre manifested deep within your mind out of uncertainties that would prove to be your own demise in the false name of love. 

Love. You’re thinking as your fingers grip the door handle. That’s a little bit out of your lineage anyway - but what’s the worst that could happen? 

–

Giselle, her parents, along with a few people that were comprised to be the additional handlers on the team are all seated around the table, binders and folders with various contracts - revised and refurbished - covering all the necessary details and crooks within the lines; you remember hearing the talks having orderly returns in terms of feedback, assuring that everything would cover the shady deal story from ever breaking out. You’re getting the proper representation, but still feel like you don’t have a say in this. 

(But like you realized earlier: you’re not the only one, remember? You’re content that there’s at least one more person, other than yourself, who can share your hidden levels of pent up frustration - and she’s sitting right across from you.) 

And even with the substantial profile, the aristocracy between these men and women wearing designer suits and pretty dresses, it still fills your mind with unease that there’s this tug-of-war, a dispute over control. You’ve got your own life to seize, and you definitely know that better than anyone else here sitting in this room with you. 

But the press will love this, Giselle’s parents are explaining, but you and Giselle both have your tongues tied to the top of your throats - publicists and others managing your loose ends jotting down notes to make sure nothing is left unkempt. Giselle sits on the opposite end of the table, in between her parents mirrored to your format. She’s emitting this sense of tiredness, laid back and disconnected, like she was dragged to be here. Her eyes make contact with yours before darting away to a corner up on the ceiling or towards the window, while you twiddle your fingers in circles. The sigh that leaves your lips only exemplifies the boredom evermore. 

“Is there a problem here?” Giselle's mother asks, laced with a tinge of annoyance - almost like you’re taking this as a complete joke, for what it’s worth. “I’d like to remind you of the fact that you and our daughter are the sole reason that there hasn’t been any motion moved forward with this plan in the first place.” 

This is where one of your core flaws come to light: the absolute sense of unbotheredness that you bear in your demeanor. It’s not that you’re far-removed from things that you have no control over, it’s the notion that when it does get out of your hands, there isn’t really any effort coming from you to do something about it. 

Your gaze returns to Giselle, who looks at you dead in the eyes, slightly pressed and on edge. She’s telling you with her irises that she would rather break that window five feet away from you, take a leap of faith, but instead she remains sitting still - looking over to her mother again who’s clearly unimpressed with your present attitude. 

“Not at all,” you answer, a wave of the hand to double down on the sly smirk spread across your face, “I just hope that we’re not here for long so that I can agree to your terms and sign the damn contract. Is that not what we’re here for?” 

Giselle’s father looks over to his wife, the people around the room also exchanging murmurs as to what just occurred. Your parents are also aren’t willing to even look at you for a second, shifting their attention to a hand or random page on the docket, discreetly sighing before your mother puts a hand on your shoulder to dial it back. Please, she’s telling you. Don’t make this any harder than it already is for us. 

But Giselle’s mother stifles a laugh, one filled with languor and regalness as she turns her cheek the other way to hide her visible amusement. To be fair, she’s not the one that’s getting shoved into the deep end playing a cover up story; she’s got other things to divert her focus on, no worries filling up her head because she knows the endgame already. You’ve dealt with people like her before - to no avail, putting up with their tangents of how people in a lower step than them can’t really see eye to eye with those who are in the upper realms of society. 

You’re wondering too, if Giselle is like that - god forbid if that’s the case, but only time will tell. 

“Alright,” Giselle’s father says, easing the tension with a cleared throat once the laughs subside. “I don’t see why we can’t get straight to the point then: Why haven’t you signed the marriage license agreement?” 

The answer has been pretty simple and straightforward up to this point, and you gave it to them the same way you’ve always had: “I still need time to think it through.”

“Think it through?” mocks Giselle’s mother, “What’s there for you to think through? You’ll marry our daughter while our family merges into your family’s business group. While that also takes care of the other ‘incident’, you’ll also get our unwavering support going forward.”

No doubt that you’ll get the benefits and the support, but if you’re really being honest with yourself: you’re just a simple guy when dancing with the idea of love. You’d rather tie the knot with someone that you have a genuine connection with that isn’t Giselle. It might be selfish for you to think that, but it’s the truth, nonetheless. 

“It’s not that I have some sort of connection with Giselle,” you say, flipping fast to the end of the page where the blank line is still waiting to be written in ink, “I just think that it’s not fair or right for you to force us into this position; to be married, but not in love.” 

“Love? You don’t think that you could be in love with my daughter?” 

“Mrs. Uchinaga, perhaps my words weren’t as-” 

Giselle’s mother grabs her daughter’s hands, delicate and precious as if she’s encased in marble. “Play your words carefully and wisely, young man,” coy smile armed and ready to fire, “I’ll have you know that she’s got more options in the list to choose other than you. I really hope you reconsider.” 

“If I sign this contract, will you be satisfied for us to submit to your archaic idea?” 

The question drops out of thin air, with silence filling up the room again. Giselle’s parents just stare in awe while you have the pen in your hand, putting your name down in cursive across separate documents. Your mother looks over your arm while your father raises his palm up to the ceiling, a smirk at the corner of his lip with an eyebrow raised. He’s probably saying, see? I told you guys that he’ll come around. Now we can discuss the other matters that need to be taken care of.

You exhale as the pen hits the desk. A relief of unnecessary stress lifted off your shoulders while Giselle and her parents look at you in genuine surprise. 

“Okay,” you sigh, scanning everyone’s faces on the opposite end of the conference table. “Do you mind if I get some fresh air while you guys sort out the rest of the deal?” 

–

Had it been any other meeting that you attended, you’d power yourself through and stay inside to discuss the final details and clauses, but your parents and Giselle’s parents both agreed that you could stand outside on the balcony while they shackle both of your names down to the legally binding contracts. 

A ‘cathartic’ experience could also be one word to describe the thirty to forty-five minutes sitting in that room, hand quick to the pocket of your pants where your nearly cleaned out pack of cigarettes were. There were more ideal ways to relieve your stress that doesn’t involve in deteriorating your overall health, but your ears close in on the rough click of the lighter- 

“Didn’t know that you were the smoking type of person.” 

That moment right there. That’s what gets your attention; right when you least expect it and with your guard down. 

At the turn of the head, there’s this flash of these bright, heavenly, light coffee brown locks. Her jewelry is also another point of interest, illuminating and highlighting the points in her neck and wrists where the sunlight will bounce right off of them. It’s like watching a firework pop up from two feet away, blinding you with this sort of simple elegance that compliments her cool, balmy expression. 

“Do you normally come out here during the day on your breaks?” She asks, approaching closer to you while you’re indulging the rolled up piece of small paper captured between your teeth. “I mean, your parents aren’t exactly responsible for you but-”

“It’s already a bad first impression right off the bat. I know,” you tell Giselle, handing over your half-burnt cigarette, to which she takes from you as a surprise when she turns her profile out to the skyline and huffs out the smoky curls trailing from her lips. “Though, who’s gonna judge what you and I do in our spare time?” 

“You have a fair point,” says Giselle, wrist slacked as she watches the embers at the end glow in a fading orange, “Can’t keep troublemakers like us in one place. And I still can’t believe that I had to be at this stupid meeting anyway. Like-” 

“I mean, what did you think was gonna happen?” you ask, scoffing as you lean the side of your body to the paned glass on the balcony, “I’m curious to hear your side of the story.” 

Giselle brings the cigarette to her pouty lips again. You watch as her eyelids flutter shut when she hollows her cheeks slightly for the inhale, tilt her head down a bit over the balcony where she has the streets of the city in her view. Her side profile is flawless, to say the least, until you notice a small string of hickey’s blooming on the bridge of her collarbone - it’s a mental note to keep to yourself - also not your place to ask, but you can assess early on what kind of girl she is. 

The exhale she lets out is exaggerated, then the stream of smoke follows through soon after. 

“Nothing but complete bullshit, if you ask me.” She answers, tapping the ends off the edge while examining, “What about you? Since it looks like you’re the one who’s holding the end of the deal for God knows why.” 

She’s right in that regard, and you’re not denying it. 

“Among other things, I just didn’t show up. And neither did you.” The hand behind your head softens the guilt - but not by much. 

“What’s your point?”

“Well, I just had a different vision of it in my head, of how all of this would play out.”

–

The remaining details and clauses along with the marriage are finally set, with a schedule also talked about once you and Giselle head back inside. 

But there’s nothing really significant that gets mentioned regarding who will be responsible for what, and the fact that you and her aren’t even giving a single fragment of attention to your parents, solidifies that. 

“The job’s simple as it is, isn’t it?” You’re rolling your eyes while asking, “All we have to do is just pose like a married couple and look pretty?” 

Giselle snorts, gratefully falling into the mere folly of the idea. “Didn’t think we’d be in this position, but I’m behind it.” 

–

Here’s the thing about the whole idea, anyway. It never goes according to the original plan. 

It’s out of your hands though, and it’s neither yours or Giselle’s fault to put the blame on the aspect of control and logistics:

“Mrs. Uchinaga. What can I do for you?” you greet Giselle’s mother at the desk of your secretary, interrupting their super-important gossip session in the opening hours of the usual workday. “I wasn’t expecting you to be back so soon, let alone have an opening for you in my schedule-”

“I’m just dropping by, don’t worry,” reassures Giselle’s mother, holding the button of her coat when you stop your bearings right in front of her and Winter. “I was just leaving, but not to inform you about your appointment.”

“Appointment? For what, exactly?” 

“Your marriage in court.” Giselle’s mother sighs, with a flash of your eyes towards Winter, who looked completely out of the loop as well with the sudden news being dropped like a fresh bomb in water. “I had the date moved up because of some personal reasons, which I hope you don’t mind. Giselle was supposed to tell you, but I caught her out late at night, so here I am.” 

“But-” 

“I’ve left the note with your secretary,” she continues, beginning to depart from the desk. “It’s not a good look for you to be late to your own wedding now, is it?” 

You only get the last flashes of her flowing hair as she reaches the other end of the walkway, mind still processing everything that just happened in the last minute or so. Turning to Winter, “Did you know about this? Or did she just-” 

“I’m just as shocked as you.” Winter responds, an outreached hand with a simple note in her fingers, taking it and opening up the contents which confirms your suspicions. She then leans forward with the tilt of her head, “Am I invited to your ceremony? Hm?” 

“I don’t need to answer that.” You tell Winter, crumpling up the court order redecorated into an invitation. “Just clear my schedule for lunch. I’ll be having it with Giselle today.”

“Hitting it off right from the jump, are we?” 

“I’m gonna fire you if you don’t shut up.” 

–

You’re hoping that this would be the first and only time you’d ever set a foot inside a courthouse. 

Luckily, it isn’t too busy for anyone to really notice as to why you’re here. Just fulfilling your civic duties as a law-abiding citizen as a plausible reason; with the company of your family, your soon-to-be wife, and along with her family, everything about today might go well for you - keep wiping the sweaty palm along your slacks, you’ll do great, just trust me. 

Right when the ceremony is about to start, your father walks up to you, doing some last minute checks along your outfit; patting down and fixing any loose crinkle or slant along your suit, goes a bit too tight on the necktie, making you pull the collar a bit so that you could breathe. 

“Do you have any idea what you’ve thrown me into?” You ask your father, watching him get one good look at you before nodding in content. 

“You know the story well enough, kid,” he answers, and you smirk at the subtle appreciation of honesty that your father has for himself. The no-nonsense type of deal, giving it to you straight - it’s how he made you the way you are, and you’re thankful for that. “I know that you can hold your own, so be proud.” 

He gives a thumbs up from his seat as the doors open at the end of the room, welcoming Giselle. Her dress was simple, a floral pattern scattered across the cloth that radiated in this off-white tone, hugging every curve of her body (and her legs are just- okay, really? At a time like this?) as she finally reached the makeshift archway. 

She locks eyes with you, light makeup and everything. Everything that’s framed on her face just leaks out perfection, it’s captivating. From the tilt of her lips, to how her long lashes bat towards you, the tilt of her chin when she slightly looks up to compensate for the height difference. It isn’t so bad after all: realizing how Giselle Uchinaga leaves quite the apprehension  on you, all five-five of her to be exact. 

“You look good,” you tell her in lieu of a hello, palms up to where her hands meet in the middle, taking yours as the small crowd of various family and team members take their seats, letting you two take the stage from this point on. 

“Why thank you,” says Giselle, hiding the small blush breaking through cheeks as her fingers cling onto yours, voice gentle as you’re smiling along with her too. “I didn’t have time to prepare, so-” 

“I didn’t have time either, so that makes us even.” 

Giselle giggles a bit, holding herself back with a turn of her head near the wall. You decide you like that about her, but she pulls her composure back once the officiant finally gets the procession going. Everything that’s done in a wedding ceremony, regardless if it’s traditional or in court, it just ends up with endless words being stretched out for miles and miles, preaching about the joy of unity between two people. The idea alone is a beautiful tale to tell, but when it comes to the whole experience itself, it doesn't really translate the same way. 

You remember upon arriving that Giselle was going to be the first in saying the vows. Not that you were complaining, of course, mostly because you were gazing into the universe hidden behind her eyes to not even hear your name from the officiant, but she answers I do, which doesn’t cause a hitch at all. 

And what feels like forever, finally turns to the moment that everyone in the room was waiting for:

“Do you take Giselle Uchinaga to be your lawfully wedded wife?” The officiant asks. 

“I do.” 

Here is where you’re having second thoughts - for just a brief moment, not too long - how Giselle’s eyes know exactly what your worry was in that instant, telling you that it’s okay. It’ll be something that gets talked about after, no doubt a good laugh to come out of it, but if you’re gonna jump down into this sort of new hell, it’s a relief that Giselle is the one to jump down with you. 

A close of the book: “You may kiss the bride.” The officiant says, and you do. 

The angle where you take your mouth into hers is something worth swooning over. A proper lock where you’re tugging Giselle’s bottom lip slightly, slipping a bit of your tongue into her mouth that makes her grip on the back of your neck a bit tighter. She helps along with a raise of her leg with your hand, leaning her back until she presses a fingernail down into your skin, signifying a pause, returning back to the roaring cheers and applause from your inner circle watching from the seats. 

You pull her back while her hands are loosely corralled to your collarbones, taking a note of how her perfect lips mesh with yours, how small her waist fits into your arms, nicking your forehead into hers, eliciting a laugh while looking left towards your parents. 

“Hopefully I wasn’t a terrible kisser,” you mumble, parting a wisp of hair away from Giselle’s eye. “That was good, right?” 

Giselle blinks again a few more times, watching your finger treat her cheekbone. “A bit of an impromptu, but we can practice that more if you want.” 

You’re not opposed to the proposition already. 

–

Another perk, or incentive - a benefit if you will, comes in the form of your living situation from your family estate to a proper loft settled into the heart of downtown. This also means that the commute to work won’t be much of a hassle - and you can most definitely dabble with the suggestion of sleeping in a little bit more, since you are your own boss, duh. 

Just when you think that the issue of how your personal belongings would be moved over to the new place, your parents and Giselle’s had already taken the liberty of sorting that out for you two. The only thing that’s the main priority now is filling up the fridge with some of the essential goods from the market, along with some of the utensils, all in one trip up the complex. 

“Do you think-” you’re huffing, fixing your grip on the paper bags brandished across your forearm, looking over as Giselle fiddles with the keypad of the lock, inputting the wrong passcode for the second time now, “-you can open a little bit faster? My arm is killing me.” 

“Shut your whining,” Giselle replies back, getting the passcode right and swinging the door open, welcoming you and her into the relatively new space that you’ve only had for five or six days since the court wedding. Life moves a bit fast, but you’ll have a laugh to yourself when everything gets settled. “There, just set the bags down on the counter, I’ll sort them once we take a breather.” 

The city lights shimmer in the open paned windows past the living area, given the fact that the clock on the wall adjacent to the glass tells you that it’s 8 pm, and taken into account of the two boxes brought in by your mom which had some of the last few things from your room - which you’ll get to later once the shoes are off and not on the walnut flooring. 

“So,” Giselle’s beginning to say, the paper ruffling on the marble of the counter, “Just so that we’re clear again, we’re-

“Living in our separate rooms, like you requested.” You answer, circling around the kitchen island as Giselle hops up on the countertop, dangling her legs while she treats herself with a bowl full of grapes. “When we have guests over, we’ll use your room as the shared one.” 

“Cool.” She happily bobs her head, popping a grape between her lips before sucking it in the second after. “And it’s not because my room is the bigger one.” 

“Of course not,” you say, assessing the open space again before you fish another grape for yourself. 

“Before we do our own things,” she starts again, fingers in her handbag, taking out a small box encased in leather. You could already tell what it is from the crimson shade protecting the contents inside - it could be anything inside you think, let the mind imagine all of the wonderful possibilities with the intention as a gift. “My mom wanted us to have this, for added insurance.” 

When she opens the box, it reveals a silver pair of couples rings. The rigid pattern molded across the metal in two different sizes - had that not been obvious enough for who’s going to wear them. 

You pull Giselle’s ring out first, take her left ring finger, and nestle that where it belongs. She does the same for your finger, watching as her eyes concentrate on her fingers grazing across the knuckle as she twists the ring a bit in place, to add some security in the placement. 

“Looks cute,” you assess, matching your left hand with Giselle’s, watching the ring shimmer below the overhanging light. “Didn’t think your mom would be good with jewelry, but I hold my doubts back.” 

Giselle stifles a chuckle, hitting your shoulder while hunching over, tapping your arm again before sitting upright. Her hair curtains a little more than half of your neck, a quick whiff of that oceanic scent from her body wash; but she pulls just a bit to where she has this glow emitting in her wicked smile. It’s almost worth falling for - the domesticity - you’ve got your keepsakes and Giselle’s got hers, in spaces big and small where it feels like they belong. There’s also that luck of moving things fast (maybe too fast, you’re also realizing, but given the circumstance, it’s for good reason) and the telltale of it all is something literally ripped out in multiple pages of a book. You and Giselle will occupy this space for as long as you need to, and who knows what that trail might lead to - it’ll be a bridge to cross once you get to it. 

“Gotta have the appearance before you act the part,” tuts Giselle, letting her left wrist go slack, lightly resting her chin on the top of her hand. “We’ve checked off one box already, but for the other?” 

“So you're saying that we should practice that more?” 

“If you’re willing, then yes.” 

It’s something you’re not willing to fight against, the way the balls of your feet elevate your heels off the floor, tilting your head and to the side when your lips lightly press against Giselle’s. She tastes sweet, how gentle she is when her hands wrap around your neck, pulling you, eyelashes fluttering in this twitching motion when you move up, deeper into her mouth, not ever wanting to part from them in the first place, but you yield for now. 

Giselle pulls herself away, fingertips lightly gripping on the felt of your cardigan, exhaling as you lick your lips, savoring the sense a bit longer. “How was that?” she asks, your hands resting to the sides of her thighs, “You still feel uncomfortable?” 

“That’s not exactly the word I would use,” you remark, but you might be falling apart already. 

–

Not long after the last meeting with the families - give it about two or three weeks, maybe more - you’re not entirely sure at this point, the announcement regarding the arranged marriage set between you and Giselle gets out into the open world. Confirming the supposed relationship while also steering the rumors about the fraud case between both of your families away from the spotlight, just as they wanted. 

The impressions and engagements from the various article posts say a bunch of good things in high regard between you two. Most of the comments you’re seeing and hearing are raving all over you and your new fiancė, claiming that there’s a lot to be expected in how your appearance in the public will change overall going forward. 

You’ve got yourself involved with various testimonials and meet-and-greets, preaching about the value of success, with the occasional questionnaire at the end of every one of them. Some people ask about you, which you have no issue answering. While others ask about your love life (for fanservice, you assume, and something that makes all the girls crazy), to which you share your praises about Giselle; spewing all the good parts about her while holding yourself back from spilling too much, forcing a gushy expression to sell the act, but everyone adores it apparently. 

(You never forget to give thanks for how people can be swayed into falsely believing anything that they read on paper or on their phones. A tragedy in itself, but when you’re high up on the pyramid of society- 

“If only they knew the truth,” you’re telling her over the phone in the car, shaking your head at the tinted window after noticing all the people who came to the event - waving and screaming as you’re being escorted off the premises, seeing a picture on your phone of yourself hiding your face when they put a picture of Giselle on the big screen, scoffing as you get a closer look at it. 

“Just be glad that they’re loving the news.” Giselle tells you, softly laughing on her end. “Because that shows proof that the whole idea of us is working.” 

You’re probably wondering how long you can keep this facade up with her as the car continues to roll away.) 

–

“I have a thing for you,” Winter declares in another way of saying ‘good morning’, looking up with a small scowl to her face as you closely approach her desk, “Your tie is also crooked, so unprofessional.” 

“Wow, thanks for noticing, Captain Obvious,” you reply, “I was just about to fix it.” 

“It’s called an observation, genius,” retorts Winter, twisting her chair left towards you resting your elbows on the desk, “Rough night?” 

“I guess you could say.” 

Winter chuckles, types a few words on the keyboard, hits enter. “Do I really want to know?” 

“You don’t.” 

“That I can accept. And oh- by the way, Giselle actually dropped by just ten minutes ago,” she adds on, placing an envelope next to your arm. “I think that’s the event happening tomorrow night.” 

“What event?” 

“Some party that both her and your parents are putting together. I don’t know, I’m just the messenger here.” 

You rip the seal open and flip up half of the paper, which turns out to be an invite - or notice - for the obligatory gathering. Meeting with the extended family past the in-laws, all together for one big dinner and mixer. The preliminary plan right off the bat was to stay and indulge a bit, get acquainted with some of the other figures that Giselle is familiar with, then eventually leave the place and never come back for the rest of the night.

(Part of you wants to tear up the paper and bolt straight to the nearest window.) 

–

“Our car’s already outside the lobby,” Giselle tells you the next day, a simple black gown with an opening to the side where some of her leg sticks out. “And I also have your watch if you’re still looking for it.” The bluntness is already enough as it continues to add in her paradigms of sayings. 

“I’ve been ready,” you muse, stopping short by Giselle as she treats a hand to the collar of your shirt, you yourself patting down the jacket until she steps away; the blinking doesn’t stop however - seeing the prettiest features of her face up close. From those sly eyes, feathery lashes, even the dead expression shifts something in your composure. 

She hands you back your watch which clicks around your wrist in no time. You raise it up after with your ring in view - it’s Checkov’s gun, a necessary tool for the appearance, a staple in the new look. Not to mention that it shines well along with the fanciness of your appearance and Giselle’s when she puts her hand up to match. “Look at us, hm?” 

“Ready for some madness?” you ask, elbow out for her to hook. “I already want to leave.”

“Leave as in leave our place or leave from the party?” 

Giselle gives you this look of genuine concern, causing you to look away with flared nostrils and a smirk painted across your lips. 

“I was hoping that you’d get the joke,” you sigh looking down, and open the front door on the way out. 

–

Once the sunset disappears into the horizon and the shroud of nightfall takes its place, you’re fighting every single urge in your body to look at the hands of your watch - strategizing the proper time frame to sweep Giselle from whatever conversation she’s got herself into with people that look like they’ve got enough money to hideaway on an island for the rest of their lives, a big circle in the sense of community, but also a really small bubble. 

Anyway, 

The rundown of the current party for you right now: everything’s relatively tame with the people that you’ve been talking to. Some of which you haven’t seen since grad school. You get pats on the shoulder, get a glass raised for your biggest score that you’ve ever hit in your life marrying Giselle. While you’ve got the feel-pretty-good face while nursing a mojito down, because you deserve it, it’s been a long week as it is. 

So you talk - and keep talking, get some more drinks (but just enough for your own alcohol tolerance), grab a few bites from the provided food thanks to the insane catering service brought in by your parents. A few members of the press got inside access to this event, with the agreement that nothing was to be overshared. Aside from all the bright lights and nicely fitted outfits everyone’s got going on across the pad, it’s almost like they’re a part of the group too. 

Word gets round the different pods of groups; your name getting bounced around with Giselle’s, but a lean of the ear and a side eye is all you give them. You’d assume that it’s in good faith, cocking your head back over to see Giselle at a bar on the other side - upper body leaned over the counter, sharing a laugh with someone, but her body language tells a different tale entirely. 

It’s something not worth thinking twice the way your feet move at their own volition. 

A closer look the more you maintain your heading: she’s got a hand stacked to his arm, the angle her body is facing appears to show more cleavage, leaning over to stick the round part of her ass some more, the wistful gaze she’s giving this person also puts a dirty look on your face. She’s gone way too far. 

“Hey,” you greet, nose buried into her hair before you pull yourself back, giving the guy a quick look then back at Giselle. “Everything okay?” 

Giselle nods, “Just conversing. Sorry.” She’s got her hand over yours, showing the glint of the rings towards the guy, and he gets the hint - walking away with a string of apologies spilling out of his mouth. “What the hell was that for?” 

“I think we can take this discussion inside.” you say, and you grab her hand instinctively. 

–

Aside from the liveliness happening right outside the doors, you’re sheltering yourself away deeper and deeper into the walls of this massive estate. Just down a few steps, into the hallway. You don’t even live here, not anymore at least. But anywhere far away until the crowd noise and music is nearly diminished. Giselle gets rid of your grip on her wrist, and the faint vibrations of the bass match with your heart, between your ears.

Her guard is slightly up, and she didn’t even have that much to drink: 

“Wanna tell me what the fuck was your problem back up there?” Giselle asks, backpedaling away until her posterior taps the wall. The overhanging dim light in the hall makes her smaller. “I didn’t even do anything wrong, I swear.” 

“You think?” 

“No!” She softly exclaims, letting her shoulders drop while she racks her head about. “I couldn’t stand being with those girls earlier when we walked in, talking about all of my-” Her breath gets trapped between her lips, frozen still, as if she completely lost her train of thought right then and there.

“Your problems?” 

She winces a bit, as if the word was a rough tear on an old wound. “Yes.” 

“You could’ve,” you’re trying to say, stepping closer with a hand to the side of her head, looking up to the staircase where there’s an influx of laughter at the top steps, “Said something earlier, to me.”

The next revelation that follows hits you right on the nail, to the top of your head.

“I wanted to come to you.” 

It’s a sinking ship; a capsize happening in full effect.

“So why didn’t you?”

In the low highlights of fluorescent purple mixed with darkness, you meet her eyes when they shine every few seconds. A thought is there, you can tell from her gaze alone. But this was just a part to play; you remember suddenly too, why was this going to be an instance where you’re worked up over nothing? 

Deafening silence builds between the space of your bodies. A momentary time to reflect. 

“I just didn’t,” is all she answers with, and her eyes go wide, hand to your tie, fiddling away. “I should’ve, but-” 

“You didn’t.” 

It could’ve been anyone else to be with her. It could’ve been someone other than you standing where you are right now. But you’re holding your breath, endlessly wondering why if at all- 

“I’m glad that you did anyway.” 

Everything gets thrown off the table when you have Giselle’s face in your hands, kissing away to your heart’s content. You ask questions later; the only thing that matters now is how you’re bruising up her face with yours, press into her lips, her cheeks, her nose, tilt her chin up with one wrist meshed into the wall, she’s twisting and tensing, returning the pressure and indirectly asking for more, her grip is getting greedy, greedier. 

You’ve got a hold, and she’s got one on you. Her arms corral you, her leg hiked up by your hand, running upwards on her thigh. A small pocket forms between your lips and hers, and she inhales, nearly floating on air. 

(This is a litmus test, a dry run, an improv - you don’t know how far the limit is but this is essentially a leap of faith. How far can you fall from grace in the short span of time spent with someone like her?) 

But you hold back; not in nervousness, no, though her lidded eyes are in view while your breath weighs heavy. She’s not entirely sure what she’s doing, what she’s feeling. You’re also in the same boat as her; a finger to her jaw, her bottom lip, a potential claim waiting to be traced by you. It’s only natural for your hands to shift their way down to her hips, anchoring her in place with the wall, twisting her body as she patches a hot kiss to your cheek, the line of your chin, whimpering mindlessly as her dress rumples up between your fingertips- 

“Watch yourself,” you mumble in her lips, get a quick hiccup out that makes her giggle - catching her open mouth again to keep her quiet, the hands also aren’t helping when they sift down lower to her ass, a grasp where she accepts it wholeheartedly, nodding away like yes, this is good, love it when you touch me like this, I know you want more. 

The shared stumbles you and her take scaffold into this gentle slope, hobbling down the walkway as she figuratively and literally can’t keep her hands off of you, keeping herself close to where any second apart would pretty much kill her. An arm from you keeps her in check while the other is searching for an opening, a passage, a temporary asylum where you and her can harbor for a bit, away from the noise.

“Come on,” Giselle grits, her breath shaky and stuttery. “Don’t keep me waiting. I swear to fucking god. Don’t you dare make me wait.” 

That ups the ante a bit, kissing as it’s the equivalent to drinking water. You and her are shuffling down the hallway, playing a little lottery game of opening doors that lead to somewhere safe, and a stroke of luck strikes after two or three attempts. It's a bit murky with all the alcohol in your system, but the tolerance is still there. 

“What do you want?” you ask, the line coming off as a mere mutter when you take the space broadened by the tilt of her neck upwards, a lick as she burrows herself into your collarbone, seething at the teeth. “Tell me. Please, I’ll do it. I promise. Anything you want.” 

“You,” she says, biting the sensitive skin of your throat that only makes the grasp of her waist even tighter. “I just want you. Nothing more.” 

Giselle pleads, and she begs. Even when her back is against the closed door of one of the guest rooms. You’re not worried if someone will come looking for you. This shouldn’t take long, but it should also last forever. 

“I’ll treat you right,” you tell her, and it’s an act you’ll double down on. She knows how good you’ve been. You can see it in the way her body relaxes, letting you have free reign for as long as she lets you. Even as you’re kissing her again, her hand’s already quick on the gun, bringing it down to her hiked dress, past lace she’s hidden under your nose cast aside for your fingers to dip down into her slick, and her mouth goes slack suddenly, spreading her apart, chest fluttering to the peak. “That’s my job, isn’t it?” 

You can feel her, yeah. There’s no point in denying, if at all. 

“-s’more than that, remember?” she barely spits, voice tethered, and the gratitude she has in the way her hand is literally a death grip on yours, inching your digits as far as you could take them; it also doesn’t help how your thumb it lightly pressed into her clit, and she just falters on the wall, completely fucked out in tandem with some of the drinks too. “God, I can’t believe-” 

You let her have this: the way that she’s fucking herself onto your fingers, the yelp of pain into a sound of relief when your teeth mold into her skin along the line of her collarbone and neck. She’s got a little bit more of her dress higher now, watching her eyes go from sweet - to something more primal, the want infecting every inch of her body and mind as she shakes herself down again. In a split-second, you’ve got her on the nearby vanity, leaning down to keep her quiet with your mouth, a handful of her dress in one of your hands; she’s shutting her legs together with a hand stuck, fingers fully covered in her slippery cunt, yelping out loud to the point where the palm has to come in play as another muzzle, her eyes are welling up in tears and her cheeks are in this perfect rose shade, pumping your fingertips well past her breaking point. A part of you gets worried, but the soothing smacks of your lips across her exposed chest and marked up neck serve as an act of amnesty for her poor body, and she’s still asking for more. 

“Shh,” you whisper in comfort, and Giselle calms down for just a bit - but she stills every muscle and bone in her body when you find that one spot that drops her whole mouth wide open, holding her breath right in her chest and throat. “You’re doing so good for me, baby. I bet it feels amazing: having you like this.” 

She bears no answer to your merciless teasing, and the only thing that you’re fixed on is the feeling of her sopping pussy stretching out around your fingers. You almost laugh at how her hips slightly buckle upwards, and the irregular breathing as she looks down to witness the damage. 

“Please, please, please,” says Giselle. “You know what I want right now. Don’t fucking-” 

You’re reminded again at how well she can leave quite the impression. A bit unbelievable that all five-five of her small fame set on the vanity still functions properly after you’ve fucked the daylights out of her for the time being: her hands quick to undo the belt buckle and button and zipper, palming your cock that sends all synapses and impulses towards one action, and the both of you know that it’s something that you need. Her dress gets removed off little by little and- 

She wasn’t wearing a fucking bra underneath that dress. You’ll come back to that later. 

The jacket goes, then the collared shirt gets unbuttoned. Giselle’s got her legs spread out wide along with her folds, a thick tip as the first point of contact, throbbing at how the fucking clamp gets you off guard, sliding more into the proper groove. Giselle eyes lose focus, fluttering shut with a delayed movement to them, blinking. Her cunt embracing you fully, warm and inviting; it’s a lifeline, a burning one, you’ve got yourself buried deep where breaking her down comes a lot more easier. 

Her cries get through your ear canals, muttering nonsense even when you’ve got your lips on her again to shut her up. Fuck, she’s telling you, and you’ve got half the frame of mind to be with her on that. 

“Holy s-” you huff, no point in stopping now, “Yeah, okay, you-you’re so, fuck.” 

And when you do reach the base, sheathe yourself right at the hilt, this could be a culmination long awaited, but it’s right here, in this moment, where no one else is watching - let alone noticing where you two have gone, the strokes pick up a bit with Giselle’s breath in these staccatos with the thrusts you’re giving her, her head hits the mirror a bit, and a heel falls onto the floor. 

“Fuck,” she groans again. “So-so fucking deep, ugh-” 

“Oh you fucking know it,” you mutter again at the fine line of her throat, leaving another claim to the row of marks blossoming, unsure if this was what she wanted (but in truth, it’s exactly what it is.) “Relax baby, I know. Just be good for me, that’s all you have to do.” 

She begs again. A quick please that gets silence with another harsh snap of your hips into her. You’ll take her. Tear her apart until the crimson is visible everywhere on her body. She’s got a hand to a singular tit, the rebound of these endless ripples on her hips and into the curves of her body. Looking at her will do damage to your brain, and listening was already bad enough as it is - the hisses, her moans, the praises showering you at how well your cock carves into her volcanic cunt- 

You’re pulling yourself into this sort of flow state, kind of like zeroing in on a singular thing. Nothing else really mattered what was happening past this door, or what you’re thinking of doing come the next day. Giselle’s creaming cunt keeps you focused as she reaches out to lean your body forward again, lips forcing you to stay the course. As if the mere possibility of getting lost with her body was almost a one-hundred percent certainty. 

“Christ,” says Giselle, back sliding down onto the counter as your fingers find a new hold into the crease where her hips and thighs meet, yanking her back as you meet her in the middle driving forward. It sends a shock up her spine, along with a forced yelp from her lips, gasping soon after you groan while steadying yourself again back into the consistent rhythm you’ve built. “So good, so-so good.” 

“Wanted me to knock some sense into you huh?” You’re grinning as Giselle’s eyes roll back, borderline sobbing; the fucking too much to bear that she’ll give you an earful about it once all of this is done. But when her eyes look up it’s an expression that’ll be something worthy of a taunt or pretense for the next time: determination, and you might be done for. Her glint in those watered-brown eyes of hers are filled with satisfaction as they disappear underneath the eyelid again. “Was that the problem all along? What other issues do you fucking have as baggage, hm?”

“Not your business right now,” she shrieks a bit when your cock carves a bit deeper into her. “Jesus,” her ankle gets taut around the small of your back, pussy clamping hard around your cock, pausing your strokes in line with the heavy breathing. “It’s just- your cock, I can’t bel- ugh, it’s too- mmm, god.” 

When you’ve got her past the edge, it’s a beautiful sight to see, watching her orgasm front and center. It’s in the rolled back eyes, the bright flush of pink spread across her face. 

“There we go, Gis,” you say to her as her walls respond to the bodily reflex of your cock twitching inside of her. “Good girl, breathe for me. You naughty little-” 

She grabs onto your hand while her teeth hold themselves captive in her mouth, muscles along her waist tensing until she leaks out a clear yell, “Fuck, fuck, fuck you, fuck your mouth, your fucking co- God, I hate how good you are at this, it’s infuri-” 

You muffle her with the necktie, and a pinch of her clit while your cock bottoms out in her momentarily sedates the screaming. 

“Too fucking loud,” you spit, watching her whimper away with the article trapped on top of her mouth: “Is my cock not enough for you to shut up?” 

She couldn’t give any care for the questions - granted that they are rhetorical. But her pussy is still unbelievably tight around your cock still. She’s got some of her lower back rolled up, the slick spread across your hips and onto the vanity counter as well. Her heat is already addicting enough to where you only want more. 

“Please, honey. Please keep going,” her voice is close to a siren’s call, laced with the begging, but your hands are a little faster than your mind, pulling her into you again, leaning down for another desperate kiss. You take and give, and you’ll let her have it. She’s gonna feel the soreness come tomorrow morning when you’ve carried her up the stairs and into her bed, watch her cling onto your arm or waist or the nape of your neck; get the grip of her in your fingers to a point where you’re pressing down so fucking hard that she’s gonna need a massage gun to better service her hands when she’s rubbing those hard-earned and sorry bruises across her hip bones and legs. A selfish thought consumes your brain; long-manifested from watching her at a distance with someone else that isn’t you- 

“You’re mine,” you grit, biting into her skin. You simply can’t stop. “You’re all mine, oh god, baby, just-” 

There’s really no other explanation to put in: filling her pussy endlessly as the back of her head hits the mirror, letting the clench of her walls around your shaft hold so tight to the point where you’ve got your fingers holding you true; in that dripping mess that keeps on leaking - hooking on one of her folds where she’s twitching again. Her entire body goes slack, a firm slap of her hand on the counter as her back arches upwards while you flinch at the pocket of air created in her cunt. 

“No one else,” she says with a bit of a hitch, a winced noise followed by the crinkle across the bridge of her eyebrows, “you’ve always wondered why.” It’s a spontaneous confession, she’s too unsure if it’s her talking or the alcohol. “It’s just you.” 

You get a bit sloppy with the snaps, fix her legs up to where the balls of her feet are pointing up to the ceiling - you kiss her calf and ankle, toss her other heel in a dark corner of the room. No surprise that you’re unsure too about the toss, but it’s worth going with the flow. 

“Don’t do this to me,” you’re telling her, pleading, the sigh leaving your lips is almost pathetic. You’ve got your fingers right at her underboob, the dress rolled up to her waist where you hold yourself down with every motion, watching her uncovered tits ripple on the upstroke, putting your cock deep into her to the point she might go slack in her body. She gasps, an exhale of relief - and you could feel the meat of her calf tense along your shoulder; pressing her legs closer together - to wrap her around your cock tight. Tighter. The weight of your is unbearable for her as her back flushes across the table- 

You get one good thrust in her again. Bottoming out, watching her keen at the thickness of it. Hold her there for a bit, listening to her steady stream of dry air, reveling in the slight throb your cock pulsates inside her cunt; you needed to take a quick breather, it’ll be too much if you get ahead of yourself- 

She doesn’t seem to bother about your quick desire to stop, saying: “Go,” and, “Move for me.” Fucking hell, this front of her is going to be a nuisance. Her eyes roll back forward with the slimmest smile, slowly, cautiously- 

“Do you always fuck your girls like this? Or am I just the lucky one who gets to see you this way?” 

The grasp to her neck proves to be the sufficient answer you could give her. 

Let alone the sound of the harsh crack of your hips slamming into the underside of her thighs. 

“Oh god- baby, yes.” Even when her throat is wrapped around your fingers, the noise she makes and the words mold all around your digits. “Just like that.” 

Another drag out of her wetness, and the pin drop inside her is a lot more forceful than the last. You’re pretty sure you could pick up the slight squelch her pussy makes around your cock. 

“Jesus.” You’re saying, the simplicity alone is enough to not elaborate any further. “Giselle, your cunt, my goodness.”

Giselle nods, plummeting your mind deeper into her madness. 

It won’t be any long now for her drink in the sight of you filling her up, your body bent over forward and buried between her tits, unwilling to look up at her small grin of satisfaction. And even when you do, just out of curiosity, she whimpers again once you’ve decided that the pace needed to be upped a bit faster; feel her quivering cunt collapsing around the length, watch her eyes go wide, match her parted lips and groans in the same volume as you hold her down - right where she belongs. A small intermission. A pause - spreading her wider, closing in the space between her legs again with your hips, and you pick up right where you left off into fucking her. 

You’re being pulled in close again, a mandatory kiss where Giselle’s got her fingers into the line of your neck, slipping your tongue into the corner of your mouth. She laughs through her nose when you brush the tip of yours across her cheek, let her feel the crease in your eyebrows that gets tangled with her platinum shade hairs. Her lips taste like this mix of cider, with some additional drinks that she’s had in the past hour and a half or so, tongue licking away of all the sweat and slick spread across, hips moving on their own accord as you’re rebounding her back after every thrust. 

“You feel so good.” That’s an admission that you’ll come back to every given time, slipping inside of Giselle’s pussy so easily. Consuming you. Safe to say that you’ve had your fair share of sexual experiences and escapades up till this point - some of which are more worthy of remembering than others, but for some reason this time is different, and you’re not so entirely sure as to why. “This fucking- ugh, your pussy is amazing.” 

“Uh huh.” She simply nods, grazing her lips across your cheek and lips, lost in the movements, her throat bobbing down a swallow. Your grip loosens up a bit, tenderly, slowly dragging your cock out of her well-fucked pussy and watching the small slings of her slick form on her thighs and your hips. Her whole appearance is a battlefield personified: clean porcelain now tattered and stained with marks in a darker, rosy shade, her lipstick smeared at the corners, the fringes in her hair falling forward - curtaining her forehead just a bit, the glint in her eyes still shining in all of its glory, hiding behind her heavy eyelids in every languid blink as she rests her head on the mirror again for what might be the last time. “You’re-you’re gonna, you’re gonna make fucking cum.”

The reflexive clamp she has on your throbbing cock, brings you back to reality, drawing yourself back and pummeling deep into her creaming hole as you see the first hints of white splotches resting at the base when you coax the rhythm for a few seconds. It’s in the devil’s details, watching Giselle fall apart again right before your eyes, hands grasping and letting go bundles of your shirt as she spreads her legs even wider, holding her right at the divot of her hips and top of her legs; swollen pink pussy folds well wrapped around your shaft. She’s like a nice bundle of rope: unraveled, tattered, used. 

“You’re getting so close,” she assesses, a teasing finger along the firm muscle of your stomach, clutching onto your shirt after. “I can feel you shaking.” 

“Fuck-” 

It comes in a shudder, when you’ve finally reached that high apex you’ve been working towards with her body, her cunt, her lips - sliding out of her with a hand fast around your shaft, fingers slipping a bit across the length as you leak out hot cum all over her hips. She’s gritting her teeth when you press her leg up a bit too high, the stretch of muscle a little bit too much as she’s shuddering at the feeling of your thick load hitting her flushed pink yet porcelain skin. A sigh of relief leaves her lips, loving everything about it; a bit shocked as you continue to pump out of your hand. 

“Holy shit,” she mumbles, humming as her chest heaves in a decreasing pace, coming down, “You really just- wow, what a fucking mess you’ve made. Dirty boy.” 

You pay half-attention to the taunt, doing everything in your power to lower your heart rate back to normal. The grip you have on your cock is a bit too tight, slapping the head on her clit, gets a soft ‘ah’ out of her, then she coos; grateful, satisfied. 

“Can’t call me that with all the shit you said just now,” you tell her, thumb to her cheek, her bottom lip. She gives in so easily, a small peek into the neverending black hole she possesses with that look on her face, especially in her eyes, the way that your thumb slips into those plush lips of hers, sucking greedily, like she wants more out of you. The way the plane of her tongue brushes across the pad, how her cheeks hollow and suck as if it were your cock - oh, about that, that’s already a can of worms you’ll open up and uncover as a practicing theory, what will become of her after tonight - the different possibilities opening up as her eyelids flutter at your loving touch; the way she leans- 

“Mmm,” she gives you, and her doe eyes give you this expression of neediness, the sparkles of lust still apparent in them, her tongue swirling as you try to fight the urge of catching your teeth with your bottom lip, wanting to do something about her slutty attitude. And the idea pops up in your head more quickly than expected. 

Your hand retreats from her face, trails down to those perky breasts of hers, her sweaty abs, a quick hook onto the top of her thighs to pull her closer to you as she tries to sit up. Giselle laughs a bit as your cock lightly taps her pussy lips, making her suddenly tense up at the contact, humming after as she watches two of your fingers scoop up some of the filthy mess you’ve left all over her waist, rub it between your tips like it’s some sort of substance that’s unfamiliar, tap it against her lips as she opens up her mouth, following along to what you’re doing. She can be like this, which might be a good thing, and you’ll treat herself to the reward. 

It’s in the way her cheeks flush again in the low light of the vanity. Your fingers in her mouth, holding, rubbing, cleaning off the sticky mess between your digits. Those plump, half open lips, you could see a bit of your cum on her tongue. 

“Swallow,” you’re telling her, mind still trying to process the sight of her licking your load in between your fingers and knuckles. “All of it, Giselle. Swallow it all.” 

She doesn’t say anything else after that, just being obedient to what you demanded of her to do. 

Part of this feels right, but then at the same time it doesn’t. 

Your hand trails the same pathway down, only this time stopping right at the side of her left breast, staying there. She offers up a hand for you to take, sitting her upright, lets her knees hang off the edge as you’re standing in between the pair of them still, stroking her thighs while you smother yourself back into her chest. This could be a moment of realization or regret, or that could just be your own mind playing the game of worrying too much over something that’s too little to be that big of a deal. 

Giselle licks her lips, offers them to you, which you take - kissing her again. You could feel her jaw clench when you pull her by the side of her face, tongue slipping unconsciously back into her mouth, pressing and clashing with hers, inhaling the sweet stench of sex emitting from her body and yours too. 

“You’re a mess,” she whispers, leaving a few strings of kisses across the lower half or your cheek, winces a bit when you pinch the side of her waist a bit too tightly, soreness still present. “How long have you been wanting to do that to me, mm?” 

“Think we could save that for another time?” And you just happily play along to what she’s inquiring, voice low and inviting. “I’d rather worry about getting out of here first.” 

You give Giselle a bit of space for her to rearrange her dress a bit, looking over your shoulder for that discarded heel in one of the dark corners; hand quick to her waist to lick and clean up the leaking mess while you swipe a piece of the bedsheets nearby to wipe down the mess on your waist and all over her cunt- 

“Lend me your jacket.” She asks politely, finally standing up with a bit of a wobble in her legs. “It did get a little bit chilly when we walked on the way in.” 

–

You see, nobody bats an eye or raises a brow in suspicion when you’ve managed to leave your family estate in record time. 

As for those who did take notice, you simply told them that going home early was always the plan in the end. The valet who took care of your car at the front foyer also gave a look to you holding the door for Giselle; well, he could easily tell judging at the way your jacket was on her - heels in your hand as he could only assume one thing and one thing only. Kudos to him for keeping it on the low, in addition to the considerable tip you handed before driving away. 

“Should’ve left a whole lot sooner,” she tells you, a bit of a harsh press on the brakes when you then stop at a t-junction. 

She’s got the seat almost all the way back, her legs bunched up with your jacket now covering her front, fiddling with a finger between her lips as you alternate glances from her and the intersection. “That’s what I told you before we walked in earlier.” 

To be fair, it isn’t your fault in the first place. All honesty aside, it was nice to spend some quality time with some old friends, play catchup and all. You could’ve stayed as long as you would’ve liked, stayed over for the night and just go back to your new home the next morning. Giselle would’ve been on board with the idea had you told her, but instead she had other things to set in motion. 

“It’s events like these,” she breathes, “They’re always boring. So boring. It’s been that way with me since I was little.” The jacket falls a little below the shoulders, exposing her clavicles, and runs a hand over them as if she was doing some heavy lifting. Doesn’t help that her hair falls along with the piece, showing more of her pale, yet marked up neck. 

“We’ve always crossed paths,” you say, slowly steering the car left and down the road. “I mean- I was literally with you at your birthday party, so of course I can relate to what you’re feeling.” 

She looks left, then down at your hand resting on the gear shift, remembering the not-so-distant memory. “Yeah, I guess you can.” 

“Hm?” 

“Nobody else was appealing, when my parents were searching for someone that could be best suited to be my ‘husband’. All of the other considerable candidates never really made a case to be a worthy suitor in this absolute shitstorm.” 

“Don’t you know it?” 

Giselle chuckles again, the bright glow of the arrow signs reflecting off of the headlights, then fading away into the eventual darkness. Most of the ride has been filled with silence, with the low growl of the tires rolling against the pavement and the constant ambient whirring that the engine was emitting. 

“So why me?” you ask, darting your eyes back from Giselle onto the road. “You could’ve gone with anyone else, but why choose me?” 

“It was a simple decision,” she answers, shifting her body to the side with the seat belt loosening as you move through a few sequences of winding turns. “Most people aren’t very easy going when they warm up to me; but since I’ve known you for quite a bit, I thought it would feel just as natural since we’ve had that sort of-”

“Connection, huh?” you chuckle, putting the car in a lower gear when you reach a decline on the road. You give another look at her face shimmered in yellow, low eyelids and slightly parted lips as you and her examine each other’s features, nodding in agreement when nothing else is said. 

Giselle then moves your hand over to her exposed thigh, letting it rest there as your thumb runs across the plush surface. 

“I want another,” she says, clasping your hand on her leg, nails slightly digging into the skin of your wrist. 

You snort in response, almost thrown off at the sudden request. “What do you mean, another?” 

“You should know exactly what I mean.” 

“I’m not entirely sure I’m following you on this.” 

“Do you want me to put it in a way that makes you understand?” She asks, her voice teetering into a small smile, the blatant innuendo splayed across her face. The grip of your wrist in her hand grows a bit stiff, and yours holds steady on the underside of her thigh. 

“How do you suppose that’ll go?” you ask, sliding your hand up into her more. “I can pick up on things pretty fast.”

“Pull the car over and I’ll give you the explanation.”

–

(Like you needed the necessary explanation. 

All it took was a hand to your hardening crotch beneath your pants and before you know it, you’ve got the car off to the side of the road, not exactly secluded and discreet about the way that she’s bent over on the side of the car, hot breath fogging up the metal across the hood as she’s got other things to worry about in your cock filling her up again. Her dress is already back up to her waist as your slacks are slipping off the rim of your thighs. There’s also the occasional presence of some crickets sheltered away in the patches of grass, the slaps of your hips fucking into Giselle’s, turning your head in reflex when you hear an audible snap somewhere in the darkness - probably a fallen branch, or something like that. 

It’s a bit hard to keep yourself composed when she’s cumming all over your cock again. 

Her body goes limp, a hand is splayed on the headlight. You’re holding her by the breast, cream-slicked cock slipping inside her once more, ripping her open. She can’t even look back over her shoulder, the strained noises coming out of her keeps on filling your ears, throwing her lower half back into yours to make the blowback just as brutal. Every passing second underneath your pressure, she crumbles - well-worked and carnally raw. 

“-s’deep. Fucking- bitch. Oh, darling - ah” 

Your hands hold firm at her waist, driving in, watching as her ass perform this hypnotic ripple against your legs. She loves this, adores the fun of having a rough-fuck; unwilling to get enough of your cock sliding through her throbbing nerves when your shaft makes contact along the slick surface. The motion itself gets you lost endlessly, cupping her ass, pressing and grasping at the supple skin, leaning over when her back arches a bit, getting your face buried in the back of her head, flushing your hips into hers like it’s some long lost art piece. Like you realized just moments ago: she just can’t get enough, and neither can you. “Giselle,” you’re breathing, soft and gentle. She hushes you, lets the sopping wetness of her pussy speak for itself, grinding an angle at the hilt that makes your breath hitch.

Every plea, utterance, and worry that’s said after her exaggerated gasps when your cock slows its drag inside her walls, the declining rubs inside her cunt make her body convulse. 

“You’re the fucking worst,” you tell her, and she nods with a smirk at the corner of her lip - an admission. 

“Sounds just like me.” she says, all fucked out and gratified.) 

–

The weekend passes, and the weekday rolls around again to take its place. 

On most days, it’s a rinse and repeat: walk in, settle some deals, make some calls, sit through these boring ass meetings, toss the post-it notes stuck on your monitor by Winter in the trash can before your occasional smoke break, treat yourself to the catered lunch provided for the team members by the company. It’s relatively tame for the most part, and Giselle pops in the building every now and then in her family’s stead, making sure that the transition period in the merging process is going as smoothly as possible. 

“She looks like she’s in good spirits,” Winter tells you when she sees you and Giselle wave goodbye to each other one afternoon outside your office, pen tapping on her pursed lips as you stop at the corner of her desk. “I’m surprised that she’s doing some work for her parents around here as well. Didn’t expect that.” 

“Keeping me in check,” you say, closely observing the curve of her ass peeking around the fabric of her dress as it goes out of view past the corner and near the elevators. “It’s a transactional thing: ensuring that I’m doing my job just as much as she’s doing hers.” 

“So, is it clicking between the two of you?” Winter asks, not even facing you. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I guess I meant that you’re holding up well after the whole arrangement?” Winter adds on, turning again fully invested, “Being forced into an arranged marriage. A loveless marriage would be a better term to coin it.” 

“Well,” you try to answer, but your train of thought gets lost in your own head. “I feel like it’s a little bit out of convenience - letting my parents take advantage of a huge part of my life that I wanted to have control over. But we’re willing to make it work, I think.” 

“Huh?” 

“We have history, Winter.” The shake of your head makes your secretary laugh a bit, almost baffled at the declaration. “Who knows what happens from here on out. Besides, I might have a change of heart at some point, so have some hope.” 

“If you’re happy, then I’m happy,” says Winter, tapping your hand resting on the railing of the cubicle. “You’ve got the ring on your finger to prove it, partially, but I’ll always love and support you in whatever you do with her.” 

You wave a hand at her as you move away from her desk, a bit annoyed - still smiling. 

“Do you wanna grab lunch with us whenever she drops by the floor again?” you ask, walking back to the open door of your office. “Offer stands on the table for the time being.” 

Winter muses. Me? Third-wheeling? Pfft- low blow, boss. The mutter could be heard under your low chuckle. She raises a fist up in the air to celebrate, hides it away when you tell her to get back to work. 

–

Giselle sends you a text two hours later in between breaks: Pick me up? 

You’ve got roughly until five until you could clock out, but this report needs to be sent to your father before you leave. I could make a detour before we get some food later, but yeah. I can make that happen. 

A smiling emoji. She sends. A bit vague, but you could tell that she’s ditzy on her end of the phone screen. 

Almost done? 

Some last minute submissions. 

Nice. 

Dinner somewhere? 

You ask, you buy. 

What about after? 

I’ll pay you back when we get home. 

(No point in asking how, she knows exactly how to go about that.) 

–

It takes about one missed call followed up with a few more rings at the second time calling to the return, but Giselle answers with a whole-hearted laugh on her end. 

“Sorry,” she greets after saying hello, “There’s been a change of plans. I’ll see you at home. Someone came to see me on my way out of the office and-” 

There’s another laugh in the background. Sounds familiar, nearly cat-like and sly. A clear contrast to the gleaming tone Giselle has, radiating like the glare of the sun bouncing off the overhanging windows from the neighboring towers across the three-building campus.

“Darn,” you say, “And here I was actually getting excited to come see you.” 

“We can move it to tomorrow, I should probably have you meet-” then the phone picks up a little shuffle of handlers, Giselle complaining a bit and suddenly, another feminine voice takes over the call - Sorry not sorry for stealing your girl. She’s been putting me off, but now she’s on my time. Hope you don’t mind. 

“Wait,” you’re telling her again, confused, “Who’s your little girlfriend? She sounds cute as well.” 

“You’ll see soon,” says Giselle, a bit airy. “A real dazzler, she’s absolutely perfect, a fucking bitch, but the complete package.” You’re thinking twice when there’s an audible smack of a pair of lips on her neck that makes her mewl on the microphone. 

You’re rolling your eyes as you nestle in the backseat of the car, and say, “better play nice. I’ll see you later,” and then you end the call. 

–

But you never really figure out this mystery woman is, who poached your wife right outside her office building. At least you’re thankful for the wonderful gentleman on Giselle’s detail bringing her back - in one piece, despite the disheveled appearance from the smeared lipstick to the waves of messy hair that would need to be tended to on her own terms. So, uh. You’ll ask for the debrief sometime in the morning. 

–

Coffee grounds are getting brewed, and nothing fills up the apartment more than some homey jazz softly blasting from the speakers on the record player. 

It’s an exceptionally slow kind of morning: the kind where you look at the alarm of your phone screen and just toss it off to the nightstand while muttering to yourself to stay in bed for five more minutes, and to be fair, maybe for the rest of the day. 

While you’re waiting for the food on the cast iron to cool down, you indulge yourself to an article that covered a past press event that had you and Giselle both in attendance. Granted that it was one of her close friend’s fashion line releases in the form of a pop-up event Giselle insisted that you’d tag along just for the testy thrill. To get out of the office and breathe a little bit. C’mon, it’ll be fun. 

There’s a thread of pictures you scroll by on your tablet of you and her taking in the moment of presentation; people absolutely losing their shit just by being and breathing the same air as you and her, nothing short of the love well received for the two of you. It’s seen in the details: you look up to the four levels above of people cheering both of your names, the next slide looking outward to a distant camera capturing the image. A few more following images show you laying your eyes on Giselle, from the embracing smile, her hand up in bright surprise, with another still showing her returning the same look she always does earnestly. But what the people don’t realize is that just before this showing, you and her had a small heated argument in the elevator minutes before stepping on stage; she came out of it clean while you’re the one with damage control - fixing up your collar and smearing some of the lipstick left on the single corner of your lip. The confused beam on your face sells the whole thing entirely. 

The feed’s comments are still raving and fawning about this whole pairing, too. And it seems that isn’t going away anytime soon; even when the most liked comment says: “i bet they smile at each other when they fuck. God they’re so hot.” 

<“you think their parents high-five each other whenever they see them together?”>

The list goes on, and one says: <“it’s still unbelievable that they’re actually together and omg i just can’t get over them!”>

Various comments are just filled with exclamation points and lovely emojis. 

Another person also says a few swipes down: <“doesn’t seem convincing to me. almost as if they’re just showing for the title/label rather than out of genuine affection.”>

<“you’re right. also, where tf are their wedding pics?”>

See? It’s worth the subtle nod and the raise of impressive eyebrows to know that not everyone is fully onboard with the whole situation. You think, people can’t be easily swayed by what the media portrays, considering the fact that any shrivel of credibility is either legit or nothing but smoke. 

Giselle then walks in from the hallway; encased in a linen robe, messy bedhead and with a lazy yawn. “You’re up early.”

“It’s almost ten.” You tell her. “I’m getting a late start to the morning.” 

“Busy day?” asks Giselle, one eye open still when she rounds the kitchen island, puts her cheek against your shoulder, looking over to see your daily spontaneous read. “I was supposed to see someone later today.” 

“Is it ‘your dazzler’ date from last night?” you address, towering over the top of Giselle’s head when she leans into you to see the assorted breakfast. “Looks to me like you had a little too much fun with her.” 

“Not your business,” she replies, stealing a blueberry from your stack of pancakes. Not the ideal response from her - especially since she’s usually open and practically blunt with sharing bits of her life and adventures. “I saw those comments on that article you were looking at from our outing a while back and let me tell you: they’re right.” 

“You think?” 

“I know.” Her answer alone should serve all the truth as to what things are between you and her. The label of ‘husband and wife’ isn’t all extravagant fireworks and worth pulling the aged wines to swirl big glasses around over - let alone fooling nearly every person that follows your daily life into one big, misleading lie. When she settles into the high chair with a knee up, her sweater that isn’t exactly her’s and you know it, her pensive expression is far ahead of your thought process already. 

“Do you think this whole marriage is out of convenience?” 

She looks at you clearly baffled, eyes wide. “I- well, I was gonna ask you the same thing. What do you think?” 

“I think your thoughts are more important than mine at the moment.” 

Giselle leans forward with an elbow on the table, chin dipping low and heavy. “There’s something for our parents to gain from this. Some cover up; more money, more pull - blah blah blah blah blah. I think they just wanted us to get involved in some way, they’ve had the idea of us being set up since we were teenagers. The picture is one big fucking mess to me.” 

“Well if you look at the comments, then-” 

“We’ve already commensurated on that note, don’t you forget.” Giselle smirks, a faint fingertip tracing the inner part of her bottom lip. “A marriage out of convenience could also mean that we’re sex partners out of convenience. You’re not slick for ogling at me either, but what are you gonna do?” 

“I’m gonna head to work,” you say with the shake of your head, “We can have a chat about this later.” 

Giselle looks at you in a firm victory; the corner of her lip quirks when you pass by her while clearing your throat, avoiding her question for the time being. 

–

Yet the question bounces around your mind all day while in the office later, trailing off in spaced daydreams of all the things Giselle as you sit at your desk. 

(She has completely fucked you up.) 

–

You’d expect for an easy walk-in past the door once the long day’s already passed. Nothing too exhausting: a few business calls here, an outing with a client from your father’s agenda, and just staying chained to your office chair for a majority of the time isn’t very grand, but it’s the usual work flow. 

But to your surprise, somebody’s already made themselves at home. 

A quick dig into the heels of your loafers next to the pair of heels and you settle your bearings towards the living room - lights on and everything, safe to assume that Giselle’s only been here for no longer than a few minutes (hinted by handbag resting on one of the high-rising seats next to the kitchen island). Exhaustion fills up your mind, weighed down by the assortment of your keys and watch in hand, which you toss into the designated bowl signifying your arrival and growing presence that gives off this small echo down the hallways (since you also know that Giselle likes to keep her door propped open for better airflow). 

Entering to your right, you hear: “Hey, home already?” She meets you in the middle as you stop short before the couch, turning to see Giselle in her casual one piece dress, half of her hair present as she combs it down with her fingers, blinking dutifully. “I thought you’d be back later.” 

“Well yeah. But I figured that I could use some of the downtime now,” you’re saying, fishing a pen out of your pocket, then your phone; both of which get tossed to the center portion of the furniture. You unbutton your cufflinks with a tilt in your head as Giselle slips out of her cropped coat, “I don’t have anything for the rest of the evening.” 

“Really,” she replies, and the prose isn’t necessarily a question nor proposition when she says that single word - hands already working to the zipper on the back of her attire. “I was hoping that you did.” 

The first few buttons on your shirt start to part, and Giselle carries forward out of her dress, the black lace underneath presented to you in all of its glory. 

“And what would you do with your alone time had I not come home at all?” you ask, closing the distance between you and her. “I suppose you would’ve had another problem on your lap for me to deal with.” 

“You still have to answer my question from this morning.” 

When she gets both hands deep into the space of your collarbones, hopping up from the floor as you catch the underside of her thighs, holding her in place at the hip when you lightly press her into the nearby pillar of your foyer, it’s a bit laughable in your head as to how easy it is for her to fall into this sense of rhythm - much like a waltz even, lips fast to yours with the dirtiest and most insatiable smile she could ever pull on you. These habits, her issues, the livelihood that she lives by, it’s a tattering case to your own personal code in which you have no complaint or refute to bring up- 

“Sex partners out of convenience?” You say to her as she’s left breathless under your pressing touch, warm mouth and hands claiming familiar territory. “Now what makes you think that’s the overall gist of what we’re doing here?” 

Giselle raises an eyebrow, hides away as she leans down to kiss you again, wanting to let her current appearance and actions do the talking for her. She plays you like it’s some game; pushing your buttons in all the ways that she knows and likes - for you to treat her like an exploit and an advantage to get her point across. And maybe you realize again: that’s all that she’s ever good for. 

You run a finger through the fabric of her panties: “Baby, you’re soaking wet.” 

“Now you’re talking about my kind of discussion.” 

–

With that said discussion, there’s a few laws of honesty drawn up in your head: 

The first law: it’s the rush of dopamine to blame when you have Giselle’s slick soak your face and fingertips - how she groans and writhes into the mattress as your tongue licks up the mess left out of her cunt; the shade goes to a hotter pink as she grinds her hips against you, eyes opening wide and fluttering shut, clenching in the same way her teeth scrape together. Another implication could be seen in the way that your hands hold firm on her plush, thick, marked up ass; how she let you have control as you turn her head and bend her limbs in all the ways to get you off, hushing out these profane sayings and words to her as you work up to her second orgasm - or third (who’s really keeping track at this point, huh?) You like it when she asks to take a breather, have you walk away for a bit before she gets in this pouty fit, a mood that needs to be sated in cumming again, choke her moans out on the couch for a change of scenery. When she reluctantly admits - as three of your fingers slide into her tightness while your other hand is to the small of her back and your head is at the side of her face, buried in her hair and keeping her arched up, digging deeper. 

The second law: you wouldn’t have to do anything to Giselle and she’d immediately pick up on what you want, the way her eyes would tell you to ‘just come fuck me already, you know you want to’ and the sheer glint beneath her irises sparkle a bit more when you’re teasing the clit as you settle into the seat. 

“Y’know, I always wondered what your other fuckbuddies would think: if they saw you with me and how I’m handling you,” you start to say, eyes focusing and unfocusing in the valley of her breasts - red lines visible along the pale skin as your fingers slip along her thighs a bit - still covered in Giselle’s juices. 

“Hmm,” she sighs out, lowering herself onto your lap and the hitch of breath apparent as she expected for you to get right down to business; but you’re not, and clearly that’s driving her up the wall. Listless words whispered out with little to no meaning. It’s in the wet blanket of her pussy, the stickiness dragging a torrid heat all over your bare cock. 

“Too bad they don’t have that kind of luxury anymore.” you continue on your senseless rambling. “Considering that I’m the lucky one now, which to be honest, is kind of one of the best things I have against you.” 

“What are you even saying?” Giselle questions, losing her train of thought with a good thrust upward, letting her grind down on your hips; holding her down at the top of her thighs as her hands find their place around the crook of your neck. “Just because I let my past flirts use me as- as some fucktoy? You have that as the idea against one of my many points of leverage, baby. God, you-” 

“I get what they mean, if that’s what you’re selling,” you assume. 

She swears. 

“Imagine that, Giselle - with a body like yours, only used to be fucked. Sounds like a pretty damn good deal to me.” 

She elevates her hips for a slight second, hovering over your cockhead. The first few inches following your tip dips up into her cunt, the drenched, most prettiest pair of lips. You tilt your head back - watch the reaction on her face when you dial it back - the twitch in her shoulders and neck muscles as if she already was at that high again, the look on her face in nothing but positives and unbounded; and somewhere in her cerebral cortex, she should know that the moment you thrust up, she’d be a goner - that’s the effect your cock has on her, how she’d mindlessly fuck herself into using it, every opportunity presents a new suggestion, the intent of making her into a messy puddle of mush, a blithering wreck. 

And it’s a form of entertainment in itself when the propositions are thrown up. In a rough write-up in paper and in the sketchbook in your head, the way that she looks in bed: her glistening pussy, dripping, and in a fucked-out mess. You keep dragging your cock through her swollen folds, stagnant, lethargic. You press on with the inquiries - asking, taunting - they’re never meant to be taken literally: “don’t you know that you can think of better ways to convince someone about something without putting your body and attitude to the equation?” 

Her eyes open carefully, her grin tilts a bit, cheeks blushing, and the voice carrying the lump of air past her mouth gets winded: “wouldn’t have the slightest idea, honey.” 

You could feel the warmth growing from her forearms as it nestled over your shoulders, fingers twitching for a proper hold, the press up of her thumbs raises your head to look up at her. She also tossed the idea to you when she visited your office earlier this week, the tempting proposition of just fucking her right then and there across your desk. 

(It didn’t help in the way she presented it too: 

“What would your other team members think?” she probes, the shiniest twinkle in her doe-eyes with the falsest naivety, “Hearing me getting fucked by you with the door wide open? Raise my skirt up for the easiest access you could ever have. Leave a few lipstick prints over your shirt so that everyone knows who you belong to?” 

Blindsided or not, it sends a few synapses in your brain firing.) 

So you’re playing the hard way, a clear contrast to how things unfolded last time, honestly - watching her do this little wiggle over your lap, eyes brimming with light. Her hips, and the little gut-punch movement of her stomach are slow, then pick up suddenly a second later, searching for something close to a rest but coming up empty. Your head dips back a bit to the crown of the couch when the sound of her whines hold steady, breathing cautiously when she fills the open space of your chest, panting into it. 

Your grip on her waist when you bring your head forward again to kiss her left breast - catch a nipple between your teeth, nibbling, biting. 

“Ow, ah-” she blurts, a pitiful chuckle following soon after. Maybe it’s in the double jeopardy - the way she gasps from the shackled chamber of her chest in this stuttering fashion and goes a little more frantically than normal when your thick tip rubs against the outright nub of her clit. She’s sensitive, and very fucking responsive. “Wow. Jesus.” 

Giselle’s hot, pink, satin lips of her pretty, puffy little cunt, hovers right over it: dripping onto your hardened length as you dip your cockhead back in again, nearly there, the heavy weight of her sitting on your dick - but not quite yet, almost. She’s indecisive between grinding her bottom half on your cock, or getting more of your lips and fingers, could be both, anything would suffice for her. She isn’t really begging, per se, but you can just tell: all of the pretty little things that she wants, but can’t admit; the quiet please, I swear to God, why don’t you just stick it in me- or, the incoherent ‘more, baby, I can’t wait any longer, don’t make me- it’s so good - and you already know, you’ve heard it before, how badly she wants it when you let the pads of your fingertips deeper into the spots she loves and likes. 

“You would lose it, so fast,” you start, a sigh of relief into the canal of Giselle’s ear, holding the bottom of her spine steady as your cock starts to stretch the drenched walls of her cunt and let her fall slowly - you could feel the tension in her thighs, her toes curl into the cushions. The sharp, high-pitched whine sounds broken. 

She mutters a ‘please’ - and it rings so prettily, too. 

“I really could let you just slide your perfect, sloppy cunt all over my cock. Be good for me. You wouldn’t even stop for a second, getting yourself off in an instant.” 

Giselle’s eyes squeeze shut, nodding profusely, lips parted. 

And in a way, christ, she could switch that look in her eyes from a flickering promise to a dwindling vortex instantaneously; the wide pupils she has that are near impossible to examine, the pretty mouth hung low a little past halfway, this magenta shade she emits and her head’s lolling. She’s getting more restless, hips moving shallow and not in the way that she wants them to. She knocks a bit of your forehead to your crown, a mix of a whimper and whisper of your name, and it’s a tempting beck and call to her.  

It’s a little overdue for dinner and she’s fucking lost it, hips grinding with yours; the smooth, practied moves of her working cunt, hard, like she means it, like the need to cum for her has to be around something in the most vile ways - her whole face and neck and chest are flushed in this new shade of color and her eyes are hidden behind her eyelids, cock grinding hot between the space of her thighs. She’s squirming - coming apart and pleasing when she’s so out of control, only reduced to her barren sense. To the feeling, the fulfillment of your fingers - or the fine, hard line of your cock dragging along her wetness and thighs, at an angle that you’ve managed to hit a few times before. 

“Just by thinking about it - it’s making you even more antsy,” you say delicately. 

Giselle just blinks. 

“You’ve managed to get me like this, using me to get yourself off whenever you fucking feel like it, right? Imagine. Anytime you just need it - in your office, in the kitchen, get a quick one out before we have a testimonial or showcase, don’t give any care for other people watching you get your pussy railed- stop, I know that look, fuck- it’s not gonna work on me.” 

“Pretty good idea, right?” Giselle sputters out, panting, because you’re working deeper into that spot, you can tell - you can feel it. Her hands are clawing on your shoulders. “Just lift up my pretty dress or skirt and make a mess of me right there.” 

“-be the problematic little bitch that everyone always talks about and has no other sensible thought because you enjoy it as it is.” 

Giselle’s cunt tightens around your cock. You’re also pretty sure that there’s a hint of her squirting. Quite a bit. Dripping and molten- 

“You-” 

“Mhm?” 

“Just- God, please. Want it - you, so fucking bad. Let me ride, I swear-” Giselle tells you, desperately - fucking sit there. She sounds so tenacious. Her hair a nice shade of brown, curtaining at the front of her cheek and a bit stuck to the side of her face. 

There’s like this sheer sense of inevitability - you can see it in the way her body gives, the imaginary cloth around her body coming down. It’s in everything, the stimulation, the teasing - then there’s nothing, a clean slate. As if someone had all her thoughts on a small piece of paper: her arms go slack, a breath wriggles out of her esophagus. Her weight, yielding and bearable, easing herself down on top of you and the heatwave of her cunt snugs around your cock so perfectly, like it was meant to be there, where it always belongs. It also wouldn’t take long for her first fully-fledged orgasm to come in the form of a mixed gasped and whine: ugh, god, thank you - like the effort couldn't have been any easier. 

Her head tilts back, and a smile slips out into something straight out of a lucid dream: falling, calling, chasing - until you realize it wasn't a dream at all. 

And she’s keeping her upper body up with her dainty fingers, pulling herself back into you as her lips drag up into yours, thrusting up, slow and controlled. You feel it as Giselle clamps down again; that throbbing, quivering sensation before that tsunami of warmth captures you. 

So you let her ride, in the way that she is. Her face is tucked to the top where your forehead and hairline meets, moaning for pretty much the entire time. “J’so fucking big, your cock inside me, fuck. I just move and it- god, it just rubs itself in every part of my pussy - yeah, okay, you did it again, so deep. Ugh. How do you do it?” Giselle sounds a bit on edge, frantic, talking complete gibberish - the heavy weight of her hips and ass presses onto your body and her nails mark up on your shoulders and sides as she keeps on riding through one orgasm onto the next, eyes rolling up to the ceiling and letting a series of sighs and slips out of her throat. These sweet, desperate, shameless cries and begs as she drops down, sucks you into her warmth. 

“Honey, honey- so thick- like that, holy shit,” her pitch lines up to the tempo of her slaps. 

“Look at that,” you mumble underneath her praises and heavy pants, the fast, jagged sounds - head nodding and shaking side to side furiously. She can’t even think straight to talk properly. “You’re so fucking wet.” 

“God yes. Fuck yes, s’good-” Giselle moans, totally unchasted and debauched. 

“And your pussy’s soaking up my cock again.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” and most of her sentences are muddled in curses, the phonemes of her sounds morphing into one. Her eyelids are dropping low again, mouth curving to a close shape of an ‘o’ as your cock drives up against every sensitive part inside her, rubbing against the velvety folds. Digging, taking more. 

Your voice comes as a hush following a groan. “Stretching out so well for me, taking it all in - isn’t that wonderful? Your needy little pussy, sliding up and down all over?” 

Giselle’s trembling picks up where it left off, the noises curdle from the bottom of her throat, low and just flat out desperate. It’s in the responsiveness of her body, every single part of her thrust into chaos. 

You could consider this to be a beneficiary: you being inside her. Giselle’s moaning out your name as she holds you close to your chest, burying your nose in between her tits like an offering, her body goes weak. She’s got her hair netted to the lines of her neck and chin; the pistoning of your cock upwards as the hinge in of her hips roll so she can cum all over your waist. 

Giselle cums just like that. Again and again, totally impenitent.

The reaction on her face is one of pure bliss, full of relaxation; where everything working between the muscles and nerves go down for a second - her lips molding into a tiny fuck, holy fuck; the small uptick of her eyebrows as the aftershocks ripple through her hot cunt. An incredible sight, this thing. 

“I guess that’s why you and I clicked so fast,” you note, a hand to the swell of her ass, the other on her hip. Every free curve of her figure invites the touch, how rough you can go, how far you could wreck her. It’s without any sense of remorse. You kiss the words right between her tits: “knowing that a special someone could ever make you feel like this, give wonders to you right where it’s needed, as if nothing else matters.” 

“Stop- shut the fuck up,” and Giselle does the worst thing here, letting her upper half fall back outward, slips a hand behind and under to where your balls are, cradling them, the slightest cup of her fingers, it tenses up your thighs and the bottom of your spine and the grip in your fingernails creates this new line of light red across her hips. 

“Gis-” you yelp on impulse, “holy shit, I-” 

The angle is too much for her as she barely manages to keep herself upright, and then, “-fucker, that’s so deep. Do it again-” 

“You’re something, baby. I can’t believe-” 

She’s got a hand to the back of your head, thumb between your lips, moving her hips upward at the hilt that makes your cock twitch inside her. The giggle passing through your ears allures you towards a primal motive, a raw uncut want. 

“Shh,” she coos. 

“You-” 

“This right here,” she says, “Could be our little secret. My little secret.” 

“Giselle-” 

“Hush, darling. And keep it that way.” 

You grind, lift her up, and smack her back down. It’s the slap. The fucking moan. Her arms coil around your neck once more. 

Taking in the makeshift taut of her waist. Growling, “fucking test me again, I dare you,” and Giselle gives nothing but an evil grin in good nature when she cups the side of your jaw to lift your gaze. 

Her head knocks into yours and she cards her fingers through your hair, tugging away as you increase the pumps a little faster, harder. She’s trying to hold herself together with what little common sense she has left; in a bit of a disbelief, she tells you, off-the-cuff in the nook of her head, how you’ve put yourself far ahead than the past guys she’s fucked around with, the simplicity in her causalness as a royal gesture in itself. 

“I guess you could say that,” you tell her, in the figures of semantics where you could take her literally. 

A way to repay that said loyalty to her, would be fucking her tight little pussy until you’re dumping your cum inside her sopping cunt or painting all over her fucking waist, her ass, her face - an art piece curated by you out of ruination that wants to be flaunted and presented like it’s something that the people want. This woman with such grandness; this idol, showcased in the fanciest dresses and bows, to be showered in diamonds, to have anything she ever wanted worth purchasing be done with a wave of her finger. 

Your cause is a bit different, lest not forget, but you’re complicit nonetheless - satisfying both parties of families to ensure that no one is left holding the bag in the event that they’re caught. But at least you can have a fill with an aching cunt between your legs, leaking all over your groin once the rush eventually dies down. Yeah, maybe you are right in this situation. “I’m the last one you’ll ever need.” 

That cuts both ways, she tells you. A wicked smile is all she gives; she’s won. 

You eventually snap, however, fucking Giselle on her hands and knees, flip her back around with her tits facing you again. You carry her back onto the pillar behind the couch for some more before moving to the bedroom, a little over a minute spent letting her reach that peak. Some fun gets thrown into the mix, pressing her front to the window as you carve your cock back up into her cunt. Your name keeps falling out of her mouth, obscene and maffled, over and over and over and over: fuck, you feel so good inside me, taking me so well, god, don’t stop, that feels so fucking good for you, doesn’t it? - she slams her ass back into you, face pressed against the glass, her breath fogging up a small portion of the pane. You take it back to the edge of her mattress where her ankles hook around your thighs and manage to dig her nails into the skin of your back. She acknowledges the small act of generosity, when you cum a little bit inside her pussy (to which you could admit that it’s one of the hottest things you can do to her, honestly), knowing that your cock fits so nice and snug into her cunt and fucks out all these dirty sounds that are some of the cutest things that she can sing out of her mouth; this little pussy messing you up as you tug yourself out of her properly-fucked cunt and leave the mess right where it stays. Where it should stay. That’s how this thing goes. 

Giselle presses a nail into your hip, another bruise along with the scratches and bite marks that’ll show up tomorrow. You’ll look at it in the mirror at work sometime, just to think back. 

Though she’s created an opportunity for herself where you have to answer whenever she’s around. No matter what the excuse may be, she’ll slither her way inside your office or at home, talk about something about the day, and you’ll try to stay on task or topic until the option to eat her out or fuck her till she can’t walk straight or maybe even both doesn’t seem too far off to pass time. 

(She’ll ask: you mind doing a favor for me? Of course you have to say yes. 

And it’s practically impossible to refuse anyway, since it’s not worth telling no when there’s advantages.) 

–

Giselle is not perfect; despite what the media presents and what the people say portraying her to be. 

She’s got a past, one of which she's not proud of. She has her shortcomings, her flaws, but she’s still human. You’ve assumed at first that there’s things about her to be accepting even with the stuff she’s got herself into. Giselle’s impetuous and a bit dense, but she’s also a strong thorn in points you hate to admit that she could have an upper hand on. 

But even so- 

Even so- 

Despite her imperfections, she’s aware of them. She’s turned them into strengths that very few people can break down without effort backed behind it. You get one good look at her and it’s simple. Her grin with closed lips is wicked and unbeatable, and now that you’re with her in this mess of a marriage you can’t find anything that’s worth swaying you to think otherwise. 

“What is it that you want from your family’s company?” she asks, her body melded one with the sheets as she lays on her stomach, feet sticking up with ankles crossed, face still fading from the hot blush of pink. “I mean, there isn’t really an incentive for us exclusively while they’re trying to make this story go away unnoticed.” 

“If I knew everything. And I mean, everything, then I’d tell you. But I don’t.” 

“So what, you don’t know what happens despite us being protected?” 

“It may look like we’re safe,” you say, looking down and out the window again, holding yourself back from rambling even further. “But it’s only a matter of time until people start sniffing around places that they’re not supposed to.” 

“They’re not gonna stop searching, hun.” Giselle presumes, “Not until they really figure out what’s going on behind the scenes. But where’s the exposure in that?” 

“What makes this whole thing dangerous is that all it took for people to find this relationship believable was a good lie and a lot of money to twist the words in the press into reality.” 

“Isn’t that a shame,” her voice trails off, head falling left to the nearby pillow resting on her arm. She keeps her eyes on you, rubbing up your shoulder from the amount of scratches and bite marks she’s left all over it, the skin still red to the touch. “Watching yourself settle as bits and pieces of your life start to wither away. No risk taken for the reward or consequence to follow. You’re so boring, but your cock, and the way that you fuck me deflates the whole argument entirely.” 

“Amazing,” you deadpan, “That’s probably one of the nicest compliments you’ve ever given to me.” 

Giselle rolls her eyes, holds back a laugh between her lips. “You’re so into me and you don’t even want to admit it. Where else would you get the ring on your finger from, hm? Let alone who?” The squint in your eyes proves that she’s winning this dispute. “Still got no answer for me, babe? Hmph. I guess you just solidified my thoughts just now.” 

“You really are the worst pick for guys like me, aren’t you?” you ask, approaching closer to the bed as your kneecaps make contact to the edge, bending them until you’re crawling across the mattress.

She has an outreached hand to you; taking, pulling, inviting. “Who said I was a bad choice for you? Someone’s got to keep your mind off the deal for the time being.” 

Before you even say anything else, you kiss her twice, and then some more. It’s a thing remotely close to yielding yourself to her - you pull the sheets from underneath her over, get your lips back on her neck again, and fuck her deep into the bed. 

Some pressure is relieved off of your shoulders and head, and you wonder if she’s the one responsible for that. 

–

Everything resumes as normal. Business stays busy, public engagements and appearances are still a regular occurrence every other day or so, and you’re ensuring that the tracks get covered up before anyone in the press starts to take notice. You’re not a bad person - and neither are your parents in this case, the needs of this cause will pay off in protecting your own life. Being a workaholic isn’t the healthiest way to go by, but in all fairness, you’re just doing your job. 

Giselle also holds her end of the bargain; while you’re married to your work, she’s married to her blessing of wealth. When you’re swamped with paperworks and projects compounded with usual check-ins with her parents and yours about the investment failure cover-up, she seeks her own adventures elsewhere: getting herself into these entanglements with other guys at high-profile events, reining them in with her flirty charms and in return gets their dick stuck up inside her. She may be terrible at keeping faith in you when she does go out with her friends, but you know that she’ll always come back to you in the end. 

“Are you sure you want to go ahead with the meeting?” Winter asks you one afternoon, sitting on the edge of your desk as she looks over one of your client’s portfolios to see if the numbers add up, “cause this does look finished, but I can set some time aside to run a final check before you send it over.” 

For some reason, and only God really knows why, but you feel this sudden chill run down your neck as Giselle makes her way past the door into your office; her stride a little more pushy today than usual, and that spells only one thing: she’s aggravated. 

“Sorry Winter, do you mind giving us the room?” she tells her, and it’s not a request. You nod your head as Winter immediately picks up on the sudden shift of tension in the air, swapping places as Giselle drops her handbag on the chair while darting a quick glance at Winter.

“The door, please. And you know what to say.” Winter closes the door on her way out while Giselle rounds the desk and settles herself into your lap. You remember her barging in when you had a meeting with one of your early acquisitions in the business, sitting in the same way that she is now for the entirety of that appointment. 

“Cancel your meeting.” Giselle commands, fingers quick to the middle of your necktie. 

“I can’t. It’s the new person my father just brought in yesterday.” 

“I wasn’t asking. You promised.” 

Her lips proved to be a suitable truth-serum to your inhibitions; and suddenly you completely forget what she was even complaining about earlier. 

–

So you make good on your promise. You had to. 

Giselle’s hand shoots up to her mouth, not doing much with the moans that leak out from the bottom of her wrist. 

“Baby,” she coos, and you draw yourself back from between her thighs to swallow a bit, drink in the sight of how her face writhes in pleasure. You hate how pretty she is when she looks like this, eyes closed elegantly and mouth dropped in pure awe. She literally had her pussy eaten out by you in the morning, but it’s clear that she can’t get enough, and you’ll definitely do it again. 

The pager on your desk starts to beep, and you don’t answer it; instead, you dip your tongue back into her leaking entrance. Her breath starts to stutter as the sides of her thighs start to press against your head. A spread of her lips between your fingers, and you slash up your tongue inside her walls again, hips bucking forward off the woodwork. 

“You taste so fucking good, honey,” you praise, holding her down with the flex of your wrists and press of your fingers. Giselle shudders a bit as you shove your nose right up against her clit, let the vibration of your hums send shockwaves up her waist from within. Her hand tangled into your hair serves all the signs of her wanting, begging for more. When you ask, and it’s just out of plain fun when you do: “Wanna cum so badly on my face, don’t you? Soak your shit into my mouth and all over my chin? Tell me what you want. You haven’t had enough cock this week, haven’t you? Fucking filthy ass slut.” 

Giselle, in the current state that she’s in, just sighs. If there’s anything that you’ve learned from all the times you’ve spent exploring her body, imploding her senses from within, she loves to be held down and fucked ruthlessly - but more than anything, she loves to be teased, to be degraded.

That stupid pager is still fucking ringing. 

But you inhale the sweet aroma of her pussy, slide your tongue up those slutty, puffy folds, stop right at the clit, and you suck. 

“Yes, yes- fuck, God yes, just like that,” she breathes out, pulling your head deeper into her cunt. She wants you to be cruel, to rip off that pencil skirt of hers, raise that dress shirt she stole from your wardrobe and put your cock inside her like she so undeservedly owes. Giselle’s eyebrows twist along with the lines of her face, squeezing your hand as she soaks more of herself onto your lips, the taste of her slick flowing down like water, lapping her up clean. 

“Close,” she tells you, breaths becoming irregular as her voice goes up in familiar, ascending octaves. “God- keep going, yes, baby, I’m g- I’m gonna-” 

You just hum, let the sweet venom of her release coat your taste buds - a delicacy that you’ll indulge in every time. You fail to let her go from your grasp, meeting her dreamy gaze, lashes gliding up and down gracefully, trying to conjure up some sort of thought. “Your cock,” she says, chest heaving. “Give it to me.” 

It’s not worth denying the demand; and besides: you were never going to make it to that meeting anyway.

–

The workflow chokes up the rest of the week so much to the point where the days and nights start to blend together. You’re doing some nightly readings midway out on the couch until Giselle walks in with a robe encasing her nice figure - dropping the piece in front of you which makes you toss the tablet off to the side. 

“A gift for you,” she says, a towel tending to her damp hair that wets the front of her shirt while you’re fixing up a quick meal of eggs on the stove, following you cumming inside of her and on her face not too long after that ends up staining her sheets. “For the race this upcoming weekend.” 

You’re paying zero attention, focused on not letting the scrambled bits stick to the pan as she slithers a hand through the open space of your hand-to-hip, stealing a bite of the waffles you also made off to the side for more variety, watch as she fills up her cheeks with the food. The simplest of actions, she does with ease. But then you say: Race? You didn’t tell me you were into cars like that. If at all. 

“Had I told you that I had a stake in a racing team, and you would’ve been instantly hard,” she deadpans, her stare flickering with a shake of her head. “Like I’ve told you before: I have my own interests.” 

“Prove it.” you taunt. 

Giselle then walks over to her handbag resting on one of the seats where she always leaves it for a quick grab of whatever, pulls out two special passes; the red lanyard with your picture and hers highlighted at the center with a barcode below it as well as the details of the event. The raise in your eyebrows indicate a hint of impressiveness and Giselle just tilts her head in victory, because she knows you’re not hard to convince. 

“F1 passes, huh?” you muse, taking the one from her hand to further examine it, “Now how in the hell did you score these?” 

“Courtesy of a friend,” replies Giselle, taking your pass back and into her handbag. “You probably know her, but if you don’t, I’d love for you to meet her.” 

“Aren’t you excited.” 

“What’s with that tone?” 

“Tone?” 

She sighs, chin lifted up as her hum rises in amusement, “It’s not like you to have my attitude suddenly, it actually fits you well.” 

“I’m always like this,” you tell her. 

“Right.” 

“I’d be happy to pitch you as to why if you’re interested.” 

“Save it,” Giselle tsks, flipping her towel forward from her shoulders. “Besides, it’s gonna be a fun weekend either way. And oh- happy birthday.” 

–

Much like other events you’ve attended in the past, this one is certainly no exception. Stepping out of the car to be greeted with endless amounts of people stretched across the barriers outside the track, screaming your name and Giselle’s to offer a variety of things to sign: a hat, a bottle, a racing jersey, and some random person’s arm; a nice gesture to show, and it’s all in good fun. 

The photo op’s are having a fucking field day with your appearance, cameras nearly floating across towards you walking to get their many mandatory snaps of the day. Hey, over here! Click! Click! Click! You and Giselle keep it casual in answering the questions also like how’s the morning going? Who do you think is gonna win the race today? Are you the special person that’s going to be waving the checkered flag or present the trophies to the top three racers later?

Click! And someone greets Giselle off to the side - probably someone running social media from one of the racing teams, you think. Her hair flows so coolly in the wind, walking in a fashion that pretty much trumps every other hot model you’ve seen at shows; the curves of her body sloping along her clothes. Her sunglasses only punctuate her cunty expression when she takes them off, earning a few gasps from other surrounding VIP members, which isn’t fair, but it serves you exactly right when her face lights up greeting the provider for your special passes. 

She smiles so effortlessly. Her energy is infectious the more she steps into the paddock. 

Everything is pretty much major brain overload, astounded at how everything is sleek inside the garage; tools hidden away in perfectly-fit drawers that literally look straight out of a sci-fi movie. The car alone is a sight to behold too; sure, the wheels aren’t on and they’re still doing some minor tweaks across the chassis, but the race engineer who bumps your shoulder puts you in a momentary conversation about how insane everything looks. 

It wasn’t long until Giselle disappears from your view, only to return with a plus-one that irks your curiosity - laughing and sounding clearly in awe and excitement. 

“I’m sure you’ve seen this charmer before,” Giselle introduces, hand tugging on your jacket so casually, pulling you closer. “Has a thing for cars, if that isn’t news to you already.” 

“Looks familiar, but never up close.” Her mouth peers into this wide grin, lips coated with a light sanguine shade, the gloss almost shimmering. Your ears perch up to the tone of her voice, a sleek and piercing characteristic to notice, considering how dangerously familiar it sounded. She’s got a racing shirt on, despite her bottoms being baggy jeans. The temperature around the track was forecasted to be hot, and she’s wearing a simple dad cap to pool those flowing locks over her shoulders. Judging from the hoops hanging from her ears, you assume that she and Giselle are in the same lineage - since they’ve got so much money deep in their pockets to afford everything and all that jazz. 

Yu Jimin takes your hand in hers, and asks something along the lines of: you’re into cars? Is this your first time in an F1 garage?

You laugh, and answer: I’ve dabbled here and there. Giselle didn’t tell me that she had a minority stake in something like this.

“She’s the one who gifted the passes,” Giselle supplies immediately, because apparently Karina should already have this as common knowledge. 

“Never got to hear you two say thanks.” She blinks and smiles. You blank out for a second. Though it’s also interesting how her face is so molded in the right angles like she’d been carved to perfection in one take. Her figure is undoubtedly amazing, with a long waist and these wide hips. It’s a bit of seeing to actual believing - where you think that all women like Giselle had similar traits. You’re still unsure, however, but maybe that’s just the simple commonality women have when they’ve either got money or a status. 

“Your wife here funds the team’s success,” Karina adds - looking over to see a handful of mechanics having a laugh about something with her racing teammate. “She’s the reason why I’m winning.” 

“That so?” You fire back with pursed lips. “Hopefully her money’s put in good use.” 

Karina laughs. “It has, believe me.” 

Giselle, in this situation at least, the last person who takes charge of calling your shots. Or reading the room. You’re just keeping it casual, though, getting acquainted with someone new like it’s nothing wrong. 

“How else could we have swayed you into signing that new deal?” Giselle presses her tongue up to the inside of her cheek - throws a side-eye at you. She’s reminiscing over a certain reference that you clearly have no idea of understanding. 

“Didn’t think the figures would be that much,” ponders Karina. 

“Need I mention you’re little ‘incident’ with the other-” 

“Are you fucking crazy? I almost got crucified with the press if that story got out.” She leans closer to Giselle with her fingers covering her mouth. Her hair moves in these calm waves - laughing like there’s no care in the world for her actions. 

So the two of them go at it a bit, trading moments and memories between them. Giselle’s attempt of pressing herself back onto your crotch serves as some sort of provocation rather than a distraction. You play it off with a hand to her midriff, pinching it slightly as a rebuttal, and a promise.  

Aside from the ice breaking topics, you look over to see Karina’s personal performance coach, notifying her of the preparations of the race ahead. She hasn’t got much time, so she leaves the both of you off with this: 

“Think I can find you guys once this race is finished?” A mechanical drill sounds off on the far end of the garage. Then, she glances in this devilish way that means she knows everything, Karina says: “I can have my guy grab you two back to the trailer.” 

“You can make that work,” Giselle answers, rolling her head into the upper profile of your chest and smiling. “We’re your special guests for the day, so I expect the best hospitality.” 

–

And, about the race later as you’re watching, Karina blows everyone else out of the competition. Her winning first place is an absolute certainty. 

–

Once the champagne showers have died down and everything logistically in the press gets recorded and logged in after another successful race weekend, it didn’t take Karina that much longer to find you and Giselle hanging around the complementary areas, prompting that the celebrations outside the track can start a little bit later. Since the party was well going to be deep into the night somewhere in the city, the three of you actually never make it there on time. 

Probably because your back to the door with a hand to the lock is preventing you from ever getting out; the two bodies of Karina and Giselle pinning you down the middle between the pair, a hand to your waist while the other is well worked around your cock. It also didn’t help that the lights were off, to give the impression that no one was inside - the worrying thought of someone knocking would suddenly be washed away when Giselle lowers her wet mouth all over you; a hand through her hair and a small shuffle of your feet as Karina smoothens your shirt, humming gleefully into your chest as the same feeling happens further down south. 

“You love her mouth so much, hm?” Karina asks, the brim of her cap hitting your nose, tilting it upward to slide her tongue back between your lips. “She’s been telling me how much her jaw aches when it comes to blowing you.” 

You try to look down, but Karina had other ideas. Ah ah ah, pretty boy. Keep your eyes only on me. If Karina’s lips were meant to spill out all of these subtle projections of sex, you’re able to deduce the fact that Giselle likes to be all talk - though she prefers to let her mouth serve a different purpose. She lets out a small gargle in her throat when her plump lips reach the base, the tip of her tongue swipes the point perpendicular where your length stems out from the root, feeling that twitch of your cock head hit the top of her mouth. All to play for when you’re losing focus, and then- 

“Karina, your hat,” you stumble in your words, watch her flip the cap back around, “Shit, baby. The door too-“

“Shhh, relax,” she coos, hand ghosting over your face, the broad line of your shoulders. She kisses you with the cap facing backward. “Bet that feels really good for you, doesn’t it?” 

“Fuck,” you barely manage. It’s a bit early for your voice to be this raked through the mud; though, the light depression of your lungs serves as an emphasis. ”She’s perfect.” 

Giselle gently laughs, slightly hollowing out her cheeks some more. Slapping her plum, bottom lip with your tip, she flashes an innocent smile, sticking her tongue out just to push your urge further. “That isn’t news for anyone,” she yields, sliding her palm up the length. “Take my other boy-toys in the past. Ask them about anything, really. They’d all say the same thing: how I keep a hidden talent for sucking dick a personal secret of mine.” Karina provides a nod and a laugh, knowing that her saying goes both ways. 

“Consider me shocked, then. You two are absolute freaks.” 

“Okay,” Karina deadpans, and her expression goes calm, a lifted eyebrow in suspicion. She gets her hand to the back of Giselle’s head, pushing her back between your legs. Giselle takes you right back into the well of her mouth and picks up right where she left off, this smooth flow - in tandem with the friction of her fingers, as her lips take in the soaked inch or two of your cock, gagging a bit, fuck. Her eyes go wide, and then they close, braces herself with her hands on your thighs, pushing herself deeper until her lips finally reach the base; the head, and the rest of your shaft, into the velvety opening of her throat, willing to hang you for as long as you or her could possibly take. 

Your palm slides down against the sliding door, and the impulsive shift of your hips forward comes as an act of desperation into that addicting rub in the big of her mouth. 

Karina doubles down her efforts, kissing up your neck, your jaw; carrying your face with her dainty finger to the right to graze the tip of her nose against yours, feeling her hot breath touch your chin as she’s telling you all the right praises of how amazing you two look. She’s got a handful of Giselle’s hair in her hand, pulling her up and driving her back in, the subtle sighs and staggered breaths that gets overpowered by Giselle’s endless gagging, hands braced to your thighs as your hips work a bit to meet in the middle of her effort. This engulfing heat, rising up from waist, much like diving feet first into a bottomless hot spring - nerves going haywire from your spine, the muscles along your lower half constantly tensing as Giselle bottoms you out again, slathering your cock in her saliva as she chokes. 

“Fuck her mouth again. I know you want to,” Karina says, pressing up her tits to the side of your chest, another lick of the end of your collarbone, it earns her another shallow ‘christ’ from you. “She’ll let you do anything,” and in a way, she isn’t wrong: “‘Cause I know that you’ll give her the promise of fucking her brains out after.” 

So, all you had to do at this point: was follow and listen.

The constant deepthroating would make anyone go mad, really; have their balls burst in a matter of minutes. Karina takes this emphatic role of judge, jury, and executioner to a whole different implication, her hands and mouth an extension of the many things you want Giselle to be ruined by, and you’ll shower her some form of thanks for that.

And when Giselle does slide you out of her mouth, a trail of spit forming around the crown, twisting her hand languidly around you as she clears her throat. Right around that time, the three of you hear a knock on the door - probably Karina’s security detail, or someone else, there’s really no point in knowing. You and Karina look at each other to hear whatever the hell the guy outside was saying, but Karina has a finger between your lips as Giselle continues where she left off, giving your brain a dilemma on what - or who - to focus on. 

“We should’ve left thirty minutes ago,” you confess - the honesty alone an antithesis to your level-headedness; a moment to reflect, at how pathetic you are - “how long are-” 

Karina giggles, a cheeky grin to add: “we gonna take? Hopefully we’ll wrap you up soon, sweetie.” 

You’re hoping to unravel in the next few minutes or so. Giselle’s mouth is not worth throwing up the curtain of ignorance, as she continues bob her head up and down the length - each knock of your cockhead to her uvula is flawless. 

Karina on the other hand, does the least merciful act she could possibly do, considering how she’s a walking devil in broad daylight: sliding her hands across your chest as she sinks down to her knees at Giselle’s level, nose buried in the cuff of her ear as she grasps her boob while the motion of her head starts to match with Giselle’s tempo of gags. She pulls back, the cap nearly falling off the top of her head, draws her hair over her ears as she settles in with those quick licks at the base where Giselle struggled to reach and well - crap. Giselle drags the tip of her tongue over your head, Karina treating the underside before meeting her lips with hers. They both giggle at the first kiss - hot air over your cock right smack in the middle of that space. Indulging a bit more with their clashing tongue, wanting to get more of a savoring taste of cock. Of you. The inner cavity of your chest broadens up, drawing in a sharp inhale, and the heat of the trailer gets a bit sweltering. Okay, you might be sweating more than usual. 

As if they’d rehearsed this before, the pair at your hips take turns with your cock, licking up the slick spit, your precum, all these wet kisses and heavy moans across the surface; they pull half of your shaft back into their mouths, drag your head to the inner part of their cheeks, slowly and gracefully taking you in, treating the areas where they’re not touched. “Mmm.” and “Hmph.” Karina is still laughing - fingers now tethered around the root of you and your balls while Giselle slacks her jaw a bit more, letting you fill the space of her throat as you’re holding yourself steady against the wall. The chinch of her shut eyes and eagerness to go past her personal threshold of taking you deep; and Karina has a hand to the back of her head, caressing her throat whispering these praises into her ear. Good girl, all the way into your throat. You know that he likes it so much. There there, keep choking on his cock - because it’s yours.

And when she does pull herself up and out, she’s coughing, eyelashes fluttering and eyes shimmering. They both look at you with their jaws hung, a small tug of a smile at the corners of their lips, tilting their heads up as you impulsively move your hips forward and back - slathering the belly of your cock with the pads of their tongues. 

“You girls look so good like that,” you barely manage to say. Their swollen and plump mouths already serve as this new vehicle of addiction. “The sluttiest kinds are always the ones where you least expect it.” 

Giselle breathes out this hearty laugh, shields her face with the back of her hand. Karina’s mouth then takes over for a bit, and you could feel her fingers start to press deeper into the skin of your thighs. “She’s a messy bitch. Believe me when I say this: she’s been dying to have a taste of you.” 

“Not true,” Karina butts in, a trail of spit forming from her bottom lip when she kisses your soaked tip. “At least, that’s what she was trying to say, when I had her stuttering in her words with my mouth and fingers all up inside her. Came on my face a bit after - she’s the one who’s more dirty than me.” 

“Didn’t you make a bet that you can make him cum faster than me?” Giselle inquires, doe eyes and with a hint of a taunt mixed in with her tone. “I could’ve sworn that you did.” 

While she asks, Karina doubles down her efforts, taking you well into the column of her throat. You’ve got a hand through her hair, gripping to a point where the need for these two girls to fuck you senseless in the trailer takes over. The sense of control and liberation courses through like a reflex - a fight or flight response - you can’t let them have their way for too long, and it’s way too early to yield from their oral assault. 

“He’ll be good for us, I’m sure.” Karina says, a bit quizzical at that too. Her hand is jerking around the base while Giselle takes the hint and slides her hand across the upper half of your shaft.  “I’m sure this isn’t his first rodeo of letting two girls drop to their knees and have a little bit of fun for themselves, right?” 

Yeah, the groan you give punctuates the point clearly: they broke you. 

It didn’t take much long after that, when the both of them have an alternating cycle of hand to mouth and mouth to hand, working you up through these harsh sucks, the fierce licks across your slit, engulfing your balls and colliding their lips - trading off stares as they could tell in the way that your legs are shaking. They see this. They feel this. All this hard work was about to be paid off soon. Your hands are reaching out in desperation - the inevitability of it, the pulses and wires in your body already at the limit, pushing your buttons with the ever-concluding contraction of your muscles- 

“Cum for us, baby,” Giselle murmurs. With her hand and Karina's wrapped true along with her desperate hums and moans across your shaft proves as the lethal combination, “all over our pretty little faces, okay? All over. Just let go and let us taste you, that’s all we want.” 

They both look up at you, the image seared into your optics: your cock is practically magma in their hands, releasing in harsh jolts and jerks, every thread of your cum landing on their foreheads and on the slopes of their cheeks - blissed out and and job done. Giselle tilts her head back while Karina’s hand finds the bottom of her chin, lapping up the mess below her lip as you press your cock in between their faces again, the sounds of satisfaction humming low in their throats, and their congratulatory kiss comes as a celebration. Your head feels dizzy, chest cavity staggering with the inhales and exhales; you’re not even sure how you’re still standing at this point-

“Fucking look at that,” Karina sneers, fingers pressing into the skin of Giselle’s cheek - the other digging down her unbuttoned pants, assessing the damage as she kisses up along the side of her face, “She’s so wet for you, like the perfect girl she is, lapping up your hot mess to make up for being the filthiest, fucking, fine whore-” 

“Mmmm- fuck,” Giselle just says, sucking harshly on your sensitive cockhead, retreating with a loud ‘pop’ as Karina scoops up the dribbles of cum on her fingertips, cleaning them up as the both of them soothe the fading ache in your thighs. 

“You guys are the worst,” you breathe, head hitting the door to the closet as you’re fighting every urge to not melt right into the floor. 

“He doesn’t mean that, right?” Karina asks, eyes pleading. 

“Don’t worry,” Giselle adds, “He owes us more when we get back home.” 

“Should we get out of here?” Karina prompts, wiggling her head back as Giselle matches the look from below. “Oh- and Giselle honey, you can’t clean yourself up.” 

“What?! That was the deal? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Giselle asks in shock.

“It was better to see your reaction if you didn’t know; but now that you know, the forfeit still stands.” 

These two are basically asking to get themselves trending on the headlines first thing tomorrow morning. 

–

It’ll probably be ignored as you’re doing the daily checks of your meetings, reminders, or emails on your phone, but there’s a surfaced picture of you and Giselle seated together in one of the booths at the club you were initially going to. Karina managed to tag herself along despite not being on the exclusive guest list - though, she thanked Giselle for pulling some strings to get inside.

There isn’t much to recall from last night, however, aside from letting yourself unwind from the stresses and pressure of work. Karina and Giselle keep the conversation going over a few drinks - toying with the idea of leaving so that they could pick up on the fun you three did back at her trailer. A few laughs are shared here and there, you’re not so entirely sure, until you make the judgment call to leave and Karina manages to get her lips on you in the hall walking out.

“I’ve got the-” you say on your way into the bedroom when a pair of lacy panties latches onto your shoulder, looking up in confusion. “-coffee you asked for.” 

Giselle’s laying on of the mattress, head at the edge, her tits just left barren and facing up to the open air. A ruffle in the sheets next to her occurs, and the person underneath does this mix of a yawn and giggle as the typical fringe of her messy bed head rests along the front of her chest. You’ve had your fair share of having a few triad’s in your lifetime, but it’s safe to say that this current lineup takes the cake. 

“He’s cheating by the way,” Karina says, sitting upright as her breasts are revealed to you above the sheets; all marked up and tattered from last night’s fuckfest that move in this heavy and hypnotic way as she does this little wiggle with her upper body - like she’s pouting for an apology after committing a scandalous act. “Why does he get to put his underwear on?” 

“I’m not walking around the house naked,” you rebuke, “It’s just weird.” 

“But I do it all the time and he doesn’t complain,” Giselle says to her, flashing a look back at you as she watches you take a sip from her cup of coffee. “Breakfast still on the cards?” 

“What do you have in mind?” you ask, walking up to the two fine girls taking refuge in your bed. “I can go out of my way and set an arrangement.” 

Karina scoots up next to Giselle, laying in the same fashion as she’s doing, traces a line along the elastic of your boxers. Giselle bites her lip as she starts to palm the growing bulge pulsing between your legs. She asked for a cup of coffee, but it’s always better to chow down on something while she drinks; her personal preference, really. 

“I think your coffee needs a little creamer, no?” Karina proposes, testing with a swift lick on the underside of your cock, snorting soon after. 

“You’re really fucking weird,” Giselle tells her, and pulls the waistband down, springing your cock forward. “But I fucking love it” 

–

Life, in every passing day and night amongst you two, starts to make sense. Giselle at first used to do things separately: the contrast of staying in different rooms, the deliverables and press engagements of her brands and investments, keeping the scheduling consistent without any changes unless she saw fit or just by feel. Her presence was an oddity let alone a fast flurry of complications falling onto your lap. 

Now: 

There’s a growing flow of comfort between the two of you. Always has been. With all the dates and hangouts and impromptu office visits, it would be basically impossible to not get acclimated in the short span of time. She’s gone from her bed to yours, her toothbrush in the same cup on the bathroom sink, there’s far less dishes to wash meal to meal, watches you work or even get some work done herself - leading to a familiar end of the night that becomes all the regular. 

“You’re staying in tonight?” you ask, noticing a woozy Giselle bunched up in one of your shirts, leaning against your arm on the couch one late evening, a split-screen of a portfolio and the typical news articles that you have little to no care of skimming through on your laptop. “I thought you had something planned.” 

“I did,” she admits in reply; her tone is lazy, dry, sleepy. As if this was the first time in a while where her social battery was depleted to zero. 

You sigh, tilt your head over to the right side, and kiss the crown of her head. “Guess I should call it also a night, then.” 

Giselle nods, eyelids slowly falling shut as you toss your laptop off to the side, pick her up in your arms, and start to make your way to settle back into your bed - playing the role perfectly and as authentically as you could create it. 

–

Later that morning after, she plays the part so well: 

“For me?” she asks, arms well wrapped around your waist as you’re tending to the first batch of pancakes. Her nose is buried into your shirt, never wanting to let the scent of you go to waste. “You might be the best husband ever, I fear.” 

Your nose scrunches as she giggles, leaning your head down with a chaste kiss to her lips - pulling away with a hum, “Sweetie, I’d be terrified.” 

–

“Your father’s calling,” Winter tells you while hanging her head along the door frame of your office, “He’s on line one.” 

The lift of your eyebrows signifies that you got the message, and he doesn’t sound pleased when you pick up the phone saying: look, I’m all for the idea of getting all nice and cute and cozy with Giselle, but we need a little push from the both of you. I’ve got some figures in our board and investors that are catching wind of our past case. People like them aren’t easily swayed by the media, they’re smarter than that. 

You knew what you were doing when you first made the company, dad.

And I know that you’re aware of Giselle’s previous activities? Do I need to remind you of who made the file for you to look at when we first set up this whole damn thing?

(Goes without saying, she was problematic. Keyword: was.) 

What’s your point?

Don’t bullshit me with filling the blanks and details. You know. I’ve pitched you to her parents for a reason. You didn’t like the idea of sleeping with someone you aren’t familiar with; but now look at you, doing exactly that. 

Creative writing can only serve so much purpose to the public. 

All the more reason to use some money to twist a few words about you and that whore. 

Dad- 

Do the right thing, son. We’ve got you in a good position, now take advantage of it. 

–

Staring out your window serves as a second viable option partial to marooning yourself on the  balcony; taking some time aside to personally reflect on the state of your life, figure out what your next move is, etcetera etcetera. To be fair, you’ve got a good track record of not getting into trouble whatsoever. You’re clean - and sure, there’s a few hiccups here and there, but nothing too monumental to really derail your career and success. 

All of this has been public from the start, you and Giselle. Ever since you two tied the knot, it’s been nothing short of coverage for the both of you, the usual freakouts people have when they see you or her doing the usual events or activities like everyone else. It’s in the recognition, the exposure. You’d honestly hoped that carrying on with your duties in the family business would be sufficient enough to satisfy the needs of the higher ups - all the while trying to keep what’s going on in the inner circle a secret. 

Too bad that secret isn’t nicely kept under wraps, and you’re aware of this; you understand so much of the extent because there’s everything to lose since the microscope is so close. Even when you’ve parted Giselle’s legs and slid your hands up the sides of her waist, it’s the beauty in that risk - like the suggestion was already guaranteed from the start. 

“What’d I tell you?” Giselle says to you, lounging on your couch in the office, rucking down her dress and combing her slightly tattered hair to the front, her toes in the pantyhose curled and spread soon after, the portion of the clothing at her inner thighs are torn through, looking out the window to see if anyone had noticed (but they heard it all already,) “They gave us a hand to play.” 

“And you want us to play their game? It’s basically letting them call the shots if you ask me.” 

“Hey,” she leans back to the head of the couch, lounges her legs a bit further out, “That’s my line.” 

You scowl at her as she looks down with a subtle lip bite. 

–

So there’s two incidents that follow: 

The first one was out on a regular nightclub outing. Of all places, you let Giselle get the best of you in the bathroom stall, keeping your cock warm inside her as she’s itching for the filthy feeling at your hips. Doesn’t help the fact that other guys were coming in the restroom at a regular pace, not paying any sort of attention to the indecency they’re witnessing. They all look at you for a second, identify your face, and shake their head soon after. 

“You two really couldn’t help each other to get a room, huh?” Someone asks, but you don’t bother answering other than a nod. He then turns his head to face the wall as he’s relieving himself with the urinal. 

–

The second time, unsurprisingly, happens at work. Giselle was the first one out of the printing room, a stray hand trailing behind her with one of the associates in your team, with you following behind them. Some of the worker’s eyes fall between one of you three, and when you’re settling around Winter’s desk: 

“Did you and Giselle just-” 

“Winter,” you sigh, fixing the knot of your tie. “Just don’t.” 

–

But there’s also the third time, where she calls you out of the blue when your father’s in the office for the day, debating: “Emerald green or Scarlet rose?” 

Naively, you answer: “Just say green, sweetie.” Right after, Winter swoops in to pick you up before the meeting and Giselle ends the phone call, leaving you a bit confused as to what color scheme she was putting together for her outfit. 

The vibrations of your phone thirty minutes into the meeting throws the overpassing voice into white noise as you get a closer look. 

Green. Green. Green. It’s all you see. She’s wearing a lingerie set, there’s these pretty little bows tied up around her hair, and the unfortunate dress shirt stolen from your closet seals the whole look. A vixen is what she is. The plethora of photos and selfies sent show her laying across the bed, aiming at the mirror, her legs canvassing the comforter - one of them reveals her panties, and the fact there’s nothing in the fucking middle- 

“You like?” She texts, but she adds on, “You come home in forty-five and you can take it off with your hands, any later than that and you’re doing it with your teeth.” 

–

“You should take a break.” Giselle calls out to you one night, watching as you’re settled into your personal study, reading multiple screens of different reports about you and her. “It’s late anyway.” 

You look up from your glasses, notice as Giselle’s standing on the doorframe, swirling a wine glass in her hand. And the thin layer of lace isn’t doing her any justice covering her figure. She’s got nothing underneath. 

“Who are you to stop me?” you ask, the tablet in your hand falling onto the desk as you stretch in your seat, eyes focused on her as she starts to make her way towards you. The tongue captured between your teeth already starts a spur of ideas of how you’ll twist and bend her fragile body, rip the robe off of her shoulders as she’s light on her tiptoes. There’s also the effortless flow of her hair rising and falling with every step, and the bounce of her tits is too casual for someone like her. “Besides, I just felt like reading the assurance that we’re doing our job.” 

She keeps swirling the wine, downs the last bits of it. The glass gets thrown somewhere across the room, and hits a random bookcase. There’s shards everywhere. Being mad at her right now is one thing, but you’re playing the long game as you swivel your chair towards her when she sets herself up on your desk, crosses her ankles together as she leans back and fiddles with the outlines of her robe. 

“Are you drunk?” you ask her again, the fingers resting along your thigh starting to curl up in a short flare of anger. “We’ve only had that glass set for a week.” 

“That should be the least of your problems.” Giselle refutes, shifting herself across the smooth woodwork. Until she’s rested over your thighs, a coy smile spreading across her lips. Her eyes stay trained on you as her forearms land on the bridge of your collarbones, fingers carding through the hair on the back of your head. You give a sign of impulse when you tug the underside of her knees closer to you, lean further back on the chair until she’s properly straddled, tilting herself down as the press of her lips start to fall across your neck. “Why’d you think I came to you in the first place?” 

“You told me that you were going to bed early.” 

“I was,” her voice trails off when she tilts your head up by the chin, gently leaving a peck of your lips once, twice, thrice. A thumb rubs the side of your cheek, and she pulls you back in again, the sharp inhale from your nose only boosts the confidence further. You could feel yourself sinking deeper into the seat, your stomach plummeting further down as your mind is trying to play defense and put up a response. But you’ve got your hands and lips full of her, and decide to plunge into that need she’s got you tethered to. 

So you pull back, for a momentary second, and Giselle sees an opening where she fixes the sudden crookedness in your glasses, holding your face gently as she examines the slopes and lines of your expression. You’re still sitting there, breathless, gaze almost in this form of wonder as she admires from the high ground. “What changed your mind?” 

“That’s for you to figure out.” 

“Doesn’t really help my case in any way, if at all.” you concede, and Giselle starts to laugh a bit, knocking her head against yours which earns a soft ‘ow’ from your lips. “Okay, what is it that you want?” 

“A lot of things, actually.” 

“Like what?” 

“I’m not telling you.” 

“I’ve got a few ideas so far,” you say, blinking with a skeptical arch in your eyebrows. Giselle sighs a bit when your hands snake to her ass, fingertips pressing down as your hips produce the lightest, and slightest grind against your pants. The quick exhale and dip of her head proves as a sign of satisfaction. You’re on the right path. “Maybe my hands are thinking ahead of the curve here?” 

Giselle tugs her hips forward, her fingers curl around your nape a little more desperately. The whine bubbling in her throat starts to collapse her whole facade, the pressure of your hands gripping tighter around the swell of her ass while your mouth canvasses her chest and collarbones, letting her take you deeper into her arms. “You’re brilliant when you’re speechless.” 

She nods through it, knowing the whole truth. 

“Want you-” she attempts to say, the breathiness of her words leaving her lips coming off as an uncertainty, “want you to tell me-” you’ve got her so close where the cornerstone of your hips holds her down, the inside of her thighs pressing on the outside of yours. There’s a clear wire being cut, the curtain raiser, the green light clicking in her head. She’s whittled down so fast and you’ve barely laid a finger on her sensitive parts. “What should I do?” 

You push her back, watch as her eyes flick up in confusion, but her lips hang in limbo for a second before the next set of words leaving your mouth serves as the proper instruction: Move your hand down. She does. Slowly. Her right hand trails down her midsection so painstakingly slow - until she shifts her legs wider in the seat of your knees. You’re no help too; sliding your hand up her inner thigh as she finally reaches the region just above her clit, her finger taking the first move when she starts touching herself. Look at you, so needy. The wince she does lower your eyelids, that wave of lust consuming her little by little. Your thumbs rest nicely in the divot of her hips, grinding her back as you lean forward to rest your head right right where her heart is. 

“Need a little help there?” You prompt, hand shifting over to where hers is between her legs, pushing her fingers along the glide of her leaking folds. Giselle’s breath is seeping out of the gritty cage of her teeth, driving herself insane with the way that you’re teasing her by her own hand. “It’s pretty how wet you are for me, I like that.” 

Giselle’s eyes are hooded, the light in her irises fading as if there’s another entity taking control of her. “Want you to grab me. Fuck me. Make me yours.” 

(She always wants a challenge, and you’re not getting it twisted here. But hey, when the opportunity persists-) 

It’s a bit of a swift move when you lift her up from the chair and onto the chair. Different articles of pens and papers and other various amenities hit the floor, and there’s nobody else in this home besides you too. “When you put it like that, it already looks like that I’ve won.” 

Giselle keeps on nodding, trying to keep her focus away from how your fingers slide into her aching cunt, laying her delicately across the smooth surface once she slips out of her thin robe. The anticipation. The thrill. All roads with her end in the same way of sorts. She tries to go on the offensive when she pulls you in for another desperate kiss, guiding her leg around the bend of your hip as the seat of your pants grinds against her aching heat. 

Your hands are fast on the buckle, she’s playing the supporting role with the curls of her fingers abducting the waistband of your pants, sliding them down. A lick of your thumb is the apparent preamble, swiping up her pussy as it draws out a hushed gasp from her, the strain in your cock firing up all nerve impulses. Her eye contact with you goes away, as she anticipates the inevitable outcome; the way that your cockhead presses up against her entrance, the euphoric rush of her clamp when she softly chirps, “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-” 

She goes limp over your weight pressing down on her. That motion repeated, over and over: embedding your cock right into the heat of her lovely cunt. Her nails scrape along the skin of your arm, the length easing as you move deeper, sinking. 

“-ere we go. Look at you, all dicked out of enjoyment, huh?” You rasp, the two senses of your sight and hearing focused on the way she writhes underneath you, her voice fading in and out of your ear canals. “Couldn’t have a proper good night’s sleep until I fucked you properly-” 

“Hate it. I hate how hot you sound when you talk to me like that.” 

You snap your hips, and the rebound of her tits wiggle across her chest. 

“You’re gonna cum so fast. I can feel it,” you tell her, pushing yourself deeper into her cunt with these practiced strokes. “Fill you up so well that you’ll come back for more. Or maybe, I can take that away, and have you squirting all over my face to have the real deal later-” 

“Please-” 

“Hmm?” you coax, dragging yourself out and meticulously sliding back in, throwing her off of the typical rhythm that you always give her. “Use your words, honey. I didn’t quite hear you there.” 

Her body jitters at your touch. She manages to get an elbow on the desk, the fringe of her hair falls forward onto her face - a sight that you’re so used to seeing no matter what time of the day it is. The words are a bit incoherent, barely mouthing them. You slap your hips up against the underside of her thighs to knock some sense into her, and her head bobbles back, waking her up. 

“-take-” 

She looks amazing. She feels amazing. 

“Come take what’s yours,” she orders, huffing. The glint in her eyes makes the whole command an absolute guarantee; because she knows, and she’s programmed you long enough for you to cement that resolve in your head. 

So it’s just like this: you’ll give it to her. Hard. 

Because you’ve learned early on how easy it is to fuck Giselle like this - picking up on her little habits and through countless times before - you’ve got her wrapped so well around your cock, and she’s got you well wrapped around her finger. It’s a clear trade off, transactional. Your arm hooks under the small of her back as she digs her ankles around your waist, pumping into her at a fast pace to where she’s constantly leaking all over your cock with every passing second. 

“God,” she giggles, and there’s the little slip-up of a sob falling soon after. It’s the bait and switch - how she finally got what she wanted, but the burying of your dick inside her baptizes that quick relief, only to be swept across the desk and find a new angle to put down, “fuck.” 

“A little speechless, are ya?” You ask. The pressure closing in, enveloping. It’s in the length, your weight, the stretch, finally settling your fill. You’ll siphon the air right out of her lungs, leave her with the rest. 

Her head falls slack: the beginning of her downfall; or yours, it’s all the same. 

“Mhm.” 

“Like this?” you ask again, arm teetering to her side, hand to the back of her neck. “A little more of what you can take?” 

“S’good-” 

“Again, baby.” 

“You’re s’good, I love riling you up like this, irritating you to the point where you just have to fuck me. Please, ugh- keep going, god-” she tells you, her hand flies up when one of the strokes into her was a bit too much, and your monitor is one of the things that falls off the desk. You’ll worry about damage control later, all the while you’re using Giselle’s sopping cunt. 

“See what happens when a pretty girl like you has nothing but issues? They don’t know how to handle themselves unless someone tells or shows them the right way,” you pant, grinding yourself down to the hilt, and you give her the generosity of gyrating her hips for her in circles. 

Giselle closes her eyes, breathes in, and realizes. 

You’re aware. Her brain is split up in two halves: frizzled and rapture, her tits are hypnotic in the way that they move with every piston your cock makes inside her. She isn’t moving her head much now, she looks up to the ceiling for something to keep her gaze on, but to no avail. Her hands don’t really know where they’re going at this point as it goes to your arms, then the desk, then wherever she could grab for a proper hold. She’s helpless; blowing her pussy out to smithereens where all of the obscene phrases and noises she’s letting out can be captured into these books on the shelves, a post-it note on your desk to have her play the beck and call to relieve your stresses with the simple clutch of her cunt. Her spine is basically ground zero at this point, tearing her apart nerve by nerve until she finally cums all over your waist. 

You’ve got no right to be gentle with her. Not anymore. 

Not when she’s inviting you in the way that she is. She’s glistening in sweat, smothering your cock in her cream, the slickness making the simple push in and pull out motion all the easier. You’ve reduced her well enough to just mere sounds and nods, bottoming her quivering cunt out as you rest your cheek well above the plush of her breast- 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you whisper, snapping your hips forward with the little bend of your lower back. “I’ll let you have me. I know how bad you need it. God, baby. You’re beautiful. Whining nothing but nonsense just to get me to use this body. This pussy, fuck-” 

“Uh huh,” she says, since the single utterances and mantras of ‘yeah’s’ can only say so much. She’s fogged up your mind, but also clears it in a sense. You have to fuck her. You’ve got to. “Don’t-” she sputters again, but the message was already registered in your head, voice cracking, “Don’t-”

Her hands slide up to the sides of your ribs, some part of hips aren’t even touching the desk anymore, and the angle where your cock carves it’s pathway into a deeper spot that she couldn’t even imagine you hitting - she fucking wails. 

You don’t say anything. Hell, you can’t even afford to say anything. Giselle is so fucking shameless, it’s a bit pathetic. Every passing thrash her body makes against yours is like a panic mode - similar to a state of shock where the mind and muscles are in this disconnect, fighting each other over what is the best course of action. She keeps taking your cock so well, the shake in her thighs, it’s no different. The symphonic tone of her voice rising up in these octaves as the pace gets faster, erratic. 

“Like that. Please, just like that- like that, like that, like that, oh fuck!” She’s shattered, much like the blowback from an explosion or shockwave. The yank you give her to her legs is nasty and mean. All bets are off the table, she’ll seal the deal in any way that you like. You’ve ruined her. She’s completely fucked - all these sharp noises and mewls and moans earning a rite of passage past those pretty lips of hers; fucking and pounding her sorry cunt as a means of shutting her up, which has worked countless times before, and it isn’t any different now. 

“Baby, you’re amazing,” you praise, and the heat of your forehead meets hers. And you swear there’s a sudden shock happening between when you rock your cock down into her cunt at the same time during the contact. 

Her brows collapse above her closed eyelids, and her stomach is so sucked in where you could see the bottom of her ribcage. You’ve got your fingers rested into the divots of her back, rutting your hips as your cock is well rested into her cunt clenched at the base, rubbing her clit - and she fucking keens. “Gonna cum all over your fucking cock,” she mutters, lip wobbling, “Keep going, I swear to-” 

There’s no reproach. It’s got pleasure written all over your body and hers. The grip of her cunt over your cock, that vice - she puts your frame of mind on a pedestal that not a lot of people were able to put you on, so you do the next logical thing to fill that bucket of ego in your head: drive that aching cock so deep into her fucking cunt, fuck her hard and fast until she shrieks, keep pumping and pumping and pumping until that sopping cunt is nothing but mush. And when you do, you hold her down at the crease where her hips and legs meet, fucking your pusling load into that tight hole of hers. She screams at the spill, cooing soon after once her mind registers past the wreckage. 

“So much. It’s so much. God, it’s so fucking much.” 

Yeah. You know. 

Giselle’s gravity has you so low, where you’ve rested well inside her, so close to where you can take it, feel it, that fucking suck of wetness where your cock shapes perfectly into her cunt. Marking the spot as yours. The soreness of it is downright disgusting. She thrives in the ache - the fine line met in the middle with your hips; maybe in a place deep within that no one else really sees, besides her. She can’t stop babbling the nonsense; so you just keep- you keep fucking into her. Until you finally stay as the pace fades. 

When the thrums of your beating heart start to subside. 

The ragged breathing you two profess is the only constant as your cock softens up inside her, pulling out as a few remnants of your cum leaks out of her thighs, dripping onto the desk, staining the stray paperworks caught in the crossfire. 

She keeps on whimpering, even when you’re running your fingertips and lips over the valley of her figure. Her chest carries on with the rise and fall as you’re pulling the messy strands away from her face, lock your gaze onto hers; the mere intimacy of it not your typical craving or cup of tea, but the lazy and sweet smile she pulls earns a tilt of your head, and you keep on admiring. 

“Umngh,” she finally says, worn-out and pliant. 

“Tired?” 

Giselle raises those lazy, doe eyes of hers, the flush of her cheeks still fresh to the image - almost feverish. Her mouth wobbles a bit, jaw dangling as she tries to find the right ways to move them like she normally does. But she nods. She nods and nods and nods. 

You kiss her forehead, and tell her, “alright, I’ll carry you to bed.” 

–

“Maybe if,” she’s telling you later, snuggled up against your side, finger tracing along your bare chest as you continue to let your eyes wander around the ceiling, “We could throw in the idea of leaving everything behind. Light the match. Elope. Get away from this circle so that it can just be us, only us.” 

You shift a bit in your crater of the mattress, the low hum rumbling in pensiveness, “For once, I actually think we agree on something.” 

Giselle moves up to leave a kiss to your chin, nestles her head back into the dip of your collarbone. “You just get me. It’s one of the few things I love about you.” She doesn’t say anything after that, drifting away into her eventual slumber. 

(It gets you thinking, though. The potency to do exactly what she suggested: to create a whirlpool of shit that tanks the whole cover story plan into oblivion. You’re not feeling any sense of regret whatsoever, for the very few things that were handed to you while you worked hard to capture the rest. 

You’ve always believed that things happen for a reason. And even as you’re aware of all the details and facts, you can’t help but feel left in the dark despite knowing that there’s a inkling of light to be seen at the end of the tunnel. All it takes for the tinderbox to ignite, is for someone to start the fire. 

If Giselle was willing to start it, then you would be willing to also.) 

–

To describe the current state of this whole situation with a single word, you’d draw it up to be content; comfortable felt too safe, and with that said notion of security it’s right there in the meaning, but falling short just a bit. 

Chatter surrounding the family mergers does die down for a bit, and the media cycle’s attention goes towards other things. In layman’s terms: it’s a nice refreshing breath of fresh air. You’ve held your end of the deal for your parents, running the fake play much to the point that the chief editors got fed up with having their lens too close to you. They can’t scan nor decode from the stills and written reports alone, at least for now. 

Giselle’s lounging on your couch in the office as per usual, heels off and legs folded nicely after coming from a breakfast outing with one of her tight-knit business partners, filling you in on the various discussions they had over a few cups of expensive espressos. 

“You’ve got anything on your agenda still?” Giselle asks, rubbing over the touched-up polish on her nails, waiting for an answer. 

“Just stepping out to get a drink for Winter,” you say, walking over to her with a hand in your pocket, the same head tilt you always give her to keep you grounded, “since I owe her.” 

“Long?” 

You shake your head, take her hand in yours and place a kiss to the three knuckles of her fingers, “No, it’s a quick run to the place right at the corner.” 

Giselle nods soon after, “Okay, I’ll be here. I just have to make a quick phone call to someone.” 

The swivel on your neck stays on her as the rest of your body is moving towards the door. She gives a longing look, one with a slight of visible confusion as she presses her phone to her ear, waiting for the line to connect at the other end. The arch of her eyebrows says ‘What?’ and you’re smirking like a carefree idiot, mouthing the old expressive phrase that sounds too cliché to even say aloud, but she tips her head down, sighing out an airy laugh to let you know she got the message. 

“You idiot, I know. Now go.” 

No bother in refusing, because that wavelength was already established from the start, and you move forward.

–

What happens next, will be a moment in time where the world stands still; for just a moment. It leaves everyone in shock as to the how’s and why’s, and some are rather more piqued at the aftermath than the cause. 

(The cause itself is harmless at first, until the twist of time and circumstance finds some sinister way to turn it against you.) 

You’re following the usual routine as always getting the occasional drink once in a while: walk out the main entrance of the building, get into your car, weave into traffic for about five or so minutes until your driver pulls over to the curb with the hazard lights on as you’re putting in the typical order of Winter’s go-to beverage: a simple iced americano with two packs of sugar to give the test a little more tackiness and bite that somehow does the trick in her productivity. She could’ve picked something more simpler, but it helps her get the job done. 

The thing is, you never actually make it to the car in the first place. Rather, you’re stopping yourself right out the front door when a peculiar figure stands right at the bottom steps next to one of the neighboring railings. A girl; someone that you give a quick glance to and go on with your day. She’s got a small Versace handbag in her left hand, her right with a cigarette as she looks about done with the roll anyway, but holds it up once her eyes are dead set through her shades, examining. 

Here’s where the disarm happens, and it’s so easy to fall into - because whether she’s five feet close or two hundred feet away, she’s got you right where she wants. “Funny. I was starting to think that your phone was broken.” 

You look dead set at her face, confused. The voice alone pulls you in like a flood. No. No, there’s possibly no fucking way- 

So you test: “Yiz?" You're pretty sure entirely, it's her. "Oh god, don’t tell me.” 

Yizuho laughs softly, pulling her sunglasses away from her face, and the hair flip she does is subtle, but one where she’s done countless times, and every instance has the same effect on you. It’s lethal, captivating, attractive, downright beautiful - exuding all of the things that push the boundaries of traditional classiness. She looks down, flashes her eyes back up to yours; an inquisitive expression is painted across her face, “You know how much I hate that name. Jesus, you’re the worst.” 

You’re not helping yourself, leaning a bit to the right with a hand in your pocket, lowering your guard. “Sorry. It’s a bad habit of mine, you know this. Ningning.” 

Ningning concedes, accepting your poor apology, looking off into the distance again - almost as if she was being followed like in those thriller movies where she would be the damsel in distress, coming to you for a sense of protection. She picks up fast after the niceties, “You got a minute to talk?” 

“Not really. I’m on a schedule here.” 

Getting sidetracked wasn’t in the cards for today, and you’re doing a decent job of neutralizing the conversation when you’re about to walk away. Only to be sucked in by Ningning’s voice again, a poor move on your behalf. “That’s the thing. It’s urgent.” 

“Think we can arrange something for later this week?” 

“I was hoping that you can talk now.” 

Your feet freeze at the right time as two guys come up behind your flank, grabbing your arm and wrist as the metal grind almost sounds like the rip of a sheet of paper. Next thing you know, you’re handcuffed; and the only thing that your mind at that second was: shit, this is not good. 

“Ning, what the fuck-” 

“Retribution, sweetie,” she sneers, “It looks perfect on you.”

And it’s almost as if the universe decided to spin the wheel on you today, of all days, to take another turn in your fate; undermining nearly all of the good deeds you’ve done in your life up to this point. But that’s not the worst part, people take notice of the commotion, and start to close in on you four. They’ve got their phones out, recording, taking pictures; documenting the whole thing. 

Ningning’s got her phone to her ear, most likely confirming with the person on the other end that the deal’s been done, and her screen is faced towards you as soon as she ends the call. 

Make no fucking mistake, you’ll fight the world bare-handed to get to the bottom of this. Even if the first person you'd go for would be the contact on Ningning's phone whose name starts with the letter ‘G’. 

[coryosbaby]

—Envy

synopsis: your jealousy gets the best of you.

♡ content warning . Mentions of murder, possessiveness, oral, cum play, plinth! reader

“I want to know why you did it.”

Your boyfriend’s voice rings out through your shared room in the capital, an octave lower and in a teasing lilt— maybe not a tone that a normal person who’s discussing murder should have, but nothing about your or Coriolanus’ relationship can be defined as normal.

You know the answer to Coriolanus’ question, though you don’t want to say it. A pout glazes your plump glossed lips as you think back to the scene that has started this conversation.

—

You remember Clemensia’s stupid ponytail, her stupid face, and the way her stupid sharp nails dug into Coriolanus’ shoulder the day before. She was asking to be in that room with you the next day— literally.

It was a class project. One that was for advanced students only, a one-by-one sort of assignment. You were Dr. Gaul’s personal assistant, the youngest ever— although, partner seemed to describe your dynamic with her better. You and Dr. Gaul went way back, and she trusted you.

You and Clemensia were in that brightly lit room you were oh so familiar with. Papers and folders were strewn around a desk nearby— and you and her were both alone. The body of snakes swimming throughout the small pool in the middle of the room had been enticing to stick your hand into. You remember Clemensia’s surprised look of awe as she watched you take one of the snakes trustfully into your grasp. It dripped water but it was beautiful. Its fangs scraped against you, almost teasing. It wanted to stick its teeth into your skin— you knew it did. But you trusted the snakes, and they trusted you. They would not be eating their handler anytime soon.

But maybe they would be eating something else.

Clemensia crouched in your same position; you were on your knees, gently rubbing your cheek against the snake’s rainbow scales. It whispered to you, lulling with soft hisses.

“Would you like to hold it?” You had asked her. “They enjoy a good petting every now and again.”

Clemensia had chuckled nervously, and you could tell by her body language that she was on edge.

“Don’t be silly, [y/n] plinth,” she had answered bleakly. “That snake would surely kill me.”

You remember turning to her. You could remember her brows furrowing, the softness of her skin. Coriolanus liked nice skin.

“I know.” You had said, and the rest was a blur.

A restling of limbs, your hands gripping tightly in her hair. There was splashing, gurgling, snakes crowding the surface. Her whole body had become submerged in that pool, and then you remembered that you had forgot to feed the snakes that day.

—

Thinking about it now, maybe you were a bit dramatic. Coriolanus has made his love for you very clear. There was no reason for such atrocities because of a girl he wasn’t even dating. But they had grown too close, and it had scared you.

Not to mention her excessive gossip about your fashion choices, which really pissed you off. Coriolanus shouldn’t have become friends with her, anyway.

“I told you,” You groan, watching him take a seat across from you. His shirt buttons are undone, just how you like them. “ I didn’t do it. She slipped.”

He doesn’t reply, and you groan.

“Why are you acting as if you didn’t do the same exact thing to that boy from economics class a few months ago, Coryo?”

“He was a complete dick, [y/n]. And a pervert. That was different.”

“I’m sure it was.”

Although Coriolanus should be disturbed, or quite possibly angered with you, he isn’t. You two tell too many secrets to judge. He doesn’t exactly have room to tell you who you should and shouldn’t kill with his past history.

And even so, the boy doesn’t have any room to care for Clemensia’s passing. She isn’t you, so it doesn’t matter.

After a moment of silence, Coriolanus sighs heavily. His thighs spread, and he leans back in his chair.

“But why…” he starts quietly, contemplating, as if this is funny guessing game. “Aren’t you going to tell me why?”

He knows the reason. He’s not stupid, and never has been. But he loves to tease.

“No.”

“Mmm…”

He turns his head to the side. His blonde curls have grown back, and for that you are incredibly grateful because they’re messy and make him look even more attractive. His eyes catch sight of a framed picture beside your bed— you and him, sitting at a shared desk in class. You were smiling at the camera, your favorite outfit on, and Coriolanus was only looking at you.

Smirking, Coriolanus lifts himself up from his chair. Your brows furrow in confusion as he approaches you, his tall form almost intimidating. His smell invades your senses as he leans over your shoulder to whisper into your ear.

“Was it jealousy?”

His tone is dark, flirtatious, and his breath is hot on the shell of your ear. Heat creeps up your neck— no matter how many times he speaks to you in this low tone of voice, it never fails to make your shiver.

You chuckle, your thighs squeezing together when his fingers grip tightly onto your shoulder.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply. Your head turns to him, and he’s so close that you can feel his steady breathing. “Besides, I didn’t do it. Like I said— she slipped.”

“Liar.” He says punctually. His fingers grip your chin suddenly, and his grip is harsh. “You didn’t like me with her, did you?”

Your teeth sink into your lower lip, and Coriolanus’ fingers stroke your shoulder softly.

“Did you think she was pretty?” You ask. The boy chuckles, slowly pressing a wet kiss to your jugular that makes something electric zigzag its way through your body.

“No. The only woman who’s pretty to me is you.”

That makes you let out a small sound, and Coriolanus’ body moves to the front of your chair. He falls to his knees, then, the candlelight near the both of you making him look ever so beautiful. His fingers ghost over your skirt, and you whine, squirming in your seat. He pinches the hem, and lifts up the cotton fabric over your thighs. Cute pink panties are shown to him, and he lets out a groan.

“You’re so perfect.” He mutters. He leans in, his breath fanning over you, but he doesn’t get as close as you want. He presses a kiss to your inner thigh.

“Coryo,” you whine, bucking up your hips. “Please. Please eat my pussy.”

He looks up at you, his gaze dark and glazed over with lust.

“Kiss me.” He demands, and you have no choice but to obey. Your hands settle into his golden locks, pulling him up further on his knees so he can gain access to your plump, hot mouth. Your lips slot against his, and it isn’t long before his tongue is grazing the soft flesh. His teeth bite down, nibbling on your lips with ferocious hunger as his fingers dig crescent moons into your thighs. Pulling away, your hands rest on his shoulders. Coriolanus grabs one of them, pulling you so far down that your forehead touches his as he presses your palm against the bulge tight in his pants.

“Do you think Clemensia could make me feel this way, angel? Could make my cock so hard?” He says, and his breath is hot against your open mouth as he utters his next words. “I’m yours.”

You yank your hand away, pulling him into another hot and heated kiss. But not before he’s pulling himself away and sliding your panties down your legs, mouthing at your inner thighs again as your pussy is exposed to him. Coriolanus practically drools, spreading your thighs and shoving his tongue inside your tight, aching hole. His big hands wrap around your thighs, pulling you closer to his mouth. He drinks up your slick with vigor, moaning against your clit as he devours you. Your mouth drops open, whimpers spilling out of you.

“Coryo,” you cry. His tongue moves from your hole to your clit, and he wraps his lips around the swollen bud as your hips buck up into his face.

He hums, savoring the taste of your nectar and grinding his hardened cock into the open air. He slurps into your cunt with everything he has and when you cum around him he drinks up your spend, too. His cock is still aching when he’s done and when he pulls away and wipes his pretty mouth on the back of his sleeve your gesture for him to stand up.

He smiles, watching as you grab his hips and pull them towards your face. You undo his belt, watching the straining fabric as your mouth waters. You pull out his hardened cock, the tip flushed red and dripping precum, and press a light kiss to the tip. Coriolanus shutters, letting out a tiny breath of air as he watches you press kiss upon lipstick stained kiss to his thick length. After a moment he grabs your hair and gently pulls you back from his cock.

“No,” he murmurs, when you try to put your mouth back on it again. “This is about me now, not you. Now open your mouth and stick out your tongue.”

Brows furrowing while you try not to pout, you lean back and do as the man says. Your lashes flutter as you watch him tower over you, putting his legs on either side of the chair and holding himself up with one strong, muscle-ey arm. You let out a tiny whine in your throat as he holds his cock over your face and begins to stroke himself. You watch how swollen he is, how desperate he is to cum, the way his balls sit against his skin and look desperate to be emptied. He lets out small breathy moans as he rubs himself up and down, his head thrown back and his lip caught in between his teeth. What a beautiful sight.

He grunts when he looks down and sees drool leaking out of the corners of your mouth.

“Hungry for it, aren’t you?” He chastises. “I know. Poor little girl loves drinking up my cum. Don’t worry, baby, you’re gonna get some soon.”

Your head becomes fuzzy, your tongue reaching out to graze just a sliver of his cock. But he’s quick to use his length to slap your cheek, a warning growl sounding from his lips.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” He asks you. “Keep fucking still, and don’t touch me.”

You pout, your mouth closing in the process, and Coryo fumes. He grabs your chin, forcing your mouth back open grabbing your tongue with his fingers. He presses it down onto your teeth, and begins to furiously jack his cock.

“You never fucking listen.”

You want to smile but you know you can’t. When Coriolanus’ hips thrust particularly hard into the open air, you know he’s about to be close. You push out your tongue even more, watching his tip begin to spew white creamy cum onto your flushed face. He grunts, the sight of your fucked out body covered in the sticky substance making his cock kick one last time before he goes soft. You look up at him with heavy breaths, your mouth open as you lick your lips and taste him on you. His thumb brushes against a puddle of his spend, and he brings it up to your mouth.

“Now clean it up, brat.”

[taylorswiftstyle]

MTV Video Music Awards | September 11, 2024

Dior Resort 2025 Lorraine Schwartz earrings Stuart Weitzman ‘Ultrastuart Maverick Leather Boots’ - $1,550.00

Dior’s latest cruise collection was an ode to Scotland and the house’s first runway show held there in 7 decades. Creative director Maria Grazia Chiuri said of her inspiration, “Scotland is an important reference in the fashion world and I wanted to interpret it in a different way. For my generation, it’s so associated with punk.” The result was an offering full of voluminous skirts, dramatically cinched dresses, and hourglass jackets rendered in historically accurate tartans and, indeed, set off with certain punk sensibilities thanks to studded leather accessories and clompy buckled boots. 

The VMA dress code typically leans towards the wacky and the outrageous. Hence why Taylor has felt comfortable appearing in alphagetti soup baby onesies (aka The Incident, circa 2014). I’ll put it on record again and again that I may pull a face at that look (and still do, a decade later) but I will always appreciate a risk (relative to the wearer). Fashion should be fun! 

The collection filters Scotland’s most historic women into its fabrics. Namely, Mary Queen of Scots: a fiery Sagittarius woman I’d like to think Taylor might feel kinship with. During her years of imprisonment in England by QEI, Mary would insert veiled - often political - symbols into her embroidery. At one point even the phrase, "In my end lies my beginning" was embroidered into her state's clothes. Doesn’t that feel, “In the death of her reputation, she felt truly alive”? 

In his review of this Dior runway, Mark Holgate for Vogue described the collection as one that “drew on the geopolitics of fabric[s …] and the way [Mary] gave political commentary through her embroideries.” He described the series as full of “defiant beauty and an equally defiant energy. It felt uncompromising. But then maybe women can’t afford to be anything but that, especially now.” If a possible connect, I admire this evocation in the wake of Taylor’s major political endorsement. Especially given Chiuri worked with the iconic Harris Tweeds for their artisan, loomed wool. This teed her up nicely for an onstage call to action to remind viewers to register to vote.

All-in, this felt like a cohesive night of looks to underpin TTPD’s aesthetic. The runway’s interplay of proportions and bustier-like top are very TTPD - sensual, emboldened, playing with what to reveal and what to hide. A look that’s dark academia adjacent. 

I do find the biker gloves (also by Dior) confusing and I’m searching for insight on their ‘why’. At the Grammys, I could buy into the ‘Albatross’ reference in her black elbow-length gloves. These? I’m still trying to make sense of. A straitjacket allusion, perhaps? Were I to make some styling tweaks, I would have removed the gloves, opted for the coordinating tartan shorts from the runway, and changed the boots out to an equally tall but caged style to tie into the patterned effect of the ensemble.

Photo by Dimitrios Kambouris via Getty Images

[martian-astro10]

D9/ Navamsa chart observations - Part 6

Moon in 10th gives you a sassy (in a good way) father in law. Also, your spouse can be the best in their field. After marriage, you can be closer to your partner's family than your own. If you don't have a good relationship with your parents, then your partner's family will fill that void. (I know a gay guy with this placement and his husband was disowned by his family when he came out but my friend's family treat him as their own son. They have a really sweet relationship. I love this placement)

Rahu will either take away everything or give the best results related to the things of the house it's in. It really depends on it's dispositor. For ex- if rahu is in 5th, it can either give you a partner who is intelligent, creative, energetic, has a lot of hobbies, or it can give you a partner who drinks a lot, parties a lot, sleeps around, etc. it can also either give you a lot of kids or none at all.

Mercury in 9th gives you an intelligent spouse, they can also be a multilingual person. If you're a woman then your partner can have a little, teeny tiny tendency to mansplain, it's honestly like, they're so proud of their knowledge that they just wanna show how much they know, it can be a little annoying sometimes but nothing too serious. (I know a guy with this and his wife is so cute, she looks like a child every time she talks about her interests, you can tell how much she enjoys sharing her experiences and knowledge, it's kinda cute actually)

Venus in 7th is that placement that completely changes you after marriage, especially your fashion sense. it's because it aspects your 1st house, so definitely a huge change in personality, you can also get a glow up after marriage. Also, it can give a rich partner, kinda like a crazy rich Asians type situation. (I know a girl with this placement and she was so innocent before marriage, she wouldn't even wear revealing clothes and stuff but then after marriage, her mother in law basically threw out all her old clothes and got her new ones, I met her recently and BRO, she looked so different, so beautiful and she was wearing clothes that actually suit her body type and skin color. Also her mother in law is COOL AS FUCK, every time I look at her, I'm like, yeah, this is who I aspire to be like in the future) last point, you'll have a very loving marriage

Jupiter in 2nd is THAT placement. so many celebrities who are married to rich business men have this. I feel like this is one of the placements that just makes you very materialistic, like money is very important for you all, so you should marry someone who is just as materialistic. (I know people with this placement who don't get lonely or offended even when their spouses are workaholics, both you and your spouse think that money should take priority over any other matter) I'll be honest, your married life can be a little dry, but not if Jupiter is in a good sign

Sun in 9th is OFC another good placement. I haven't really seen this mentioned anywhere but this is like THE foreign spouse placement. all the people I know who have this, married someone who was not from their country. You'll also travel a lot after marriage. It gives you a really charming partner, like they can charm the pants off you. Also, the sexual tension is HIGH, Especially if sun is in Aries. There's also a high chance that you're an introvert but your spouse is not, so they can help you get out of your comfort zone

Saturn in 3rd can be such a calm and mature placement, it's like, you know how many men don't talk about the problems they face in a relationship, and then they start acting shitty and wait for the woman to break up. With this placement you get a responsible partner, someone who is willing to talk and meet halfway but you have got to match their energy yk. if you have a weak Mercury in d1, then this placement is not nice, cuz your communication skills are shit and they are TOO mature, so the moment you play games with them, they'll leave you. So work on yourself, is what I would say.

For ketu also, if the dispositor is well placed then you achieve balance in that area, but if not, then you feel detached. ( I know 2 people with ketu in 7th, one is so against marriage and she has extremely high standards, which tbh, are not even practical but the other one has high achievable standards. The funny thing is that the first one has always dated guys who were not good to her and the other has had zero dating experience cuz she's waiting for the right guy. So the detachment sometimes refers to "wrong attachment".

You all are not gonna like this but Jupiter in 7th is one of the STRONGEST indicators of getting married a lot of times. Jupiter in 1st as well, it's not that strong but chances are high. (Halley berrey, Jennifer Lopez, angelina jolie and Scarlett Johansson have it)

To end it on a good note, if you have mars in 5th, just know I'm jealous of you, cuz if there's one thing that you're not gonna lack in your marriage, it's sex. You guys will be those parents who kiss each other even you've been married for 35 years, you do that and then your kids go "ewww, you guys are so cringy" and run away. (Just make sure that mars is not conjunct or aspected by Saturn or rahu, Saturn gives no sex, rahu gives painful sex)

© martian-astro All rights reserved, 2024

[darnell-la]

𝗧𝗔𝗞𝗘 𝗜𝗧 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥

pairing: the wolverine x assassin!reader

warning: Wolverine struggling to regenerate, stabbing, brutal killing, manhandling, pinning, trapped, cutting clothes off, breaking skin, rough sex, begged, hard orgasm, etc.

request: After Logan gets taken back to Japan for his old friend buddy's last goodbye, idk if you've seen that movie but you know how their interaction goes, and then the old friend dies. Basically, people start going after his granddaughter uh sorry anyway after the old friend's funeral Logan gets away with the granddaughter and heads to the safe house. Once there Logan gets to relax for a few days till more bad guys show up and try taking the granddaughter. It makes Logan angry and as he ends up fighting one of the bad guys he discovers it's a female and that's when female y/n comes in place. Maybe Logan is just too tired and overall angry he takes it out on y/n in a very aggressive nsfw fashion of course

note: this story is a bit all over the place because of how angry the Wolverine is in here. He isn’t as nice as usual. He takes what he wants, and of course, y/n’s going to take it all.

Please comment, like, reblog, request, and follow us!

———

How do you guys feel about a x men story with reader? Logan being rude Logan at first, then slowly shows small affection towards the reader. Jealousy and things of that sort. They soon hit it off, and after Logan starts acting rude again, because he’s scared of the love he grew for her. It’ll be a long story, but something to read at night. ALL ON WATTPAD! Comment below, please!

———

“Mariko?” Logan growled as he woke up on the couch he chose to take so the princess could take the bed. “Hey — Mariko!” Logan groans, sleeping from the well-needed nap after all he’s been through for the past few days.

“Hey?” Logan heard Mariko speak as she opened the front door. Logan quickly leaned up from the couch, remembering that there were people after her.

“Shit,” the man groaned under his breath as he got up, falling at first, but got back up and ran to the front door. She was speaking to someone who he couldn’t see.

“Alright, talk time over,” Logan said as he pulled Mariko from the door. He went to shut it until he saw who stood in front of him. A woman.

“Hi, I was just wondering if you were interested in some fruits?” The woman asked, making him look down at the covered basket she had in hand.

“Come on, Logan — We haven’t eaten a good meal in a while,” the princess spoke behind Logan. He had jumped at her voice, almost forgetting she was there. He was too focused on the woman standing before him in a white wavey dress.

“Uh- Sure, sure — Two for the lady and one for me,” Logan said as he dug into his pockets, looking down to see if he had changed on him.

As Logan locked for chained, he saw the woman open the basket. He saw the fruit, but under the few was a knife. A sharp snide that looked like it was made out of carbonadium. Something that can kill him.

“Shit- Princess, safe room-“ before he could finish as he turned around, the woman kicked open the door, making the man fall to the ground.

Mariko screamed as y/n ripped her dress off, showing her in a suit. The wavey skirt and the tight shirt that was swordproof, made Mariko’s heart pound. She knew this was the doing of her father.

Y/n jumped onto the man’s back as several other men came into the house from different angles.

Y/n quickly stuck the man in his upper shoulder, causing him to yell out in pain. She twisted in carbonadium knife, smirking at the pain he finally could feel. “You won’t be healing soon,” she said before getting off of the man to go after Mariko.

“No, no!” The man tried grabbing after the woman, but he couldn’t. The pain that went through his shoulder only angered him. This whole fucking situation angered him.

Logan growled as he struggled to get up onto his knees. It took him a while, but he finally got to his feet, almost tipping over, but he held himself together.

The man reached behind his back, struggling to find the knife until he did. The man gripped it hard before pulling it out with an animalistic yell.

“Hurry! He’s coming back!” Y/n, the woman yelled at her men as they tried breaking done the steal door Mariko was hiding behind. She was quick to run, giving Logan time to get up and active.

“Who sent you?” Logan asked, slightly knowing who it could be, but he needed to know for sure. “He’s back! Fight!” Y/n yelled, making her men turn around and attack Logan.

Y/n stayed behind, trying to cut the wires to the key, but it would take a while. She needed to cut the right ones.

The noises Logan made as he fought the men with carbonadium swords, slightly scared y/n. She told Mariko’s grandfather that she was ready, but she knew nothing about Logan.

He was an animal. An animal that has been holding anger for years, and these past few days have been bottling up inside of him.

The carbonadium wasn’t working on the man. Yes, it cut through his skin, making it sting worse than usual, but he still slightly healed. The adrenaline in his body was the danger.

“Retreat! Retreat!” One of her men said, making her turn around to see Logan rip apart the last few remaining. She jumped at the way his claws sliced one’s neck.

Logan was on one knee, in a superhero landing position as he breathed heavily, claws out and to the side as he tightened his fists.

“Shit,” y/n took off and ran towards the back door that was open after Logan looked up at her. His eyes were dark, his fangs showed, his mouth quivered and his growls were deep. She was the last one left. She needed to get out.

Y/n almost made it to the front door, hoping she could make it to the van they all came in, but she was caught and thrown back in the house.

Y/n whined as she grabbed her side, feeling pain in an instant. She was no mutant. She was a human. She’s trained almost her whole life, but she would never stand a chance against someone like the Wolverine.

“I’ll give you a chance like I gave you men. Who sent you!?” Logan asked, walking over to her as she slowly crawled backward on the floor.

“Please, spare me,” the young lady said as he held a hand out, still not willing to give up her senpai’s name. “Who the fuck sent you woman!” Logan yelled as he hovered over her.

“Logan! The fight is done, just let her go! This is not her fault!” Mariko yelled from inside the safe room. As Logan heard her pushing the codes, he ran over to the door and roped out the outside keypad, making the inside malfunction.

“Logan? Logan! Logan!” Mariko yelled, feeling his anger from inside the room. “Stay there, princess. I’ve got some business to take care of,” Logan said as he looked back at y/n.

Y/n quickly got up in pain and ran. She yelled, hoping someone would maybe hear and help her, but even if they could hear her, who would want to go against the Wolverine.

“You ain’t gettin’ out of here,” Logan lunged after the young lady until he got her, picking her up and slamming onto the hardwood table in the dining room.

Y/n yelped, trying to move and get rid of the pain, but Logan picked her up and slammed her back onto the table.

“Ow!” She cried out as he stared down at her in anger. One hand retracted his claws as he pushed her shoulder down and the other stayed out, hovering over her face.

“Don’t make me hurt you if I don’t have to, Bub. Who sent you?” The man asked as his blades slightly stuck at her neck to scare her.

Usually, he would’ve killed her but now, the way she looked at him in fear and struggled with his one hand on her shoulder, made his breathing slow down. She wasn’t alarming. She wouldn’t stand a chance against him.

“You were badass just a second ago. Climbing in my back and stabbing me with that carbonadium or adamantium shit,”

“Please, just- Just let me go,” y/n begged as the blades broke the skin, making tears slip from her eyes. “Why can’t you just tell me, kid. You’re risking your life for someone who doesn’t care for yours,” Logan said, feeling a bit sad for the young lady, but he couldn’t show that. At least not at this time.

“I will never give his name. I serve him with all my life,” y/n said, eyes so glossy, she could barely see Logan. “That’s a shame, princess,” Logan traced his blades down the girl's neck, making viable scratches.

The man watched the woman’s mouth part, trying to keep in the pain, but she was human. It stung like hell.

“You’ll do anything for your master? Anything?” He asked as his blade stopped in the middle of her shirt, at the top of the collar. “Anything,” she tried seeming tough, but that soon faded as the made ripped at her suit.

Y/n’s tits flashed the man, making him groan low. “No bra on a mission? What did you expect when you got here?” Logan said, making it seem like she dressed this way for him.

“W-Wolverine, please,” y/n sobbed low as his eyes trailed down the rest of her body. “Pretty girls shouldn’t be out on missions. Especially for me. Do you know what I do to those girls?” Logan asked as he slowly lifted her skirt.

Mariko had no idea what was going on from front the outside. He had destroyed the speaker on the keypad. He can tell himself he didn’t plan this, but distorting the speaker could argue against that.

“P-Please — Take her, and I’ll leave. I won’t follow,” y/n said, feeling her heart rate speed up. “But I haven’t told you what I do to pretty girls like you,” Logan said as his blade trailed down her stomach until it cut her panties.

Y/n whined as she bucked her hips, trying to get from under him, but there was no use. The man chuckles as he rips the rest of her panties off.

“I teach them a real lesson,” Logan said as he began tugging on his belt. “W-Wolverine, stop this. Spare me, I swear I won’t follow,” Y/n said as her eyes kept switching from his eyes to his crotch.

“After I’m done with you, you’ll be coming with us. You’ve fucked yourself over,” Logan said. “N-No — No, I can’t,” y/n finally began pushing at his arm and pushed her shoulder down.

Logan retracted his last claws before he reached into his jeans and pulled himself out. Y/n had stopped moving for a second, eyes widening as she scanned his length.

The man was painfully hard, cock red and slightly blue as pre cum slipped past the slit of his tip. “N-No,” y/n stuttered as she slowly began to fight again, kicking and clawing at him, but nothing was working.

“You said you’d do anything for your master. Let’s see how much you’ll do,” he said as he moved up in between her legs, making her legs part wide.

“N-No, sir!” Y/n pushed at his lower stomach as he pushed at her entrance. “C’mon, princess. Let me in,” Logan growled, hands coming to her waist to grip and pull her into him.

“S-Sir,” y/n stuttered with a whine as she threw her head back. The young lady's back arched as her hands grabbed his wrist, trying to grab onto something to help the pain she felt in her lower stomach.

He was huge, and he knew that. He was just too angry to care about it. He needed to take it out somehow, and this random assassin that was sent to kill him and take Mariko was perfect. She was perfect.

“Should’ve quit, baby. Should’ve said no to this mission,” the man began moving at a fast hard pace, watching her body jolt at his strokes.

“P-Please, stop!” Y/n cried out, feeling her orgasm near. She was going to cum by the Wolverine pounding into her. How could she? How could she do this to her people?

“You sure, Bub? You’re about to cum — I can feel it,” Logan growled as he snapped his hips faster, watching her grip his worst tightened and shake her head.

It was getting hard to hold in her moans. He used her so well, and she couldn’t lie and say she hated it. Her body said the complete opposite. She was going to gush around him, and he was going to shoot it.

“Names Logan, by the way, Bub, and I’m gonna use all my anger out on you,”

Logan pulled back and picked the girl up, throwing her over his shoulders, and made his way into the spare room he let Mariko have last night.

“L-Logan,” y/n said the man’s name, not actually knowing why. The man threw y/n on the bed, instantly hovered over her, and turned her onto her stomach.

“Please, spare-“ y/n went to beg again, embarrassed that she wanted to explode, but he ignored her as he forced his way back through her slit, stretching her at a different angle.

Y/n cried into the pillow as her hands flew back, trying to slow his thrust by placing her hands on his lower stomach.

The man was shirtless when he opened the door, and at first, y/n was thankful for that because she could stab him better, but now, she was glad that she could feel him.

She was a struggling mess, giving him a hard time, but she knew deep down she loved this. She loved being taken just like this by him. By the Wolverine.

“C’mon, baby — Take it,” Logan grabbed both of her wrists and pinned them on her back before pushing down and snapping his hips.

Y/m felt like her back was going to break. Her vision had already gone blurry and her legs had started trembling.

With no words, only moans, y/n came around Logan’s cock, soaking him and the bed. “Ah huh, ah huh,” the man groaned as one of his hands gripped her hair and pulled her head back to hear her.

“Don’t fuckin’ hide it, kid. Cry on my cock proudly. Keep sickin’ me in for your master,” Logan said with a smirk, knowing she’d feel embarrassed if he knew what she was up to.

“Assassin my ass — Look at you. Fuckin’ weak. So fuckin’ weak, you can barely talk,” Logan teased before pushing her head into the pillow she was just crying in.

“Take it, take it! Fuckin’ take me, baby,”

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ