#write an amazing headline

[realestatemalldotus]

How to Write an Amazing Headline in 5 Easy Steps

How to Write an Amazing Headline in 5 Easy Steps

Are you looking to create amazing headlines that captivate your audience and draw them in? Look no further!

In this blog post, I’ll show you how to write an amazing headline in just five easy steps. Creating the perfect headline is key to getting people to engage with your content, so it’s worth investing the time to get it right.

1) Know your audience

If you want to write an amazing headline, the most important thing to do is to know who your audience is. Before you even begin writing your headline, ask yourself these questions: Who am I writing for? What is their age? What are their interests? Knowing who you’re writing for will help you craft a headline that resonates with them.

For example, if you’re writing a blog post for teenagers, you may want to use slang or emojis in your headline. On the other hand, if you’re writing for an older demographic, you should use more traditional language. Once you’ve determined who your audience is, you can move on to crafting your headline.

2) Keep it short and sweet

When it comes to writing an amazing headline, brevity is key. Aim to keep your headline under 70 characters, so that it fits on one line and will grab the reader’s attention. The fewer words used, the better – while still getting your point across. Think of a headline like a tagline; it should be short, but powerful.

Additionally, avoid wordy phrases and jargon, as this can detract from your message. Instead, focus on strong words that clearly convey the message of your article. Finally, use keywords in your headline when possible – this will help boost your SEO rankings and help more people find your content.

3) Use strong words

When it comes to crafting a headline, the words you use are just as important as the length and structure. After all, it’s the words that grab readers’ attention and convince them to click on your article.

The best headlines use strong, powerful words. These types of words are action-oriented and evoke emotions in readers. They can also make your headline stand out in a crowded newsfeed.

Try to avoid generic phrases like “read this” or “check it out” – they don’t have much impact. Instead, try to use words that pack a punch and convey the main message of your article: verbs like “transform”, “create”, “discover”, or “explore”.

Another great way to add some punch to your headline is by using adjectives such as “amazing”, “incredible”, “essential”, or “unmissable”. Make sure you choose words that are relevant to your article and that fit the tone of your content.

Using strong words will make your headline more engaging and will help it stand out from the crowd. Take the time to think about the words you use and make sure they accurately reflect what your article is about.

4) Be clear

When writing headlines, you want to ensure that it is easy to understand what the article is about. Be direct and succinct when writing your headline. Avoid being too vague or ambiguous with your words. Make sure to use language that is easy to comprehend and get the point across quickly.

The headline should clearly communicate the core message of the article. If the headline is too vague, it could lead to readers abandoning the article before reading it. Additionally, make sure to keep the headline free of jargon or any technical terms that may be difficult for the average reader to understand. Use clear, plain language so that readers can quickly gain an understanding of what the article is about.

5) Use numbers or lists

Using numbers or lists in your headline is a great way to draw the attention of readers and make your message more easily understood. Numbers and lists provide a structure that people can easily scan and quickly get a sense of what the headline is about. Using numbers or lists can also help keep your headline short, sweet, and to the point.

When creating a list-style headline, use language that clearly shows the reader the order of importance. For example, you could say “7 Ways to Make Your Home Smarter” or “5 Easy Steps to Start a Business”. You can also use numbered steps for how-to guides or tutorials to give your audience a better understanding of the process.

In addition to numbered headlines, you can also use lists to create headlines that are both catchy and informative. For instance, you could say “5 Reasons to Visit Hawaii” or “3 Things You Need to Know Before Investing”.

Using numbers or lists in your headline can be a great way to capture the attention of readers and communicate your message quickly and effectively. Keep your headline short, sweet, and clear, and you’ll be sure to capture the attention of your readers!

Take this knowledge and go to https://realestatemall.us/post-an-ad/ to write your first post today, and get new customers tomorrow.

Until next time, Karyn Murphy

[icewindandboringhorror]

[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’. 

[goldsainz]

❝ THAT’S THAT ME, ESPRESSO ❞

MASTERLIST!

pairing . . . charles leclerc x reader

◦∘｡ﾟ. request . . . “hii !!! i love the new sabrina carpenter song (esspresso) and was wonderimg if you could do a smau with charles x reader based off it !!”

◦∘｡ﾟ. summary . . . the internet can’t believe you two know each other, let alone fancy the other.

◦∘｡ﾟ. note . . . back from my fic making slump!!! i hope yall like this because i actually had fun writing this soooo… happy reading everyone 💙 (also pls don’t ask for pt2 because i don’t usually make them or enjoy doing so)

liked by charles_leclerc, maudeapatow and 1,724,865 others

yourusername you can keep thinking about me every night even more because espresso is out everywhere now!!!! ☕️🤎

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ynfan1 MOTHER IS MOTHERING

ynfan2 can’t wait for ynchella

⤷ ynfan3 oh she’s gonna eat everyone uppp

charlesfan1 what is charles doing here🤨

ynfan4 if y/n was my gf best believe i’d never stop thinking about her

charlesfan2 charles liking… i have a theory but i fear i’ll get bashed for it

charlesfan3 charles is so real for being a y/n fan

⤷ ynfan5 who’s charles???

⤷ charlesfan3 f1 driver! and apparently likes y/n cause he liked this and doesn’t even follow her😭

ynfan6 this song SLAPS

ynfan7 she just releases banger after banger after banger!!!

charlesfan4 bye why did charles like this

ynfan8 huge HUGE slay

charlesfan5 charles i get you sweetie

charles_leclerc updated their instagram stories!

charlesfan21 responded to your story!

charlesfan21 BYEEEE THIS IS SO UNSERIOUS

charlesfan22 responded to your story!

charlesfan22 you’re not slick this song is obviously about you!!!!!!

ynfan21 responded to your story!

ynfan21 spreading the y/n agenda iktr 😌

charlesfan23 responded to your story!

charlesfan23 that performance had you SHOOK

ynfan22 responded to your story!

ynfan22 i just KNOW it was you she was smiling at

liked by ynfan31, ynfan32 and 62,904 others

ynupdates y/n at bleachers’ coachella set with f1 driver, charles leclerc!

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ynupdates guys i was so chill in the caption but i can assure you i am freaking out too😭

⤷ ynupdates WTF IS HAPPENING ACTUALLY

ynfan33 my brain cannot comprehend this

charlesfan31 nah this can’t be real

charlesfan32 oh im so sick

charlesfan33 he shot his shot and SCORED

⤷ ynfan34 how did he bag my womannn😩

⤷ charlesfan34 that’s HIS woman now i’m afraid

ynfan35 they could be so cute together

liked by tinistoessel, tayrussell and 2,058,439 others

yourusername coachella weekend one you’ll forever be in my heart 🩶 thank you to everyone who made this possible and to everyone who came to see me, you made this experience even more incredible!!!! can’t wait for next weekenddd

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charles_leclerc Amazing perfomance 😊❤️

liked by yourusername and 173,982 others

⤷ charlesfan41 boy if you don’t get off the floor…

⤷ ynfan41 oh you are down BAD too

ynfan42 she slayed so hard

ynfan43 should’ve headlined tbh

charlesfan42 charles you better spill your secrets

⤷ charlesfan43 we need pierregasly to tell us the tea

ynfan44 nobody is doing it like her

ynfan45 babes what are you doing with that vroom vroom guy

charlesfan44 WE ARE IN SHAMBLES SOMEONE DO SOMETHING

ynfan46 did i just lose my wife

⤷ charlesfan45 just lost my husband too…

-ˋˏ *.· taglist . . . @lorarri @lpab @noncannonships @lunnnix @elliegrey2803 @saintslewis @leoramage @toomuchdelusion @anthonykatebridgerton @enhacolor @gulabjamoon @louvrepool @ravisinghs-wife @hobiismyhopeu @starlightpierre @lecsainz @kkeelss @namgification @minkyungseokie @gothgirlez @f1version @vroomvroommuppett

[leclarifies]

i love you. it's ruining my life. (MV33)

✰ max verstappen x popstar!ex!reader ✰

summary: you and max have been broken up for four years now, going no contact for the entirety of those years. never bothering to contact eachother but he invites you to one of his races one day after the last show of your tour, who were you to say no?

genre: angst (im sorry)

wc: 3k

a/n: AHHH, THIS WAS WAS A DOOZY!!!!! i loved writing this (i mostly just like hurting myself more than anything). kind of dark themes tho, ooc max bc he vvv loving and would never cheat on his lover. thank you so much for 100 followers btw!!!!!! i wrote this as a 100 follower special :3 thank you so much for my supporting my short journey as a tumblr writer, you guys inspire me to write even more for you guys. can you imagine that's it's been a week of writing and i've already gained 100 followers?? i love you guys so much.

warnings: mentions of existing relationship with kelly, cheating

"thought of calling ya, but you won't pick up. another fortnight lost in america." - taylor swift, 'fortnight'

isn't it ironic that careers can really separate you from what truly made you, you? being a popstar, touring for months on end, surrounding yourself with new people, new opportunities, made it hard for you to reconnect with the people that helped you from day one.

it wasn't like you cut them off, or stopped talking to them. you tried. you really tried, but sometimes life goes on and people forgive and forget. your old life before you started your career was slowly being etched away and replaced with new pieces.

and maybe that was a bad thing.

"on stage in 2 minutes," a voice snapped you out of your trance, you looked up. you looked amazing in your sparkly dress, it was the last leg of your tour and you were touring in europe.

you had been offered to attend a formula one race this weekend after all of your shows had been concluded, you've been thinking about it, but you're not sure you want to go. one of the people from said past was in attendance and you're not sure if you wanted to immerse yourself in that again.

you didn't think about it for long though, you were due for a show and a show was what you're going to give.

it wasn't long until the weekend, friday to be exact and you had accepted the offer of being on the formula one paddock, you knew that a certain ex-boyfriend was going to be there, racing on the track and you were invited personally by him, which was why you were so skeptical to go.

POPSTAR Y/N BREAKS UP WITH F1 DRIVER MAX VERSTAPPEN.

you remembered the headlines, you remembered what you let go of but seeing someone you still loved after your break up almost four years ago stung a little bit.

you couldn't blame him though, you were the one to break things off all those years ago. it wasn't because you had a terrible relationship with him, but it was more because you both didn't have time for eachother and you could see it in his face everytime you came home to monaco after a long show.

"i miss you, when can you finally stay and actually stay awhile?" max's face looked pitiful and you could only look down at your feet, you felt guilty. you wanted this career, he pushed you for this career but sometimes you wished that you could split yourself in two to cater to both his needs and yours.

you look back up at him, locking eyes with his stormy blue eyes, "i don't know maxie, maybe next month? i don't really have a schedule for next month, i can stay in monaco with you for awhile—"

"you said that last month, when are you actually going to be free schatje?"

"max, i can't give you a definite timeline—"

"what's the point of me being in a relationship with you when i can barely see you?"

it hurt to hear those words come out of his mouth.

maybe that's when you finally realized that he deserved someone normal, someone who wasn't a famous singer and could actually spend time and be there for him.

but here you were, amidst the paddock with a singular security guard because you didn't think you needed more than one, considering security around the paddock was tight in of itself.

the red bull's garage had been nice to you, offering you anything you possibly could need while being on a grand prix, you had politely declined any type of special treatment though, wanting to feel like a person for once in your life.

you wouldn't say your job is the hardest in the world, never. doing what you loved while meeting all of your fans was going to be the highlight of your day, but sometimes the job came with crazy fans that would invade your privacy for selfish reasons, and it made you a tiny bit stressed.

you remember starting out from the netherlands, starring in small gigs before getting signed to a mega corporation in america, which was when you moved. you slowly lost contact with your friends, but you were sure they were proud of you although you weren't proud that you lost contact with them.

you knew that if you contacted them that it would be awkward, there was just no way they would even remember you, right?

you were walking about aimlessly around the paddock, it was free practice day which meant that after the allotted time of the free practice, drivers were free to roam around the paddock however they wanted. you were scared on what you had to face today.

you told yourself to just keep calm, take whatever you got this weekend and just react like a sane person.

saturday came and went, you attended the paddock to watch the qualifying session, of course, max came out on top. was it even a surprise to you? you knew he was the best of the best, you never expected less of him, even after all these years.

sunday was here and maybe it was the anxiety, but you felt like throwing up when you saw max approach you.

"y/n, it's good to see you."

god, those eye-smiles. you could never get tired of them.

"hi max, congrats on starting out pole for this weekend," you told him as you shook hands with him, he was all smiles.

it felt good to see him happy.

"how has the paddock been treating you?" max asked, gesturing all around him, "have you tried the food? it's really good."

you nod as you let go of his hand, clasping it with your other hand, a nervous habit, "yeah, the food's good. how have you been? i haven't talked to you in awhile," a nervous laugh bubbled up from your throat, you were nervous to see him, maybe it was those damn butterflies in your stomach that you couldn't get rid of when he looked at you with those blue eyes of his.

"i know, you've been quite busy right?" max laughed at you, he felt silly conversing with his ex-girlfriend like this, like they didn't have a past.

you could only nod and smile back at him, shoulders tense, "yeah, touring's been eventful. it's the last leg of the tour so i decided to come, thank you for the invite by the way, i really appreciate—"

"max, who's this?" a voice came from behind you, quite condescending if you did say so yourself, cutting you off, you turned your head around to see his girlfriend and his girlfriend's child coming into view, walking towards max and wrapping max with her arm as a possessive embrace.

max kissed her cheek, and that hurt. you didn't want to know why, but you knew. he spoke up afterwards, "this is y/n, she's a singer. i wanted her to come because she had a show here, thought the timing was quite convenient for her. y/n, this is my girlfriend, kelly piquet. she's a model."

you extended your hand as a form of hello before introducing yourself, "hello, i'm y/n—"

"yeah, i know who you are," kelly cut you off again, you were quite taken aback by the hostility, your hand left hanging but then again, max was talking to one of his ex-girlfriends. you thought you would react the same way, so you didn't take it too much to heart. her face was something you'd describe as an angry, possessive tiger, brows furrowed, frown on full display.

"i didn't mean to take time away from your boyfriend. i was just having a little chat pre-race," you tried to give her a smile while returning your hand back to your side, but kelly was adamant about standing her ground.

little penelope was looking at you like she had stars in her eyes, you smiled at her. as if it was a sign of whether she should speak up, she starting speaking to you directly, "hi, i really love your songs. do you think you can stay in the red bull garage and we can take pictures together?"

you giggle and bend down to her level and pat her head, "hi little p, of course we can take pictures together— that's if your mother lets me," you acknowledged that this little girl was no ordinary little girl and was your ex-boyfriend's girlfriend's child.

"can we all talk in private please?" kelly excused the three of them away before you could even give her a response but you understood her. standing back up before walking off deeper into the paddock.

MAX'S POV

"i don't understand why you would invite her!" kelly was pacing around the motorhome, here we were fifteen minutes before race start and here my girlfriend was still yelling over something that happened two hours ago.

"kelly, i just thought it was a good idea. i wanted to invite her because i know p was such a big fan of hers—"

"she's your ex for god's sake, max!" kelly yelled out yet again, "why would i ever approve of her coming to one of your races? let alone be near to p??" her pacing was more feverish now, like she was scared.

i could only sigh, honestly i wasn't too worried about this problem at the moment. the only thing on my mind was the race and only the race.

"look, can we talk about this when i've finished with my race? i really need to focus and you keeping me locked up in here isn't going to help with it," i stood up from my seat, i didn't want to hear anything else come out of her mouth other than a 'okay' and letting me walk out of here.

"don't you think our relationship is at stake here—?"

"if you don't let me go out into the garage, then we're nothing kelly," i say with finality, i wasn't going to let her ruin a race, "i told you, we will solve and talk about this issue later, but you chose to lock me up in here. there will be nothing to salvage if you don't let me do my job."

kelly wordlessly stepped out of the way of the door and let me go, thankfully just with enough time where i could run down and get into the garage, getting me in racing gear.

thankfully the red bull mechanics and officials were understanding enough to let me rush and get inside of my car, getting into the chasis just at the right moment where we would need to drive out.

it was going to be a fine race for me. i knew it. i had enough confidence in myself to know whether i could win a race, and this was one of them.

"and that's p1 max, great race," gp was in my ear, i was proud of myself for winning, but kelly was gnawing the back of my mind. although, the first face i saw when i got out of the car was y/n's.

it felt like my heart stopped beating, i thought i got rid of those stupid butterflies ages ago, but nothing ever beat seeing her smile after i finished a race. she looked so beautiful, so ethereal but i washed those thoughts out of my head.

i had a girlfriend.

i can't run up and hug her because she's my ex. i have a loving relationship in front of me. what was i thinking?

kelly was nowhere to be found in the celebratory pit, i thought that maybe she was still too angry to face me at the moment. it stung a little bit, but she'll get over it. i'm sure.

the night moves on fast, and somehow i found myself still in the garage fixing a few things with the sim, most of the mechanics and staff were long gone. with kelly nowhere to be found. sometimes i felt bad, for still harboring feelings for an ex that left me four years ago.

my relationship with her felt so different with kelly's...

she was like fresh air you would breathe after exiting a club in the middle of the night, the smoke that clouded the air dissipating almost instantly after that fresh air hit your lungs. somehow, even four years later i still find her in little things i do everyday.

against my better judgement, i picked up my phone and i gave her a call.

"hello?"

i breathed out a sigh of relief when i realized she hadn't changed her phone number yet.

"it's me," were the words that left my lips, "you wanna come celebrate with me tonight?" i was picking on my jeans, i didn't want her to say no. i just wanted to spend a little time with her.

"what about your girlfriend? isn't she going to be even more upset with you—"

"can we not talk about her right now?" i closed my eyes and leaned back against the chair i was sitting on, hearing her voice again after a long time just... it felt right.

"max..."

"don't... just don't. i know what you're gonna say and i know it's wrong but i just... i can't do this today. i just won today and the first face i saw was yours, she didn't bother to show up. you can't tell me how to feel, y/n," i rubbed my temples, "meet me in the lobby of my hotel tonight. i just wanna see you."

"if i say okay, will this be a one-time thing?" y/n asked, i could hear the soft rustles of her moving things around, she was probably already in her hotel, resting from her tour when i had called.

"better yet, just drop the address of where you're staying. i'll come to you."

the first thing max did when he saw you was crash his lips into yours, you wanted to push him away, be the better person and tell him that he has a girlfriend but your arms couldn't do it.

your lips disconnected after awhile, he was breathing heavy, face flushed, hands all over you, "i've missed you."

you hum a response, you could barely get out a response when you feel his lips on yours again, this was wrong. all the alarms in your body were telling you to push him off, to yell at him, to reprimand him for basically cheating on his girlfriend.

but you didn't.

and maybe that made you a bad person, but at the moment you didn't care. you just wanted to feel him once more.

you woke up the next morning, cuddled up against max, both of you bare and indecent. he hadn't left yet, maybe he didn't want to leave.

the reality of last night crashed down onto you as you realized what you've done.

"max?"

"yes, schatje?"

the little nickname he gave you never went away. he used to call you that all the time but the feelings that came with it was no longer endearment but horror.

"you need to get back to your girlfriend, i don't think i can do this," you unwrap yourself from his grasps and sit up, back facing him, tears filling your eyes.

"woah, woah. schatje—"

"please, max. i feel like shit. you have a girlfriend and i just slept with you. last night was a mistake," you breathed out and hugged your knees close to your chest. you felt his hand on your back.

"y/n, what are you saying—" you cut him off before he could say anything else.

"i can't give you what you want max. we can't be together anymore. our story ended four years ago, please don't make this mistake. you're going to regret it," you quickly got up and away from his close proximity and got dressed.

you didn't know how to face him anymore.

"can we please talk about it at least? you can't lie and say that you don't feel the same way i do," max's voice came from behind you, you were pacing around the room, you were stressed. he was sitting there, shirtless with his pants on now.

"i do max! and that's the worst part because i knew you're in a relationship but i still let this happen. i am a horrible person. i love you and it's slowly ruining my life. i should've known better!" you turn around to face him, your face red, tears streaming down your face.

max could only sigh and raked a hand through his hair, "schatje..."

"we can't be together max, you know it. i can never give you what she gives you. she can be with you almost all the time max, you threw that all away for me? for someone who can't give you time of day?!" you sob into your hands.

you felt arms wrapping around you as you sob into his embrace.

MAX VERSTAPPEN BREAKS UP WITH GIRLFRIEND KELLY PIQUET ONLY AFTER A FEW MONTHS OF BEING TOGETHER.

you scroll past that headline as you got ready for your appearance to promote your new album, it came out two days ago and you were to debut the new songs on jimmy kimmel.

the tortured poets department.

you hadn't talked to max ever since that night, ever since he tenderly kissed your forehead and told you it was going to be okay and that he would figure it out. he had been blowing up your phone, asking to meet but you didn't have it in your heart to meet him after destroying his relationship like that.

that was two months ago.

you were due on stage in around an hour and that's where you would sing your heart out, leaving whatever pieces of your old self behind when you slept with max for the final time.

"i love you, it's ruining my life. i touched you for only a fortnight."

hello! thank u for reading this fic hehe, hope u guys enjoyed it. thank you again for 100 followers!!!!

[helluvapoison]

heyy i was wondering if you could do like Lucifer x reader getting married if ,you want to ofc🫶

btw i love your work so muchh, thank you!!🫶(also english is not my first language so i hope i didn't write anything wrong)

Absolutely I Do

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

a little insight to your wedding with the king

[part ii (18+ only)]

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

• What would be a tamer version of a bridezilla? Not quite lashing out at everyone and their mother over the tiniest details but blowing a fuse when white roses arrive and he specifically asked for white gardenias?

• That would be Lucifer

• Asmodeus is his best man and the other Sins are his groomsmen, they’ll handle the flower debacle and any other matter that needs saving

• Good natured Charlie was given, arguably, the easiest task of holding onto the rings! She’s more than capable of planning the entire event on her own (and she asked to… twice) but Lucifer wanted her to enjoy this wedding as he wouldn’t be having another

• It’s part of why he wants this to go perfectly!

• He never thought he’d find another love after Lilith. He didn’t even realize that while you were delicately filling in the crater she’d left, he was falling more and more in love with you

• The other part, his pride and perfectionism aside, is that while it may be his second wedding, it’s your first. In his eyes you deserve only the best and he’ll be damned all over again if he doesn’t deliver

• You told your fiancé (FUCK he loved that word coming out of your mouth, almost as much as he was going to like husband!) to at least try to not go overboard. To which you received a “Me? Overboard? Darling, I would never! Simple and elegant, that’s what the headlines will say!”

• The many, many, many vision boards said otherwise. However you already knew damn well “simple and elegant” translated to grandeur and extravagant– and that’s exactly what it was. To Lucifer’s credit, it wasn’t gaudy or blinding. It really was a gorgeous spectacle

• Per his request it’s an all white event, a stark contrast to the overall location. The guest list is massive. After all, Lucifer’s still a king and certain people would be offended if they missed an occasion like this. Everyone goes all out. Bodies pour into chairs, everyone dripping head to toe in white garments and glamorous jewels

• Lucifer preened and primped, checking the mirror a couple hundred times and asking whoever was in the room if he looked ok. Anything less than “outstanding” had him groaning as he turned back to the mirror

• The wedding suddenly seems like a terrible idea. Not because he has cold feet (he’s rather sweaty, actually) but because the moment he sees you he just wants to steal you away

• You are positively and wholly breathtaking. The stars are jealous over how you outshine them! He can’t do anything but stare in amazement as you walk down the aisle

• Does he, Lucifer Morningstar, vow to protect, love, cherish and serve you for all eternity? Undoubtedly. He adds a few his own too like spoil you rotten, compliment you hourly, never ever never let you feel like you’re alone— all things he’s already done but wanted to make it “official”

• “It’s been an honor to be your confidant and friend… but I’m dying to do that and more as your husband.”

• Then do you take him to have and to hold, for better or worse, richer or poorer?

• “I do.” You answer proudly, squeezing his hands ever so slightly

• Forgetting present company, forgetting he’s a king and supposed to act dignified, Lucifer doesn’t wait to get permission to kiss you. He jumps slightly, knowing you’ll catch him instantly. Hugging your neck he crashes his lips onto yours

• You giggle against him, returning the kiss briefly before setting him down. (Hell knows he’d get carried away and forget much more if you didn’t)

• “I do believe you’re my husband now, Luci.”

• The entire wedding may as well have been a surprise party the way his eyes widened, as if it only just set in what the ordeal was for

• “Oh my golly, I’m your husband. I’m your husband! Hey everybody, I'm their husband!”

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ don’t apologize, you did great friend! thank you so mochi and i hope you enjoy

[ilypaigebuckets]

Can you maybe write a Kate Martin x reader fic where the reader is asked to be mic'd up at one of her games?

sorry i couldn’t think of a good title for this🙁 i hope you like this tho!

Mic’d Up - Kate Martin x Reader

➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖

Ever since your girlfriend had gotten drafted, the media had been all over your relationship. Even at Iowa fans had loved the two of you together, but once she was drafted into the Aces was when your love really made headlines. People admired you and Kate not only as a queer couple in media, but also as a healthy and loving couple. There were countless edits of the two of you flirting at halftime, snuggling up to each other before and after games, and overall just being a really cute couple.

You were so excited when you were asked to be mic’d up for the Aces latest game. While you were a little confused at first because you weren’t actually a player, the team’s media manager assured you the fans would love it. So there you were, standing in front of the basketball court to film your introduction before the game started.

“Hey, guys! It’s Y/n L/n here, professional WNBA girlfriend and today I’m mic’d up for the Aces game!” Suddenly Kate ran up behind you and hugged you from behind, lifting you off the ground. You giggled and Kate set you down on the ground. You turned around and wrapped your arms around her shoulders, going on your tiptoes to hug her closer.

“Speaking of girlfriend, this is my superstar girlfriend Kate!” Kate rolled her eyes are you playfully and looked away, embarrassed from your praise of her. “You ready for the game, babe?” She sucked her teeth in response to the question and held you close to her chest, absentmindedly playing with your hair.

“Uh honestly I’m pretty nervous but we’re just gonna give it all that we got and I’m just gonna try my best!” You smiled at her answered and reached up to pinch her cheeks, “Isn’t she just adorable, guys?” You asked looking at the camera.

Soon enough, Kate had to go warm up and you went to your spot. You watched her warm up and made conversation with a random man sitting next to you.

“Who are you here to watch? You see 20? That one’s mine!” You took out your phone and started taking pictures of Kate warming up. “She’s so cute. Look at her!! She’s gonna shoot it!” Kate runs and shoots the ball and makes it in the net. She was so excited when she made it and looked over at you to see if you saw it too. She ran up to you and sat in the empty chair next to you, talking about her shot and her plans for this game.

“AMAZING BABY!! Yes I saw! Focus, honey! Yes I love you too! Good luck! Yes, okay baby focus keep warming up!” You could tell Kate was nervous out of her mind for the game so you took her hand in yours, completely forgetting you were mic’d up. You reassured your girlfriend that yes, you were watching her and yes, she was doing amazing and yes, you loved her very much and yes, she did have to leave right that second and go check in because the other team had arrived and they were about to start the game. Kate nodded her head at you and stood up. It was funny, you knew she had to go but as soon as she started to get up you grabbed her hand.

“Wait,” you told her and you pulled her in for a quick peck on the lips. She smirked at you and winked as she walked back to her teammates. You laughed and whispered to yourself, “Wow I love that I get to do that.”

The game was very eventful, but the Aces were doing amazing. Your girlfriend, especially was on fire. She was making shots left and right and it was clear she was growing more confident the more she played. You watched the game earnestly as Kate ran after a player on the opposing team and she was about to make a shot. Suddenly, Kate jumped up and blocked the ball.

You couldn’t help but jump up in joy. “That’s my girl!” You raised your arms above up to cheer and accidentally hit the guy next to you in the head. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” You said to him, but he was laughing so you knew it was alright. “I hope nobody caught that..” you whispered to yourself.

“Guys,” You said to the mic, “Kate looks so editable right now. Look at how cute she is. Like you know that one song ‘ and you say daddy’s home’? literally her right now. Okay let’s edit that part out. Please.”

The whistle blew and the game was over, the Aces having won 76-68. Kate was over the moon and ran over to you as soon as she finished celebrating with her teammates. She ran up to you and picked you up, twirling you around. “I love when she does this,” you whispered into the mic. She put you down and you put you hands on either side of her face. “I’m so proud of you.” You pulled her face down to kiss her forehead.

Kate grinned and stole a kiss from your lips. “I’m glad. Wanna go get ice cream now?” You laughed and nodded, rolling your eyes.

“I hope you guys enjoyed me being mic’d up! Great job to everyone tonight and to everyone watching thanks for the support I know the team really appreciates it!” You pulled the mic off your shirt and handed it back to the media manager, following Kate into the locker room.

[lnfours]

massive congratulations on 11.8k!!! that is so amazing, so so happy for you!! and thank you so much for such a fun sleepover event💛

🍊 “i don’t think i’ve ever felt the way i do with you with anyone else.” “what does that mean?” “what do you think it means?” with lan🫶🏼 (almost cried reading that prompt actually)

thank u my love 🥺🤍 i also almost cried reading this prompt and then sobbed into my pillow after writing this SO i hope its everything you wanted it to be!

11.8k friends to lovers sleepover

the sound of the door of the hotel room shutting pulled you from your phone, your eyes looking up and meeting the boy dressed in papaya. he tossed his paddock pass, phone and wallet down on the small table in the corner, sighing to himself before kicking off his shoes.

you watched him sadly, not sure of how to start the conversation. you had seen the race, you knew everything people were writing. you say the 'max vs lando fued' headlines reporters were running with. it was hard to not see it, and it was even harder to let him know he had done a good job when he was like this. when he felt that everything he's done wasn't good enough, even if it was. when he blamed every single tiny mistake onto himself. it was hard. hard to see someone you loved and cared for so much beat themself up over something as tiny as a wheel to wheel combat.

so when he turned around, a tired, frustrated and sad look etched onto his face as he looked at you, your only response was to open your arms. and without protest, he climbed onto the edge of the bed and joined you, your arms wrapping around his neck as he laid on top of you, his cheek pressing against your chest, your chin resting on his curls.

"wanna talk about it?" you asked gently.

he shook his head, "tired of talking about it."

you nodded, "then we won't."

he played with the stitching on your shirt, keeping his mind busy from thinking about everything that went wrong. instead, he was thinking about how good it felt to be in your arms. how lucky he was that you'd show up every time he needed you, no questions asked. his heart tightening in his chest as he took in the smell of your perfume, a smell that was once just pleasant now feeling like home.

"i don't think i've ever felt the way i do with you with anyone else." his brain too tired of putting up a fight to filter what his mouth was saying. your eyebrows pulled together as you looked down at him.

"what does that mean?"

"what do you think it means?"

your heart pace skyrocketed and you knew he could hear it, but he didn't mention it. he didn't poke fun of you or say anything about it at all, instead he shifted so he was looking up at you.

"lando,"

"i'm serious," he said, green eyes almost swallowed by how large his pupils were, and now you were wondering how long they've always done that without you noticing, "you're it for me."

you smiled softly, reaching out a brushing his hair back from his forehead, nails scratching his scalp. he smiled back at you, tiredly but you knew the look in his eyes. the look of complete infatuation and love.

"i don't think i've ever felt this way with anyone else either." your voice was barely above a whisper.

that's all he needed to hear before he was cupping the side of your face and pulling you in, his lips meeting yours. a new feeling, but a good one. a feeling that had your body burning and heart racing.

he poured every ounce of pining and love into the kiss as he could as you did the same. pulling away with smiles on both your faces before he started placing kisses all over your face, your cheeks, your nose and your eyelids as you giggled.

[on-leatheredwings]

Co-Conspirator

Yandere! Bruce Wayne x Yandere! (Fem!) Reader 

> romantic > summary: Ever since you asked him to help with your… reconnaissance, he’s been nothing but a great help. And judgment-free. Batman is as paranoid and insane as you are, and that is why he is quite possibly your best friend. > word count: 1285  > [ a/n: just something short, something cute, something for the Girls. i think mutually yandere relationships are a fun dynamic not very explored!!! Still, its pretty mild yandereism here. Trying to warm up to writing bitches who are Actual Freaks . uhhh lmk what you think. hope i communicated the reader's backstory well. the fact she's only a little crazy is amazing, all things considered. i'd love to make a whole fic of this but alas, i am Not Very Good At Plot]

You are dating Bruce Wayne. You bite your lip at the thought, hoping it disguises your shit-eating grin. You have been told you look like a total cheeseball when you daydream. 

It’s a month-long relationship that’s still currently under the radar because you don’t have the luxury of a dual superhero-civilian persona. First, getting trapped in a pocket dimension for 10 years because something-something-Speedforce; next, being booted back into your home dimension and falling out the sky; then, wreaking havoc in Gotham City with your new, uncontrollable powers unmasked and in clear view of Gotham City choppers and news cameras… These things secretive identities do not make. No matter.

Hence why you tend to stay holed up in the Justice League’s Watchtower or your apartment, and rarely go out otherwise. But a month ago, you were bored. Neurotic. You decided to help your good buddy Batman. Fly to Gotham with your power and surprise him on patrol. And, well, you ended up saving Bruce Wayne (and hundreds of other socialites) after a three ton bowling ball careened into a gala at Wayne Tower, courtesy of the Riddler. Your telekinesis kept the whole building from collapsing. You guess that must’ve really turned Bruce Wayne on, because he was shortly afterwards chatting you up and won your phone number. 

On your first date with Gotham’s Most Eligible Bachelor, you blurt out, flustering, that you don’t want to overshadow his charity and all the good work he’s doing. Bruce Wayne dating anyone makes headlines – let alone a superhero. Yes, yes. You simply didn’t want to cramp Bruce Wayne’s philanthropic style. It wasn’t that you were utterly unprepared to have that level of media scrutiny on you and were insecure about dating a man completely out of your league. 

Bruce thanked you for your concern and then kissed you deeply, expertly, for your trouble.

You replay that night’s events in your head, and– goddamnit– cheeseball. You clear your throat and clear your mind.

“I think I’ll want a copy of his birth certificate from Gotham General.”

You glance at Batman, who is seated beside you, and see the corner of his lips quirk. 

“Because you’re going to pull up his birth chart.” Batman knows astrology is an enduring interest of yours. You pout, pulling up Gotham General’s files and sifting through the database. 

“... Maybe.” 

You pause from your search on one of the Justice League’s supercomputers, sneaking a sheepish glance at your co-conspirator. Ever since you asked him to help with your… reconnaissance, he’s been nothing but a great help. And judgment-free. Batman is as paranoid and insane as you are, and that is why he is quite possibly your best friend. 

You flush. “You know– I– Thanks, Bats. Really. I’m glad you aren’t acting all weird about this.”

Batman doesn’t say anything, but you know that he’s giving you his full attention. 

“Like, I’m not a freak or anything. I just have to make sure I know what I’m getting into.” You puff your cheeks. “Know he’s… you know. Good.” 

What a lie. You’re just scared and don’t want to get caught with your pants down. Despite being an actual living, breathing, metahuman and superhero… Bruce is the one with the power in this relationship. He’s… everything. Encapsulating. Towering. Anyone would want him. You think of the lingering looks very, very beautiful women give him. Everyone does want him. 

You feel a pang of violent loathing and nausea that is tided over when Batman speaks.

“... I know plenty about Bruce Wayne. He’s… good.”

Your brows rise. You’ve only known the man for a few months but even you know that’s a glowing compliment coming from Batman. His highest praise on most people is usually neutral at best. “Hmm… okay.” You turn back to your work, laughing. “Well. I also just think he’s kind of interesting to learn about. What other celebrity has this much lore? The prodigal son… Prince of Gotham… Collector of orphans… Gotham’s Most Eligible Bachelor...” 

You worry your lip, gnashing your teeth. Bachelor. That’s what everyone thinks he is, right? You blink and curiously turn to Batman, whose hands are flying across a keyboard, hard at work. You hope you’re not bothering him. W-well, he’d say if I were, right? you think.

“Is it weird if I put cameras in Wayne Manor?”

Batman stills and your throat dries. Damn.

“... Um… Too weird…?” 

After a tentative silence, Batman responds.

“... No. You’re just covering your bases.”

Your cheeks fill with color as being vindicated – a view you don’t know makes his heart race marginally quicker.

“Yeah!” You cough, composing yourself. “I mean, yeah. You can learn a lot about someone from what they get up to when they think they’re alone.” You can also make sure they’re not bringing anyone home, but you keep that part to yourself.

“I could plant them, if you need. I have plenty made for this kind of surveillance.” 

You’re smiling widely, wheeling your chair over to Batman’s side before you know it. 

“... God. Batman, you magnificent mind, you. This is why we’re buddies.” You lean over and poke his chest cheekily, right on the bat emblem. 

Bruce has to restrain himself from catching your hand on its retreat. Your poke burns a hole in his chest for minutes afterward, and he welcomes every second of it. He turns back to his computer screen, vainly attempting to not think about how much he wants to kiss you right now.

Perhaps Bruce should’ve simply asked you out as Batman. You spend much more time when he’s under the cowl than not. But frankly, you would’ve been too distracted during missions. Hell, he would’ve been too distracted. He already thinks of you all the time. 

Your investigation into Bruce Wayne has tripped several of his alarms, even before you told him of it. Anyone making inquiries with this level of depth draws his attention. Nothing you’re looking is anything he’s averse to you knowing, so he’s allowed you to investigate him freely and without redirection. But of course, you don’t know that. The effort you’re making is… cute. The fact you don’t know that Batman is Bruce is cute. You think you have the upper hand. And that’s… cute.

Bruce doesn’t think too deeply about your stalking, even though he probably should. It’s probably evidence of an unstable individual. He’s sure ten years alone with no stimuli in a pocket dimension does things to a person. But who was he to judge? He’s violated the privacy and boundaries of everyone who affects his life in any important way. Nor does he claim to be a shining example of ideal mental health. 

And at the end of the day, this situation is all under his control.

There is a small part of him that feels guilty for keeping his identity under wraps, but there’s a bigger part that’s amused. You don’t know that he’s had your birth certificate since the day after you met. You don’t know that there’s about twenty cameras working 24/7 in and out of your apartment. Or that he’s your new landlord. These are things he’ll tease you about once he confesses that he’s Batman. You’ve made him someone who likes to tease. 

Still, Bruce remains hesitant about telling you. How would you react? Would you feel betrayed? Hurt? Dread floods his bloodstream, an effect only the most depraved individuals in his rogues gallery tend to have on him. 

Would you leave him? Hate him?

His eyes skirt towards where you sit. You worry your lip, eyes glued to a plan of Wayne Manor, no doubt debating where you want him to place the cameras he’s offered. Tension leaves his shoulders, almost imperceptible. 

Luckily, the chances of that seem slim.

[fluffylino]

Slow Down Bugboy

you're watching the news when you hear someone outside your window. is it a burgler? is it a ghost? oh wait, its spiderman?!

-contains soft themes (some injuries)

heavily inspired by that one scene from the amazing spiderman.

jisung is so spider coded🕸❤️‍🩹

enjoy~

keyboard clacking while you glued your eyes to the laptop screen. trying to make sense of the words and phrases you needed to write for an english assignment.

for some reason, you just couldn't focus.

maybe it was because jisung hadn't texted you since afternoon. glancing up at the clock to see it was an hour past 10pm.

your eyes now plastered onto the tv screen. the news flashing vividly. headlines popping up one after the other.

<Spider Man was seen fighting the giant reptilian>

<Who is this SpiderMan?>

the news anchor only raised more questions. dwelling into the details of this commotion.

you had mixed opinions on this so called 'man', who shoots webs out of his wrists. you'd rather call him

'weird insect man who crawls up buildings'.

was he a hero? i mean, he seemed like one. do you think you'd ever want to come face to face with him?

maybe? spiderman seemed chill.

anyways jisung!

right. where the hell was he?!

<ji, are you alive?>

.

<message me rn>

.

<are you okay? just mssg me if you're okay>

.

<JISUNG. HAN JISUNG>

.

looking away from your phone. you gulped down the lump in your throat.

was he accidently caught in the whole 'lizard incident' at the school...?

you didn't want to lose your friend. your bestfriend.

<i love you man, please tell me you're fine...>

"spiderman please...im really begging you to protect him if he's hurt" praying under your breath. heart pumping slower than usual while you took deep breaths.

the smell of your mom cooking a late night snack downstairs travelled up to your room. on any other occasion you wouldve eaten like a hog. but right now, you couldn't.

knock knock

soft thud

body taking a screenshot in fright. someone's outside your window. with how dark it is at this time of the night and only the moonlight, you think its a burgler.

That is until you see the silhoette of a masked man. the suit he wears is webbed, with colours of dark blue and red.

knock.

this time he presses his palm flat onto the glass, body slumping.

you throw your laptop on the bed, running to slam your door shut before making your way to the window.

"s-spiderman?" you mumble under your breath.

gasping as the man falls right into your arms. legs still dangling out. a catch a whiff of perfume that instantly makes your brain shortcircuit.

raising an arm to help him get the mask off. the mop of hair gives away his identity.

"sung..."

"han jisung! what the fuck happened to you?!" you exclaim, heart dropping when he rests his head on your shoulder. limply trying to hold onto you.

"i'm...uh s-shit" he mutters, grunting as you hold him up.

he plops onto the couch with a pained groan. you stand there dumbly. too much was happening. 

A heavy scent of blood filling the air. quickly shutting the window before kneeling down by his side.

"are you okay? what happened ji...please tell me"

cupping his face. his eyes widening briefly. shakily bringing his hand up to hold your wrist.

"lizard man VS bugboy...i hurt him more than he h-hurt me..."

even in this state, he finds the time to joke. laughing weakly until he notices the pain in your eyes. not just from seeing him bleed but also from the fact that you weren't aware that he was THE spiderman.

"i'm sorry for coming uninvited...t-there was no where else i'd feel safe"

jisung whispers, nuzzling his cheek apologetically into the warmth of your palm. you can't control your body or your thoughts.

carefully pushing his damp hair away from his eyes. theres a small cut over the bridge of his nose. his bottom lip is busted harshly. he's sweating as you caress him.

clean up his wounds. yes.

right now, what mattered most was stopping the bleeding.

"where are you going..." his voice trails off. puppy like eyes locked onto every little movement.

"sit up....as much as you can"

a soaked towel and disinfectant in your hands. jisung does sit up quietly. its surprising.

"baby it r-really hurts...mh" the boy whispers, staring at you with slight fear.

'baby' was a nickname he often used. but right now, it made your heart do a summersalt. without asking, he begins to take the suit off.

revealing his battered torso. bruises and cuts from the 'battle' he was in.

silence fills the room, apart from the soft hisses leaving his mouth.

hands weakly grabbing at your wrists to pry your hands away from the slash across his abdomen.  stomach muscles rhythmically tightening in discomfort everytime you applied a layer of medicine.

without much thought, you inch closer. feeling his heavy breath right next to your ear. along with a choked out grunt.

lifting your head up slowly, only to meet his gaze.

"i'm sorry for s-showing up like...this"

jisung whispers, scooching closer. your noses nearly touching. lips grazing against eachothers. you hum. far too out of it, to even get mad at him.

knowing he was spiderman put you at peace. knowing that he was safe was all that mattered.

injuries or not, you would take care of him regardless.

"say its okay" he whines softly, pressing his lips innocently onto yours. its too gentle to even be considered a kiss. you can't stop the grin that grows on your face.

realising how much your acceptance of him, mattered to him. sucking in a sharp breath when you peck him with more feeling. the subtle tangy taste of blood flooding your senses. his lip was still sensitive.

butterflies erupting in your stomach when he gently cradles the base of your neck. pulling you in for a deeper kiss.

"easy there bugboy..."

you tease, not letting him have his way. revelling in the toothy grin he lets out. laughing against you.

"i'm not going anywhere"

you reassure, threading your fingers through his hair. moving into his embrace.

"i want chocolate." he blurts out in a hushed tone.

"what-"

pecking you once more. and another time until he doesn't pull away. kissing you slow and passionately. pouring all his emotions out.

maybe spiderman wasn't so bad afterall...

.

.

.

.

.

teehee

[theplantbish]

Käärijä on YleX's "we found this online"

Translation under the cut

Käärijä, we found this online

K: "CCC Käärijä grape." They're selling it at Nokia, Pirkanmaan for 49€. I sold my mustache back in the day for about that much, this grape is... pretty expensive, but... The things people come up with

K: "Would you like to be wrapped? While K plays in the stereo?" What... No, I don't! "#JustKinkyThings"

K: "it would be amazing if K would compete in TTK as Katri's student." Mm! We've actually thought about this. This would be amazing.

Interviewer: How would you do in the competition?

K: I guess I would end up second once again. Winning wasn't created for K.

K: "I can't stand it when K's necklace is always wonky, I just want to straighten it out." WHAT?

Interviewer: this is serious!

K: What? Why, what? People! Maybe you need to come straighten it out yourself

K: "Erika Vikman reveals: Ruoska has led to injuries." Who's writing these headlines? Erika's so called whip has smacked in the eye a couple of times. (Translator note: from the way he says it it's not clear if he means his eye, someone else's eye or possibly Erika's whip has multiple victims). Erika is great, I love you.

K: then... "K is a sex symbol." Mhm. I'll take that. If someone says that, I think it's a pretty positive thing. If someone likes my pötsi, that's good.

K: "I wonder if K can stand on his hands?" *Shakes his head*

Interviewer: should we try?

K: I won't do it, my arms would give out, *cracking noises*

Interviewer: excuses, legs up, boy!

K: "what in the world? K posts really raunchy material on OF." It's not that raunchy, pretty tame.

K: "I can't wait for K's 50th artist anniversary celebration tour in 2067. Acoustic CCC at Kulttuuritalo and during the intermission they'll serve green princess cake and cognac to the tables." People this is getting out of hand. I need to make this happen, so to the person who wrote this, welcome!

K: "K and Johannes from Kuumaa rubbed against and touched each other on stage." You don't even know everything.

K: "this kind of damage a shirtless rampager caused in a hotel room"

Interviewer: what's this about?

K: "The man was sentenced for property damages"

Interviewer: isn't your username paidatonriehuja?

K: well that's been... It was... That night was kinda long, can't say anything else

K: that was all

Interviewer: thank you Kääryle

[sundrop-writes]

Hi! I hope this is okay to send because I’ve sent this type of request to others (and I know that’s normally bad) BUT it’s because I enjoy the different opinions of all the amazing writers!!! It’s not a fic request but just a request for your top headcanons for Spencer Reid.

The things that you’re like “this is canon and I’ll fight you over it” - smut, nsfw, tame, domestic, anything - just your opinions/rants!

(If it’s not okay to ask though please accept my apology!!! I’m still learning the social etiquette of tumblr requests! ) - 🌑

I definitely think this is okay to send to different writers, because you will usually get very different results - usually writers don't like it when you send a request that can only get similar results (asking for a narrative fic with a detailed, similar plot). But I love giving my random headcanons about characters.

Random Spencer Reid Headcanons

And okay, the first one I have in mind for Spencer is so weird.

One of the headliners that I always have in mind for Spencer - he wears tighty whities.

Like - the only kind of underwear that he wears are the classic hanes briefs (usually white, maybe heather grey, never black or any other 'fun' colour) - he doesn't wear boxer briefs, he doesn't wear boxers. Whenever I see a fic saying 'and then Spencer took off his boxer briefs', I'm like: "no, you don't know him like I do".

Spencer is a fucking nerd. Spencer is the type of fucking nerd who would insist on wearing the nerdiest underwear - tighty whities. And people probably write about him wearing boxer briefs because those are the sexy men's underwear and briefs are not like 'hot' to picture men in - but that is exactly why I HC him as wearing them and exactly why I mention that he wears them in every single one of my fics.

Spencer would wear the dorkiest underwear in expectation that he's not going into a sexual situation. He wears his underwear thinking that he's not going to fuck - he's not going to have to 'impress' anyone. Also, over time, of writing several fics about him and thinking about Spencer for 100s of hours a week - I have come to develop this kind of kink for picturing his giant nine inch cock trapped inside the crotch of a pair of briefs, hard and struggling to fit in there. It would be hot in its own way. (Which, Spencer always is.)

Speaking of his cock - you may notice that with a lot of my fics, I take the time to describe in depth what a male character's dick looks like. This is because I take the time to picture and think about what a characters dick looks like and how it is different from other characters (because no, not every characters dick is nine inches, thick and veiny. no) - I call it the Dickscription. And I think it's a very important part of characterization.

Spencer is eight to nine inches (when fully hard) - but he is skinny. His cock is a bean pole, just like he is. You would look at his dick and call it a snake. His cock is very smooth - the skin on it is baby soft and smooth, rather than veiny, and Spencer does not shave his pubes. Spencer is a full bush kind of guy - because he is terrified of putting a razor anywhere near his dick. He would only shave if you helped him and if he trusted you a lot. And he had a very thick, dark bush of hair near the top, around the base of his cock, but it gets more sparse around his balls, which even get soft and fuzzy in some places. (I have thought about this way. too. much.)

He is uncut, and when he gets really needy and teased or if you don't let him cum, then his cock turns a really bright shade of pink or even red, and the colour goes across his whole cock so his cock becomes like this beautiful bright pink rocket - and he leaks. Spencer is a very leaky guy, to the point where he gets everything so wet before he can even cum.

(These headcanons are getting out of control, lets get back to something more wholesome, shall we?)

Spencer is the kind of person to take himself on dates. On the rare occasion that he gets a day off, Spencer indulges in going out alone. It's not necessarily that he likes the solitude, but he's used to it because he spent his entire childhood pretty much alone, and there are a lot of activities that he likes that he thinks no one else he knows will enjoy. So he tries to enjoy treating himself to a day out alone.

He will bring a few good books to a cafe and drink a few expensive lattes (and probably eat a few pastries) and simply enjoy the peace and quiet of reading by himself for a while. He'll go to a book store and browse for hours before finally picking something. He'll go to a naturally history museum and walk around by himself, not tied to the whims of what someone else wants to see.

Hmmm

Maybe some relationship headcanons?

(Because we all love Spencer, lets face it.)

This is something I bring up in Careful (as you guys will see) - but I genuinely believe that Spencer Reid would treat his partner like royalty. He is someone who has spent years reading about romance - especially with his mother reading him so much classic literature, he regards the classics as the bar for romance (and he just hopes that his life doesn't become one of the tragedies where one or both partners die in the end). So he's not the 'Netflix and Chill' type - and he definitely doesn't bring you to the movies to sit in silence on a date.

He is the type of person to hire a violinist to play your favourite song by the table on a date, he will open doors for you, help you with your coat, pull out chairs for you, recite poetry to you (probably in other languages just because it sounds beautiful).

He will always think of the most unique dates to take you on. He'll take you to museums, to an observatory, to the orchestra - he'll take you to a large, elegant library that has rare books and recite lines from those classic books to you while you're there. He would take you to plays or a midnight picnic by a lake. Dates with him would never be boring or typical - it would be like living in a romantic movie.

A lot of people HC that Spencer would not be into PDA because he's too shy, but I don't think that's the case. Early seasons Spencer maybe, but I think that even he would get to a point where he's just so enamoured with you that he needs to touch you in public. But his PDA wouldn't be steamy or smutty, it would be romantic and soft and passionate.

He would keep a hand on your lower back while walking around, a sign that he's right there with you, a gentle signal to anyone around that you're with him. He would lean in close to speak right in your ear - showing that his words are only for you, that nobody else in the vicinity deserves to hear what he has to say, only you do.

He would graze his fingertips right across your arm, causing goosebumps on your skin. He would stare into your eyes with such intense, burning passion. And he would kiss you in public - lingering only long enough to leave you wanting more. And on occasion, he would lean in to kiss your neck or bring your hand up to kiss the back of it - gentle things to show his appreciation of you without giving away too much for prying eyes to see.

Dating Spencer would be like dating a prince from a hallmark movie, I swear to god.

(That's all I have for now, because if I keep thinking about this too much, I may explode because Spencer is not real and I can't actually date him.)

[aurorawritestoescape]

Birthday Surprise

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader x Tommy Miller

Tw: 18+ mdni smut, mfm, power imbalance (boss/employee), ‘sir’ kink, praise kink, tiniest bit of degradation, oral (f/m receiving), cum eating, unprotected piv (wrap it up obv), creampie, rimming, multiple orgasms, butt slapping (light), voyeurism, swearing, no use of y/n

Word count: 3,2k

A/n: thank you @noxturnalpascal 💖 for an amazing idea to write fics based on this PROMPT: Pick a Pedge Daddy character - Joel Miller, Frankie Morales, Dave York, etc. (it can be Canon or Non-Canon/AU/No Outbreak).

PPCU Daddy is surprised - and excited - to learn that the grad/postgrad student he hires to watch his child sometimes also works as a: stripper/dancer/cam-girl/onlyfans-model/dating-or-escort-service (or straight-up SW)

I added Tommy to the mix cos what’s better than one Miller boy? Yeah, two Miller boys😝

Other fics based on the prompt: Room 301 @milla-frenchy Dancing is a dangerous game @noxturnalpascal Webcam for beginners @iamasaddie

🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩

You’ve been doing stripping as a side job for a few months now. As a postgrad student you were broke and in debt. You needed money to help out with the tuition, which was unbearably high. On top of that your car broke down and you’ve been trying to save for a new one. One of your friends who’d done it told you that the money was good and the hours were flexible. So you decided to give it a shot.

The gig turned out to be great. You were often tipped generously and though the men were usually drunk and overly excited you’ve been lucky enough to be treated fairly well. They called you Diamond because of your sparkling silver costume and glittering boots.

Today you are shining at a birthday party. It’s a total sausage fest and everyone is excited about the headliner - you. The men are cheering you on as you’re giving your best lap dance to the man of the evening. The music is blaring while you are slowly taking off your sparking top before pushing your breasts together and swaying your hips seductively. You’re still wearing high silver boots and a tiny diamond-encrusted thong.

Everyone is already buzzed. Everyone except the birthday boy. He doesn’t seem to be drunk at all as his dark piercing eyes are sliding across your glitter-covered body with intent and hunger. Sometimes he gives his friends a little smile and laughs at their thirsty comments. But when his gaze returns to you his expression becomes focused and serious, one of a hunter whose unsuspecting prey is inching closer and closer, as he’s waiting for the right moment to strike. There is something hypnotizing about the man and you feel the magnetic pull every time your eyes meet.

You want him to want you. And judging by a big bulge in his jeans you’re doing great. You’re practically drooling over him as your hands are gliding over his broad shoulders, strong chest, running through his dark curly hair. After some time you see only him, and your heart flutters and core burns with desire.

You’re hovering over his lap, his face inches from your bouncing breasts as your hips move the way you’d ride him and your hands are holding onto his muscular shoulders. He wants to say something to you so you lean down bringing your ear to his plush lips. His breath tickles you and you giggle.

“Can I get a private dance?” he asks a little louder so you could hear him through the music. He tilts his head to the side to look into your eyes. He’s gorgeous. Older, just how you like them. A scent of whiskey and something sweet hits your nostrils and you feel yourself getting wet. Your pussy tingles and you both decide to give this guy whatever he wants tonight. You smile at him nodding your head, maybe a little too eager.

🪩🪩🪩

That’s how you end up on your knees in the VIP room, fully naked between his spread legs, his cock deep in your throat. You’ve never done anything like that with a client but you just couldn’t help yourself. You would be fired in a second if anyone found out but you feel that he’s not the one to kiss and tell. His body, his eyes, his confidence drive any rational thought away from your mind.

When you were sitting on his lap having discarded your thong and boots and framing his legs with yours, your pussy was throbbing so much for him it hurt. You rested your head on his shoulder, turned to him and whispered in his ear, “You can touch me if you want”.

He chuckled and asked if he was allowed to but his fingers were already caressing your glistening seam. A few moments later he was fucking you with his thick digits, his tongue licking into your mouth. He knew his way around a pussy and you came hard, making a mess of his jeans.

Now you are sucking on his ball rolling it in your mouth with your tongue and slowly jerking his cock. His jeans are opened and tugged down his hips, your hand is splayed on his lower belly covered with soft hair. He’s watching you with a soft smile, half lidded eyes blown and hazy. You’re enjoying yourself so much you feel you might come untouched just from sucking him off.

That’s when HE barges into the room apologizing for being late. You hear the gravelly voice and your heart drops into your stomach. You freeze glancing up at the birthday boy with horror on your face. Fuckfuckfuckfuck!!!! Fuck! You recognise that voice immediately. You raise your head before glancing back. Of course it’s him! The father of the girl you’ve been babysitting for a few weeks. You always loved kids so babysitting seemed like a great idea. Well, until now when two of your clients met.

Joel Miller was always kind and respectful yet a little grumpy. You never blamed him, a single parent who worked very hard to provide his daughter with the best life. He was a great father judging by how well adjusted and happy Sarah was.

He doesn’t look grumpy now. With his mouth agape, he’s staring at the two of you and mumbles, “Fuck, Tommy.” He raises one brow and runs a hand through his dark hair in a nervous gesture. His black T-shirt rides up showing a slither of his soft stomach and a happy trail. Suddenly you remember all the times he would come home sweaty and hot from working outside all day and you bite your lip.

You’re used to being naked in front of strangers so it takes you a minute to realize you need to cover yourself up.

“Oh my god, Mr Miller. Fuck.. I’m so sorry,” you get up looking around for anything to put on. Of course there’s nothing except your tiny thong and the boots so you just place your hands awkwardly on your mound and breasts and stand between Mr Miller and ‘Tommy’, whose cock is still out and hard. He’s not putting it away, just sits there proudly. Your eyes are darting between the two men.

“You’re interrupting, bro,” Tommy says with a nonchalance in his voice. Now it’s your time to be surprised cos the man looks almost bored.

Joel visibly collects himself and comes up to you.

“I see that,” he says, looking you up and down and then turning to his brother, “Do you know that you’re getting blown by my babysitter?”

Joel looks back to you and brushes your arm with his big warm hand. You shiver at the touch.

“No shit! Babysitter?” Tommy sits up, finally expressing some interest. Joel hums and his brother chuckles and leans back again, holding his still hard cock in his hand, “Got yourself a new one?”

“Yeah… and I seemed to hit the jackpot,” Joel replies with a little smile but his eyes on you are darker, hungrier than you’ve ever seen him. Your skin erupts in goosebumps and you feel yourself like a bunny circled by hungry wolves.

“Mmm.. Mr Miller, I can explain,” you stutter nervously standing there like a school girl being scolded by a headmaster. You want to tell him that you don’t usually walk around sucking your clients off but Joel interrupts you, “No need to explain anything, sweetheart. Work is work. You did nothing wrong.”

His deep smooth voice makes your clit twitch and you almost gasp when he cups your cheek and lowers his face closer to yours, “I know you’re a good girl.”

“And full of surprises,” Tommy adds with a smirk looking at you almost differently, with more intrigue in the gaze and his cock twitches in his hand.

You glance up at Joel and his eyes slide to your lips and yours do the same. Your mouths are so close you’re breathing each other's air. His thumb is rubbing your cheek. Suddenly you jerk when Tommy coughs interrupting whatever is happening between you and your employer. Joel straightens up and his hand leaves your face.

“Ya know what,” he says walking to the chair across the room, placing it a couple meters away from you and taking a seat, “Don’t stop on my account.”

Your jaw drops and you freeze, hardly believing your own ears.

“You heard him, baby. We don’t need to stop,” Tommy repeats his brother's words as your shock is being replaced by excitement.

You hesitate at first but the idea of sucking a guy off when his brother is watching is so filthy that the burning in your core reignites again and you feel yourself gush.

You drop your arms exposing yourself to the men, come up to Tommy again and retake your previous position on your knees between his legs. You take his cock from him and turn your head back to Joel. His legs are spread, big hand resting on his inner thigh as he’s watching you.

You swallow loudly and turn back to Tommy. He must have read the anxiety on your face as he takes your chin between his fingers and gives you a warm smile.

“Don’t be shy, baby. My brother just wanna watch. Let’s give him something to remember when you come babysit for him next time.”

You blush, biting your lip and dropping your head. It can’t be happening. It feels like a weird wet dream. But you see this gorgeous weeping cock in your hand and your mouth salivates. And you would be lying if you said that you didn’t fantasize about Mr Miller bending you over his kitchen counter after your shift and fucking you senseless. So you bend down and kitten-lick Tommy’s fat tip. The man shamelessly moans and your pussy tingles at the sound.

You hear Joel’s groan as he must have a great view of your ass and pussy. The depravity of this situation makes your mind hazy and you arch your back wiggling your ass a little as you’re aching to be touched again. Your hand leaves Tommy’s balls which you were caressing and snakes down to your naked mound. You rub yourself there and then dip your fingers between your wet folds. A pathetic whimper escapes your lips muffled by Tommy’s cock and he twitches against your tongue stimulated by the vibrations.

“I think my naughty babysitter needs some attention, little brother,” Joel rumbles behind you and you hear a creak of the chair and his steps.

Parting from Tommy’s cock with a pop you turn your head and see Joel getting down on one knee next to you. You’re leaning on Tommys thighs, your elbows on his knees.

“You’ve been so good for my brother, sweetheart,” Joel says in a gentle voice, putting his hand on your back. You feel his calloused palm sliding down to your ass and then coming back up to your shoulder blades. “Has he made you come, baby?”

You nod your head staring up at him with slightly parted mouth. You still can’t believe you’re naked in front of the man you’re babysitting for and his brother. With the latter's precum on your lips.

“I’m a gentleman, Joel,” Tommy chimes in sounding offended. He glides his fingers along your neck, “Ladies always come first.”

Joel smirks and leans closer to your face not minding the stiff length of his brother just inches from you both and whispers in your ear, “Ya want another one?”

He presses his lips to your cheek and kisses you before traveling down to your jaw and neck. He grabs a fistful of your hair and holds you in place as he starts sucking a hickey into the delicate skin of your neck. You shut your eyes with a set of moans and tilt your head back for him.

“Don’t damage the goods, Joel”, Tommy jokes and the degrading remark sends you further into the depths of arousal.

“Please, make me come, Mr Miller,” you plead and both brothers seem to love it. Joel’s groaning against your neck while Tommy takes his cock from you and begins jerking his shaft.

Joel parts from you and you feel him gently pushing your head down. You follow his wordless command, lowering your face to his brother's crotch.

Joel guides you and when you open your lips he impales your mouth on Tommy’s cock.

“Yeah, just like that. Suck on it, sweetie, give my brother the best birthday present.”

Joel brushes the hair away from your face and watches you work Tommy’s cock for some time. His eyes are glued to your every move, every bob of your head, every swipe of your tongue around Tommy’s tip. The younger brother is holding your head on the other side and rhythmically raising his hips slowly fucking your mouth.

All this time Joel’s touch doesn’t leave you, he caresses your head, rubs your back and sides, until his hand snakes to your front and he grabs your breast and twitches your nipple. Your slick is dripping down your legs now and you can’t take it anymore.

With your lips still wrapped around Tommy’s cock you turn slightly to Joel and glance up at him. He’s panting and his half lidded eyes are clouded with arousal. He reads your expression and not being able to control himself any longer too, he orders, “Get up, sweetheart. But keep sucking.”

You do as you’re told placing your feet on the floor and standing up still keeping Tommy in your mouth. Joel gets up with a groan and walks behind you.

“Mr Miller’s gonna take good care of you, baby,” Tommy promises with a smirk and holds your arm to keep you steady in a new position. “Make sure she moans around my dick, bro,” he says louder and Joel hums in response.

“I know how to take care of a girl, little brother, don’t worry,” Joel quips, standing behind you as his clothed hard-on is pressed to your ass. You feel his fingers squeeze your cheeks and he gives you a light slap. You jerk and Tommy flinches, as your mouth moves on his cock a little too roughly. Joel chuckles and Tommy scolds him him,

“Be gentle, Joel, she’s got a mouth full of my cock.”

Joel laughs a little but his next movements are careful and soft. His big hands glide along your sides and down to your bottom again, rubbing your skin and making you clench around nothing. You wiggle your ass a little in invitation and he reads your signal.

“Look at her, Tommy. Can’t wait to be fucked by my fat cock while sucking on another dick… ahh..she’s gonna get a glowing recommendation from me.”

Both men laugh and you feel your pussy ache even more when they’re talking about you as if you’re not there and you place your feet further apart. “Ya wanna come on my cock, sweetheart, or my mouth?” Joel asks and you hastily part from Tommy and breathe out, “Cock, sir.”

“Fuck, baby,” Joel rumbles and you hear him unbuckling his belt and discarding it on the floor. You expect him to pierce you with his member any second now but you hear shuffling and then his warm lips kiss your pussy from behind. You gasp and Tommy smiles, gently pressing your head back down, “She’s like a little doe, so easy to spook.”

You lick the underside of the younger brother’s cock while Joel is behind you, peppering your pussy with open mouth kisses. Then his tongue slips between your folds and travels from your clit to your entrance. He spreads your pussy with his thumbs and your core burns with desire. You’re completely exposed, and you whine remembering that it’s Joel Miller who is about to make you fall apart while you’re blowing his brother. Joel’s movements are sure and effective and very soon your belly and thighs are trembling with an upcoming orgasm.

Mr Miller surprises you again when his tongue glides up to your asshole and he gives it a kiss after spreading your cheeks. You moan loudly not being afraid to be heard as the music is still blaring behind the closed door.

Tommy and Joel hear you well though and the oldest brother parts from your ass to lightly slap your cheek, getting your attention, “Ya like it, sweetheart? Will you let Mr Miller fuck your asshole with his tongue?”

“Yeah,” your whine, the sound muffled by cock. You roll your eyes in ecstasy and Tommy lifts your head by the hair a little to see the results of his brother’s actions on your face. Meanwhile Joel is licking your tight ring as his fingers rub circles on your throbbing clit. When he points his tongue at your little hole and starts poking it moving it deeper little by little you almost sob from the pleasure and lose your rhythm. You can’t concentrate on sucking any longer so Tommy pulls you off his cock.

“Hold it wide for me, baby” he commands, keeping you face above his red swollen tip and you do as you’re told, darting out your tongue. Your whimpers and moans fill the room accompanied by the squelching sounds of Tommy jerking his cock and Joel’s slurping on your tight hole.

Tommy’s eyebrows are furrowed and his gaze runs over your face, breasts and then your ass, being eaten out by his brother. The view takes him over the edge and he shoots his cum on your chin, lips and tongue. You close your mouth around his tip and drink everything he’s giving you. When Tommy pats your hand, you part from him and rest your head on his thigh, inches from his semi hard cock.

Joel gets up with a grunt and you finally feel his tip nudging at your dripping entrance. He impales you on his cock in one swift move and you scream when his tip hits your cervix. He’s big and your pussy aches trying to accommodate his thick length. You close your eyes and focus on the way his cock is gliding inside you, rubbing your sweet spot. A couple more thrusts and your whole body is shaking, ecstasy coursing through your veins, clit twitching and walls contracting. Your juices flow around Joel’s cock and he groans, “Yeah, good girl.. Fuck, squeeze Mr Miller’s cock.”

He begins thrusting into you vigorously and Tommy keeps you in place holding you tight while his brother starts pumping you full of his hot cum. Joel’s rough hands are gripping your hips leaving handprints on your skin while his cock is squirting seed deep into your pussy.

“Doing so good, baby,” Tommy coos at you, while you're nothing but a trembling shaking mess. He’s watching you both unravel and his cock twitches.

When your climax subsides and Joel stills and pulls out you fall on your knees between Tommys legs.

Both men help you up and Joel puts you like a rag doll on Tommy’s lap. You feel Joel’s cum leak out of you on his brother’s jeans.

You lean on the chest of the birthday boy resting your head on his broad shoulder, completely spent, drunk on endorphins and the depravity of what you’ve just done. Tommy lights up a cigarette as Joel gathers your clothes and boots and comes up to the two of you. He hands them to you and then caresses your cheek with a thumb giving you a warm smile,

“I’ll see you on Monday, sweetheart. Bring your costume.”

You smile back with a nod and he leaves.

🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩

Thank you for reading!

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!💖

Tag list: @missannwinchester @harriedandharassed @bbyanarchist @nervousmumbling

I’d love to rec the fics that have been feeding my obsession with the Miller brothers combo! Check them out if you haven’t yet!♥️🥵

The Wrong Way @romana-after-dark

Leopard Print @toxicanonymity

Stuffing @toxicanonymity

At the Table @toxicanonymity

Liquid Gold @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Two Hands to Hold @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Too Depraved 4 TV @bonezone44

Smack My B*tch Up @milla-frenchy

[sematarygirls]

stop i’m literally so in love with your acc, it’s gorgeous!!!! missed you sm. need to start writing or creating something again tbh but idk what.

anywaysss had this super cool drummer!rafe idea where they’re all like mid-20s and were suspected of murder (maybe a roadie died or an ex bandmate??)

buttt there you are interning with the local police department (aka nancy drew nerd) and go poking around (woah somehow you end up in rafe’s arms what a coincidence). maybe he did it or maybeee he didn’t, who knows. ur just a silly little inter.. right?? unless ofc this wasn’t the first time you met and you both did it together?

anyways do what you wish with this, feel free to let it rot. ur a genius mastermind either way. ily mwahhh

(here’s some drew pics mini moodboard bc why not)

Partners In Crime — Rafe Cameron.

pairing: drummer!rafe x policeintern!reader

summary: your internship at the kildare county sheriff's department proves extremely useful after ex-bandmate of local rock sensation, morphine animals, is found murdered.

warnings: smut! semi-public sex, unprotected p in v, murder, inaccuracies regarding police work

word count: 3.6k words !

a/n: this request is AMAZING omg!! your mind is literally so incredibly brilliant. i am so incredibly jealous. i just want to scoop it out and study it because your plots are always so genius it's insane. also, i got a little freaky with this request. i don't know where it came from, but i hope yall enjoy. side note, i know nothing about police stations or internships beyond what I've seen on tv, so this is most likely very far from anything that would happen in real life.

✶ . ࣪ ׅ   You cursed quietly, swatting a mosquito away from you as your fingers danced along the collection of files, skimming through the box of evidence labeled "Ryder, Elliot". It was July, and the summer was in full swing. the air was thick and heavy, causing a layer of sticky sweat to cling to every inch of your body. The cramped storage room seemed to be at least 10 degrees hotter than the rest of the police station, and it had the added bonus of recycled air that smelled of dust and mildew.

Your gaze flickered between the door and the police report in your hands, readying yourself to be caught any moment now. Technically, you weren't supposed to be looking at anything in this room. You were simply an intern, and as such, your jobs mostly consisted of clerical work like running the front desk, answering phones, and filling out the occasional police report—typically for some misdemeanor offense that they had granted you competent enough to navigate your way around.

On a normal day, you did not have clearance to be in this little room with all the important documents pertaining to cases ranging anywhere from vandalism to first-degree murder. However, on this particular day, you had been instructed to organize and clean the records room, ensuring that everything was dusted off and placed in alphabetical order.

You knew you weren't really supposed to take a peek into any of these boxes, but when you saw the name Elliot Ryder on one of the boxes, you simply couldn't help yourself. It was the biggest case your town had seen in the last decade.

"Local rock legend Morphine Animal's ex-band-mate found murdered" had been splashed across headlines for weeks, each news site ranging from local to national discussing the case and their theories, but surprisingly much of the case had remained a mystery.

Morphine Animals had been practically untouchable ever since they skyrocketed to fame. It was truly fascinating how quickly they went from small-town rockstar wannabes to household names. They became a national sensation practically overnight, and it all started when Elliot Ryder was fired as the band's drummer and replaced by Rafe Cameron.

You remembered it vividly. Elliot went around telling everybody who would listen how he was cheated out of fame. The other three band members had been his childhood best friends. The band was their passion project and they had vowed to do it all together, but then, one night, they just dropped him out of the blue, and Rafe Cameron took his spot.

People couldn't help but wonder if the band's colorful history had anything to do with the murder. The whole situation would've made more sense if Rafe was the one murdered. It would be open and shut. Elliot killed Rafe to get back at him for taking his spot and stealing the fame that was "rightfully" his, but revenge just doesn't quite sit right with the case being turned around.

Rockstar drummer that has it all kills small-town drunk nobody? It just doesn't fit.

You turn your attention back to the police report in hand. You didn't have much time left before someone inevitably needed a file or came to check on you, so you needed to focus, read it, and put everything back where you found it before that happened.

Case Number 0608

Responding Officer: Sheriff Susan Peterkin

On 06/28/2023 at approximately 2100 hours, I responded to a noise complaint at 2971 Shorecrest Drive.

I knocked on the front door, but there was no answer. I announced myself as the police and knocked once more, but again, received no answer. I looked into the window for signs of life, and saw Elliot Ryder laying prone on the living room floor with a pool of blood around him. I immediately radioed for assistance and kicked down the door. I checked his pulse and discovered that Ryder was deceased. While I waited for assistance, I secured the scene. At approximately 2110 hours, Deputy Victor Shoupe, Officer Danielle Lyonne, and Officer Franklin Hewitt arrived on scene. Officers Hewitt and Lyonne canvased the surrounding homes and took their statements to find out if anyone had seen or heard anything. Their individual statements are enclosed. Deputy Shoupe called for the coroner and cordoned off the area while I began assessing the crime scene in a spiral method. Pictures included document the blood patterns and shattered glass discovered at the scene. No murder weapon was discovered.

I instructed Deputy Shoupe to stay at the scene and await the coroner's arrival while I headed back to the station. At approximately 2330 hours, I left the scene.

Your eyebrows furrowed in concentration as you read over the report. You used the back of your hand to wipe the beads of sweat that had formed on your forehead—created from a mix of the unbearable heat and your growing nervousness as the moments ticked by—stopping them from dripping down your skin.

Your gaze darted to the door once again before returning to the files, pulling out a series of pictures that documented the crime scene.

He was found on his stomach, the hair on the back of his head matted with blood. The cause of death was blunt force trauma, and it was very evident from the crime scene photos.

You turned your attention from the photos documenting his body to the ones showing the state his living room had been left in. There was broken glass from a shattered mirror near the front door coating the carpet, and the living room looked like it had been hit by a tornado. Furniture had been turned over, his belongings strewn about in a disorganized fashion. It seemed like whoever had been there was looking for something.

Something in one of the photos caught your eye. It was small, almost imperceptible, but the flash from the camera reflected off something imbeded into the cream colored carpet just beneath the table that Elliot's body was found beside.

Your brows furrowed as you brought the photo closer to your face, squinting to get a better look.

The sound of footsteps approaching made you jump. You quickly folded the picture and shoved it into your pocket before placing the photos and police report back into the box and hauling it onto the shelf.

"Hey, kid," Deputy Shoupe peeked his head inside, the sound of him chewing his gum seemingly reverberating off the walls. You turned, your face flushed, and your heart practically beating out of your chest. You had managed to get everything in order moments before he opened the door.

"Uh, yes, sir?" You cleared your throat, brushing away a strand of hair that had gotten stuck to your sticky forehead.

"Boss lady needs the Ryder files," he informed you, still smacking his gum. The sound filled your ears, somehow louder than the beating of your own heart.

You nodded, swallowing hard as you turned and grabbed the box, the piece of paper in your pocket feeling like it weighed a ton as you carried the heavy box over to him. "Can I ask why?" You worked up the courage to ask, handing him the files, your palms sweaty as you pulled back.

"Just got done interviewing Rafe Cameron," he told you, propping the box under his arm. Your eyes widened a fraction. Why was Sheriff Peterkin reinterviewing him? Was there new evidence to connect him to the murder? "So, she wants to take another look at the evidence."

"Oh," you simply said, the room seeming to grow hotter. "Whew, god, it's hot," you huffed, fanning yourself. "Are you hot?" You asked, clearly not doing well at playing it cool.

"You alright kid?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow curiously at your odd behavior.

"Yeah, I think I'm just gonna step outside and get some air," you nodded, suddenly feeling very suffocated in the stuffy atmosphere.

"Sure, whatever," he shrugged, clearly not all that interested in you or your actions as he turned on his heels to deliver the box to Peterkin.

You hurried down the long, grey corridor, pushing the backdoor open harshly when you arrived at it. Outside wasn't much cooler, but the small, shaded alleyway provided reprieve from the sun's unrelenting rays. You took a few deep breaths, feeling better now that you were breathing fresh, clean air.

"You look like shit," a voice piped up. Your head whipped to the side, eyes finding the source. Rafe Cameron was leaned up against the wall, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. He was wearing a white tank top that clung to him like a second skin. the heat was just as unforgiving on him, his muscles glistening and his hair sticking out in all directions, a few strands clinging to his slick forehead.

"Excuse me," you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. Truthfully, you knew you probably did look like shit. You were sweating like a pig, your clothes clinging to you uncomfortably, and after hours of running your hands through it and being subject to intense humidity, your hair was undoubtedly frizzy and wild.

Rafe pushed off the wall, taking one last drag before flicking the cigarette onto the ground and crushing it under his boot. His blue eyes locked onto yours, amusement dancing in them as he approached you. "I'm just sayin'," he drawled, his voice a low rumble.

"Yeah, well, you don't look too hot yourself," you rolled your eyes. It was a lie, of course. Somehow, he even made sweating to death in the sweltering July heat look sexy. It was utterly infuriating.

He grinned, amused at your attempt to insult him, but he could see right through you. "You mad at me or somethin'?" His hand reached out and wrapped around your wrist, his grip sending shivers down your spine.

"You just said I looked like shit," you glared at him. The heat was making you irritable, and it didn't help that his stupid fucking earring—that you'd told him twenty goddamn times to take out—had showed up in a crime scene photo.

Rafe's thumb began to trace circles on the inside of your wrist, his touch sending electric jolts through your body. "C'mon, you know I was just teasing you, baby," he murmured, his voice soft and seductive. He knew how to play your body better than he knew how to play his drums.

You stubbornly pulled away from him, ignoring the way your body reacted to his touch. "You're lucky I got saddled with file room duty, asshole" you gritted out, pulling the picture from your back pocket and shoving it into his muscular chest.

Rafe wore a silver stud in his ear, a staple of his rockstar persona, and that little glimmer of reflected flash in that crime scene photo was that stud, which had fallen out during the murder.

Thankfully, it hadn't been logged into evidence and had been completely overlooked by the bumbling small town crime scene techs, so you only had to take the photo to keep that little piece of incriminating evidence from ever being discovered.

Rafe glanced down at the photo, his expression unchanging as he took it in. He looked back up at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You worried about me, babe?" He asked, his voice laced with mockery, but there was a harder edge to it that betrayed his unperturbed demeanor.

"No," you shot back, your brows furrowing in frustration. God, the heat was making you bitchy. "I'm worried about myself. I mean, I covered up your little fuck up perfectly. The last thing I need is for you and your lame ass jewlery to fuck me over."

Rafe's hand snaked out and wrapped around your throat, his grip tight but not painful. He backed you up against the brick wall, his eyes boring into yours. "You think I can't take care of my own shit?" He asked, his voice a low growl. His patience was clearly wearing thinner and thinner by the second. He was already agitated at being ripped away from band practice to do this little song and dance with the police. The last thing he needed was you bitching at him and challenging his capabilites.

"If you could take care of your own shit, you wouldn't have called me in the middle of the night panicking because you fucking killed someone," you retorted, not backing down. You weren't afraid of him in the slightest. You knew what he was capable of, but it didn't scare you. In fact, there was a twisted part of you that liked knowing about his violent side.

Rafe Cameron had been the one to kill Elliot Ryder in cold blood, and he'd called you up moments after because he knew your experience as a police intern would come in handy. You had rushed over and helped him stage the whole thing as a burglary gone wrong. Unfortunately, Rafe hadn't realized his little wardrobe malfunction until it was too late to go back and retrieve it.

His face darkened, his hand tightening around your throat. "I had it handled," he hissed. "Until you showed up and decided to play detective." His other hand reached down, gripping your hip possessively. "You're supposed to be on my side, not throwing my mistakes in my face."

"Then stop making dumb fucking mistakes," you spat, your jaw clenching in annoyance. You could feel your panties growing wetter by the second, which only fueled your frustration toward him. You hated how he could still make you want him even when he was being a complete asshole.

Rafe's face twisted with anger, but beneath it, you saw a flicker of something else—desire. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your lips. "You know, I should just shut you up for good," he muttered, his grip on your throat unyielding.

"Yeah?" You asked, your voice almost taunting. "You gonna kill me, Rafe?" You looked him in the eye, not backing down. "Who's gonna clean up your messes then, huh?"

His expression turned grim, and for a monent, you thought he might actually do it. But, then, without warning, he crushed his mouth to yours in a rough, bruising kiss. His hands tightened further on your hip, pressing against your body and pinning you in place.

He bit down hard on your lip, drawing blood. His tongue darted out, lapping up the blood and soothing the wound as his thumb rubbed over your pulse point, feeling the way your heartbeat quickened with desire. His mouth tasted of nicotine, stale beer, a slight hint of mint, and then the metallic taste of your blood on his tongue. If it were anyone else, you would've recoiled in disgust, but something about him was intoxicating.

He was so close you could feel his bulge pressing into you, and it only made you want him more. You didn't care that you were pressed against a wall in the back alley behind the police precinct, in fact, something about it, the potential thrill of getting caught, turned you on more.

Rafe's hands moved to grip your ass under your skirt, roughly palming the fatty flesh with his rough hands. He broke the kiss, his lips moving to your neck, where he bit down hard enough to leave a mark. "You drive me fucking crazy," he growled.

"Yeah, well you're fucking insufferable," you said breathlessly, tilting your head to the side and threading your fingers into his hair as he continued his assault on your neck.

He grunted in response, his hands squeezing your backside painfully before he pulled away to fumble with his belt, the buckle clanking loudly in the otherwise quiet alley.

As he fiddled with his belt, you took your opportunity to latch your lips onto his neck, the salty taste of his skin mixed with the thin layer of sweat coating him danced on your tongue as you sucked and nipped at the areas you knew would drive him wild.

Rafe's breathing hitched as you marked him, his body stiffening. He finally got his belt undone and his pants unbuttoned, shoving them down just enough to free his hard length.

He gripped your thighs, hoisting you up and pressing you hard against the wall as your legs wrapped around his waist. "Think you need to learn your place," he said darkly, pulling your panties to the side.

With one swift movement, he thrust deep inside you, filling you completely. He held you pinned against the wall, his hips rolling into yours in deep, punishing thrusts. "You're supposed to worship the ground I walk on," he muttered, his voice ragged.

You gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he began to move, his powerful hips snapping back and forth as he pounded into you. His blue eyes, darkened with lust, locked onto yours, watching your face intently.

"Answer me," he demanded, his voice low and menacing. He slowed his pace, his hips rolling leisurely, his thick length stretching you wide. He knew his slow pace was like torture to you. "Tell me you worship me, baby."

"Fuck," you moaned, your face scrunching in a mix of pain and pleasure as the brick wall dug uncomfortably into your back. "I worship you, Rafe."

A smug grin spread across his face at your words, his pace quickening as he continued to slam into you, his hips rolling in that way that always hit that spot inside you, making you practically see stars. "Good girl," he praised, his lips finding yours again.

Your arms snaked around his neck, fingers curling into his hair and tugging slightly as his mouth swallowed your little whimpers and moans.

He released your mouth, his head tilting down to watch where you were joined. He let out a low groan, his body tensing as he watched himself disappear inside of you. "Look at you taking me so well," he gritted out, his pace quickening.

You gasped when you felt his thumb begin rubbing tight circles on your clit, drawing you closer and closer to the edge. "Such a dirty fuckin' girl," he growled. "Letting me fuck you in an alleyway, behind a police station no less." His lewd words only served to heighten your arousal.

His other hand reached up to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you dizzy as he continued to pound into you. "I'm going to fill this pretty little cunt with my cum," he snarled, his voice echoing off the brick walls.

His words paired with his grip on your throat and the way he was pounding into you sent you over the edge, your eyes rolling back as you moaned his name.

His hand on your neck tightened possessively as you came apart for him, his own release following shortly after as he felt your walls squeeze down on him, milking his cock. He buried his face against your neck, his breathing hot and ragged against your skin. "That's my girl."

You panted, your head falling back against the brick as you caught your breath, your mind reeling as the weight of what you'd just done crashed over you. It was reckless and stupid to have let that happen, especially behind the police station you worked at. If anyone saw you, it could raise some serious red flags.

Rafe slowly lowered you back to the ground, pressing one last kiss to your swollen lips before tucking himself back into his underwear and pulling his jeans up, refastening his belt. He leaned against the wall beside you, lighting a cigarette as he looked you over with a lazy smirk. "Try not to look so guilty."

"Don't be an asshole," you shot him a sharp look, fixing your skirt and blouse. Now, you had to go back to work and act as if you didn't have a murderer's cum leaking out of you.

Rafe took a long drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a slow stream. He watched you intently, his eyes glinting with amusement as he observed you straighten your hair and adjust your collar, trying to regain some semblance of professionalism. "I'll pick you up after your shift. We've got a few more things to discuss."

"You can't pick me up here," you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, pushing off from the wall and taking a few slow steps closer to you. "And why not?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. He knew very well why not, but he wanted to hear you say it.

"Don't play dumb, Rafe," you rolled your eyes. He could be so very infuriating when he wanted to be.

"Say it," he insisted, his voice firm. He took another step closer, towering over you. "Tell me why I can't pick you up here." His hand reached up, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a deceptively gentle touch.

You huffed frustratedly, narrowing your eyes at his insistence. "Because you killed Elliot Ryder, and I'm your fucking accomplice," you relented.

Rafe's hand tightened, gripping your cheeks firmly, his touch bordering on painful as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "Shhh," he whispered, his voice dark and threatening. "You shouldn't go around saying things like that, baby."

You glared up at him, your annoyance evident in your gaze. Everything always had to be a game with him, and sometimes it utterly maddened you.

Rafe's lips curled into a smirk as he pulled back, his hand falling away from your face. "I'll pick you up around the corner," he said, as if the matter was settled. He took another drag of his cigarette before tossing it to the ground and heading down the alleyway to his car.

You watched him leave, your gaze burning holes into his back for a moment as he retreated before you shook your annoyance away, pulling the back door to the station open and heading back inside.

[petersasteria]

You're Losing Me - T.C.

Pairing: Timothée Chalamet x fem!Reader Warning/s: angsty Words: 4,155 Note: I was inspired to write my first ever timmy fic bc of @meetmyothersouls! <3

Flashing lights of the cameras and photographers calling out your name echoed the red carpet as soon as you stepped out of the limousine. You smiled brightly, excited to be attending your first red carpet event. You’re an actress that was given her big break last year and now you’re at the premier of your first ever movie starring Tom Holland and yourself. It was fun working with Tom Holland and you’ve grown closer as filming progressed. You can finally say that he’s now one of your best friends along with his girlfriend, Zendaya.

The whole time at the movie premier itself was a blur. You treasured your first ever movie, but you were way more excited for the after party. You couldn’t wait to meet new people and make new friends while you party all night.

You quickly got changed after the premiere and went straight to the after party venue. There, you saw him. Timothée Chalamet. You’ve obviously never met him before, but you always wished to be even in the same room as him and there he was, talking to Tom and Zendaya.

Tom glanced your way and motioned you to come over. “There’s Y/N!” Tom smiled.

Timothée looked in your direction and you could’ve melted right then and there. He was so magnetic. You were so drawn to him that everything began to move in slow motion. He gave you a warm smile and when you were finally with the group, he offered his hand for you to shake and simply said, “I’m Timothée. It’s nice to finally meet you!” 

You shook his hand and blushed a little, “I’m Y/N, and it’s nice to meet you too! I’m a huge fan of yours.” 

“Really? Because, I’m a fan of yours too. The way you portray your character is amazing and it feels real, if that makes sense. There’s no doubt that you’re very talented and I’m excited to see more of your work!” Timothée said.

“T, you don’t need to be so formal around her.” Zendaya chuckled. 

“Oh, that’s alright! It’s actually pretty cute.” You giggled. Tom and Zendaya looked at each other with a knowing smile before looking back at both of you.

“Z and I will get drinks for us four. We’ll be back.” Tom said as he winked at you. You found it weird, but you shrugged it off.

“So…” you started. Timothée looked at you and asked, “Are you nervous? I don’t know, I just feel that vibe from you right now.”

“Yeah, I kind of am.” You admitted with a laugh. You sighed in relief after getting that off of your chest. Timothée laughed and said, “What are you nervous about?”

“Honestly? Seeing you made me nervous. You’re just so great and being able to stand next to you is already such an honor. You’re, like, my celebrity crush.” You told him. It surprised you how casual you were in saying all that. He was surprised to know that he was your celebrity crush.

When the after party ended, he followed you back on Instagram and asked for your number. From then on you’ve been texting non-stop. You started becoming friends and Tom was really happy for you. Turns out, he and Zendaya have been wanting to set you up with Timothée for a long time and they seized the opportunity when they found out he was invited to attend the after party.

After a year of being friends, he asked you to be his girlfriend. Of course, you said yes despite hearing many people tell you that he’s sort of a playboy. You didn’t care because the only thing that mattered was you and him. Immediately, headlines about your new relationship began to emerge. He was your first serious boyfriend and in the headlines, you were just another one of his girlfriends. It hurt that people saw you that way, but Timothée reassured you that he loves you and he’s serious about you too.

The first year of your relationship with Timothée was the best. He took you to Paris and gave you a promise ring. “I know it’s not an engagement ring and I know how much you want to get married, but I just want to give you this ring as a promise that I’ll replace it with an engagement ring someday.” He said as he blushed. His nose was pink because of the cold and he slipped the ring on your finger before giving your hand a kiss. You smiled at him and gave him a huge hug. “I can’t wait!” You exclaimed happily. You truly loved him with all your heart. You felt nothing but utter bliss.

Along with the first year of your relationship came some small struggles. Timothée got busier with movie projects left and right and you were struggling a bit in handling your new fame. You were lucky that Timothée was there for you to help you. You attended all of his movie premieres and he attended all of your important events too. Everyone loved both of you and even called you “couple goals”. You were supportive of each other and his fans were thankful for you for posting pictures of him often. Both of your fan bases grew from there. Despite the growing popularity, you and Timothée started a tradition. You and him decided that every Friday night would be your “indoor-catch up-dinner date”. You loved every second of it.

The second year of your relationship your acting started to boom. Soon, your name was as big as Timothée’s. Seeing as your relationship was very public, many directors always cast you and  Timothée alongside each other for a more real chemistry on and off screen. Your Instagram was soon full of behind the scenes photos of you and Timothée. The fans absolutely loved it. This continued on until the fourth year of your relationship. Because of the money you both earned, both of you decided to buy a house together to move into. It was you and him against the world.

Timothée entered one of the rooms and was in awe. It was empty, but the light that shone through the window made the room more beautiful. It wasn’t the master’s bedroom, but it was special. Without thinking, Timothée looked at the realtor and said, “We’ll buy it!” You looked at him like he was crazy, “We didn’t see the other houses yet.”

“I know, but this room right here is too special to pass up. The light in here is just as gorgeous as you and y’know we could make this our game room or a date night room. We could slow dance in here or play cards or work. I’m just so excited to be spending some time with you here.” He said as he lovingly looked at you.

The fifth year of your relationship started being rocky. You never thought anything of it. Timothée did bring up the idea of not accepting projects that have something to do with you and him being together. “Oh, may I ask why?” You asked, wondering why he brought it up. “Y/N, I love you, but I miss being able to work with other people. I hope you don’t take it the wrong way. I loved working with you as a couple for, like, three years. We made over six movies together and I cherish every single one of them. I just want to work with someone now.” He confessed. It hurt hearing him say that, but you knew he was right. Both of you needed to grow as actors and for that to happen, you had to work with different people. You looked at him and gave him a small smile, “Alright. I understand.”

“Thank you.”

Soon, he was casted in a lot of movies with different people and you decided to widen your range. You walked on runways, you starred in commercials, you guested on podcasts, and you starred in music videos. You were always present when Timothée had a premiere, but he started lessening his public appearances with you at your events. Everyone didn’t seem to notice. Maybe because his projects were overshadowing yours or maybe because your important events didn’t seem as important as his. You didn’t mind, though. You just longed for him to be next to you.

In your sixth year, a video of Timothée went viral when an interviewer asked about you and his smile dropped a bit and said, “Y/N’s doing great. I’m happy for all her achievements. As much as I want to talk about her, I’d like to focus on the film please. That’s what we’re all here for, anyway.”

Meanwhile, a video compilation of you talking about Timothée went viral. Many fans noted how different you two are. Many say you didn’t deserve him. Others say that you’re too clingy for Timothée’s liking. You decided to post on your Instagram story, defending Timothée.

You defended him a lot more times after that.

You got nothing in return, though.

You stared at the promise ring on your finger during your seventh year and wondered when Timothée would propose. You were experiencing the seven year itch; it’s your make it or break it year as a couple. Many fans speculated a break up after seeing Timothée do nothing. You still defended him amidst all negativity. You posted him all the time and he only posted you once on your birthday. You were growing tired, but you faced every single day with a smile on your face, hoping to trick yourself into being your usual self.

Timothée started bailing on your Friday night dates, often choosing to party with his friends to celebrate something that didn’t concern you. You still cooked and made the whole place look nice, though. You didn’t know why. Maybe deep down you knew that your relationship is in shambles and that you needed to convince yourself that everything’s fine. You knew many people were questioning Timothée’s love for you and in an effort to save his reputation, you took a picture of all the food you prepared and posted it on Instagram with the caption: tim may be out with his friends now, but he made sure to cook these for me before leaving. thank you, my love.

You didn’t know what hurt you most: the fact that you did that or the fact that Timothée liked the post and commented “no problem. Anything for you. Enjoy.”

You cried yourself to sleep that night. Timothée arrived home when you were silently crying. You felt the bed dip down on his side and he whispered, “Thanks for the food. I’ll eat it tomorrow.”

You made it through another year. It’s your eighth year dating Timothée and he still hasn’t made his promise come true. However, you drowned yourself in your work. So much so, that you were even busier than Timothée now. Headlines were vile, though. Timothée was out of the country filming his new movie and you attended red carpets on your own. Many people compared your relationship with Tom and Zendaya. Many people attacked you for Timothée’s lack of presence.

“Y/N! It’s so great to see you. How do you feel that Timothée is not here with you on your special day? You’ve been nominated as Best Actress in your new film, but Timothée is nowhere to be found.” The interviewer asked.

“He’s out of the country filming for his new movie, actually! I’m extremely happy for him. He’s been truly blessed.” You smiled brightly at the interviewer despite feeling sick to your stomach as you had to put up an act in front of the interviewer.

“Well, I’m sure he would make time for you. Tom Holland always finds a way to support Zendaya on the red carpet all the time. Why can’t Timothée do the same?” 

“Um,” You started. You feel so uncomfortable right now. “I don’t think you should compare my relationship with others because every relationship is different. Timothée supports me too in his own way. He’s a silent cheerleader, always has been and I accept him for it. Thank you.” You said before walking away. You wanted to cry.

After that, Timothée never even called or texted to ask if you were okay and how the event went. You entered the room you and Timothée loved and sat alone in the dark and cried. You were so tired of feeling this way, but you loved him with all your heart.

Your ninth year comes around and you find yourself glaring at Timothée almost always. You were just waiting for him to break up with you already so you could move on with your life. However, Timothée has been spending time with you a lot lately which made it hard for you to get mad at him. Even if what he’s doing is the bare minimum. He’s been taking you out on dates, he was bringing back the Friday night catch-ups, he’s posting you more on social media, and he even took a break from acting just to be with you on set. It gave the fans joy. It gave news outlets something to report about. Most of all, it gave you hope. Maybe the old him is finally back for good.

During your tenth year, a lot of people were confused. Everyone thought you’d be married with children by now. An interview of you and Timothée from ten years ago recently went viral. In the video, the interviewer asked you and Timothée where your relationship stands in ten years. Timothée, in the video, simply answered, “probably still together” with a small chuckle. You, on the other hand, excitedly said, “by then we’d most likely be married for about five years with two or three young children”. The fan who posted the short clip on Twitter captioned it with: it’s been ten years, but nothing happened at all i hope my parents are okay :(( 

Your body language has been on autopilot for a while now. In front of the cameras, you smiled brightly and laughed more, but if you looked closely, your eyes had no life. Your heart grew cold too. You were immune to any shenanigans Timothée has put you through. After years of not being in the same movie together, you and Timothée were casted as the main characters of a film by Greta Gerwig.

In the press conference, one interviewer asked you and Timothée about the video that went viral. “Yeah, we saw the video. I forgot about that to be honest.” Timothée chuckled as he looked at you with a small smile. You never looked back at him, though. You just stared at the interviewer and said, “I forgot about it too, but y’know when you’re working, you always don’t know that a few years have already gone by. One day, you’ll just realize ‘oh wow it’s been a long time!’. So, yeah.”

“Any plans on getting married soon? I mean, I think I speak for everyone when I say that everyone wants to see the Hollywood It Couple to finally tie the knot.” The interviewer added.

“I’m always ready for marriage. I think I’ve always been ready… no matter how tired I was. I think I’m just waiting to be asked.” You chuckled half-heartedly as you put down the mic on your lap and looked at Timothée, who was now looking at the interviewer. You looked at him with hope. You wanted him to defend you just once because you knew you looked like an idiot waiting for him. Thinking about it made you tear up, but you held your composure.

“You know, for me, marriage is just a piece of paper. I feel content with what I have now. Let’s see again in ten years.” Timothée joked, causing everyone to laugh with what he said going over everyone’s head. You nodded to yourself and looked away from him. You gave a big smile as everyone laughed. You were dying and he was laughing. How can he be so dense?

Vogue did a photo shoot with you and Timothée on your anniversary. They interviewed you too about having a long relationship. At that point, you were lying to yourself. Any body language expert would see that your eyes had no spark as it once had when you started dating him.

You were at the point in your relationship that you couldn’t feel him anymore. There’s only so much your heart could take. In your eleventh year, you found yourself sneaking out of your shared room to go to yours and Timothée’s favorite room. You would sit in the dark and cry at ungodly hours. You would sleep there too. Timothée never even looked for you. He just assumed you had work and left early. It happened a lot. Sometimes, when you walked out of the room, you’d smell something good coming from the kitchen. He was cooking breakfast.

“Oh, you’re here! You’re lucky I cooked a lot.” Timothée chuckled and set up a plate for you. He looked at you and it was evident that you’ve been crying. “Are you okay?” He asked.

Hearing that made you cry again. For the first time in a long time, he finally asked you that. Regardless, you nodded through your tears and wiped them away. “I’m alright. I was just reading a script that someone sent me and it just hit hard, I guess.” You answered with a teary-eyed smile before sitting down on your usual seat. You started eating the food he cooked as tears streamed down your face.

Your birthday came around and Zendaya threw you a surprise party at a club that you liked. Timothée wasn’t even there. He was working late on set. He probably forgot about your birthday. You didn’t care anymore. Your relationship is already in shambles anyway whether he knew it or not. When the party ended, it was raining hard outside. When you arrived home, there was no electricity due to the heavy rain. You didn’t go straight to your shared room with Timothée. Instead, you went to your favorite room and there was Timothée in the candle lit room with a small cake on the coffee table. He smiled at you and said, “Happy birthday, Y/N! I’m so sorry. I forgot, but I hope this makes up for it. I know it’s not perfect, but hey, today’s Friday catch-up. What a great way to celebrate your birthday, huh?”

You sat on the bean bag chair, stared at the cake, and looked at him. You were crying again. He frowned and knelt down in front of you, “What’s wrong? Do you not like the cake? We can get a new one tomorrow, I promise-”

“When are you going to stop with these promises, Timmy?” You said, your heart wrenching in pain. It was heavy, what you were feeling. You couldn’t handle it anymore.

“What do you mean? I don’t understand what you’re saying.” He said. He was lost.

“I know you don’t understand. You never did understand anything.” You cried. “It’s time to stop lying to ourselves. We haven’t been okay for so long and I feel sick to my stomach seeing you act as if we’re okay all day, everyday. I’m tired, T. I’m so tired.”

He looked at you; he really looked at you. It was then that he saw the bags under your eyes, the puffiness, the redness, and he saw the pain in your eyes take over the spark of joy. How could he be so blind? You were long gone.

“I’m tired of putting up a happy face in front of everyone. I’m tired of pretending that you’re happy for me. I’m tired of wondering how you can watch me walk the red carpets alone while you’re away in some country filming a movie. I’m tired of comparing and wishing for you to become more available to me. I’ve been supporting you since day one and you couldn’t even do the same for me.” You cried heavily.

“Is that how you really feel? I brag about you all the time to my friends whenever I see you strutting on the runway or walking on the red carpet with your castmates.” He said softly.

“That’s different, T.” You sighed heavily and stood up. “That’s different.”

“I wanted you there with me.” You sniffed.

“I am-”

“No! You’re not! You’re never here for me!” You shouted angrily as hot tears streamed down your face. “You left me to fight my own battles. You left me to fend for myself. You left me to defend you when many people said awful shit about you.”

“Who said I needed defending?” He asked, stubbornly. “No one did.”

“No one asked me to defend you, but I did it because I loved you! Don’t you get it?! I made sure to paint a good picture of you in front of everyone because I loved you!” You cried.

“I’m tired of pretending that I’m okay. I’m tired of hoping that the old Timothée I fell in love with will come back to me. I’m tired of asking myself when we’ll finally get married. I’m tired of defending you. I’m tired of proving to other people that we’re very much in love even though we haven’t had a picture in years.”

Timothée looked at you as tears streamed down his face. He was so blind to it all. He kept quiet as he listened to you.

“Prolonging this relationship is a huge mistake.” You confessed sadly. “I feel so sorry for myself because I look delusional, thinking you’ll back me up for once. Thinking maybe you’ll surprise me on the red carpet, but no. It’s always been your projects over mine.”

“Our friends are married and they have families now and I’m sick and tired of being left behind. I feel like I wasted years of my life just for this relationship to work, hoping every year that maybe things will change. I guess I never learned my lesson. I just wanted you to see me, but you never looked at me at all. I just wished you would look at me with the same passionate look you would give to the crowd. It’s hard to admit that you love them more than you love me.”

“The fucked up part is I can’t seem to hate you because I love you too much to do so. It breaks my own heart to decide not to be with you anymore.” You cried. “All these years waiting for you to just leave me is tiring. I’m leaving instead. My world revolved around you and it’s time that it stops.”

“I gave you a chance multiple times. You never did anything for me. You never said anything. You never lost anything. You never even risked one day of filming just to come see me. Your loyalty lies with your job and if it wasn’t clear to me before, it’s crystal clear for me now. I’m sorry for not being good enough.” You sobbed. You looked down at the promise ring sitting on your ring finger for the past ten years. You looked at him and walked towards him. You took off the ring, grabbed his hand and placed it on his palm. “Give it to the next girl you promise to marry. Just follow through with it this time.”

“Y/N, the only girl I want to marry is you.” Timothée cried. “I was going to propose tonight.”

Both of you sobbed as you looked at each other with very different emotions. You looked at him with tired eyes and in defeat. He looked at you with forlorn and hope; he hoped you would change his mind, but he knew deep down that you were tired of choosing him all the time. He knew you were going to choose yourself now.

“You’re so unfair, T. If you said that years ago, you knew I would’ve said yes even before you knelt down and showed me the ring. An engagement ring isn’t a band-aid for a broken mirror. If I said yes now, we’d still be broken; I’d still be broken while you’ll be out chasing the world as I’d chase after you.”

“I love you, Y/N.” Timothée cried. “I really do. I hope you know that.”

“I love you too and I’m afraid I always will, but I have to go.” You sighed heavily as you wiped your tears with your hands. Timothée pulled you in for a tight hug and you did the same.

News of your break up with Timothée was all over social media. You decided not to say anything. You were too tired of fending for your relationship on behalf of you and Timothée for years. It was his time to return the favor.

[milksuu]

Hey hey heyyyy!!! It's me, the one that keeps stalking your page! 💙🧚‍♀️

I wanna say that OML I LOVE YOUR WRITING!!! AAAAHHH! And I'm so so so happy to see that

anyways, this is a request for how the heartsteel boys would react to a lover with big bazoinkers who usually wears baggy clothes suddenly wearing something tight fitted??? Heheehehehe.

Also, how would the react if you were hit on by someone else due to their lover having big personalities?? (You don't have to do this one if you're uncomfortable ofc!!)

Also, keep up what you're doing, feeding my unhealthy obsession with these fictional (but very attractive) men. I hope you have an amazing day/night!!!🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️

❥ prompt: So, you got the big boinkers. The huge bagonzos. The gigantic bonobos. Whatever guys called boobs these days. You're super self-conscious about them, ever since you hit puberty. You've tried to hide them. But with the upcoming red-carpet event for the music awards, you can't wear baggy clothes next to your Heartsteel boyfirend. You had to look your best. Or as some would say, your breast. ❥ content/warnings: mild suggestive themes, possessive boyfriend energy, over protective boyfriend energy ❥ characters/pairings: v!Heartsteel (aphelios, ezreal, kayne) / f!reader

APHELIOS

Aphelio's thought you always looked cute and comfortable in your hoodies. In casual form, it was his aesthetic as well. Until the time came for a special event.

Aphelio's hadn't imagined exactly what you would wear. But surely, it might be a long-sleeve and turtleneck to match your conservative style. He understood how you felt about your particular assets. He would never suggest you to wear anything that didn't make you feel secure.

He was absolutely wrong. So, so, so wrong. (Wait. Did he actually like being wrong?) He got the long-sleeves part right. But the black mini-dress you sported hugged all the curves you possessed. With just a bit of thigh fat squeezed at the hem. If Aphelio's could ever speak again, he'd beg to be immediately silenced between those thighs. And at the top, there was a glorious boob-window that any e-girl would go absolutely rabid to have.

He had to look away a few times. Thankful to have a mask covering most of his flustered features. Maintaining a semblance of composure, he led you by the hand, speaking to you through squeezes between your hands.

Down the red-carpet, with flashing lights, the two of you posed. One camera man took a picture a little too angled for his liking. Your hand trembled in his. Blushing and holding your breath. Embarrassed tears pricked the corner of your eyes. Afraid of the possible lewdness that would be plastered in magazines. You didn't want to even imagine the headliners. And what would they say about Aphelio's? That he was dating some sort of 'all-boobs-no brains' bimbo? You wanted nothing like that for him.

Aphelio's sensed all of your emotions and didn't hesitate his next move. He dragged a discreet foot against the carpet, folding it in a manner that caused the paparazzo to trip. When the shady-cameraman fell, his camera smashed to pieces against the ground. The man dramatically fell to his knees, holding his head and weeping in buckets.

You gasped. Aphelio's merely rolled his eyes dismissively, tugging you way. He knitted his brows, and squeezed your hand tightly. You knew exactly what he did. You smiled, condensing your chest against his arm.

Feeling his face heat up again, he looked away. After acting so cool, and looking so cool, there's no way he'd let you see him blush like a high-school boy.

EZREAL

Ezreal never minded you wearing baggy clothes. He thought it was fun—for him! He loved diving underneath your oversized hoodie, and poke his head out the other side. Like you two were some odd circus attraction. That, or pretend he was a sailor drowning in a sea of boobies. He liked wearing the stylish hat.

He wasn't exactly sure what you would wear to the event, but he wished it was something he could fit inside later. He was joking. That was a total joke. So long as you were comfortable in it, he didn't mind.

When he saw you step out of the limo, his jaw completely dropped. He felt like one of those cool male-lead movie stars. Taking off his glasses in iconic slow-mo fashion, mouthing the words "Oh, Baby."

He spared zero time to lead you by the arm. Ready for from some press worthy photos he knew you two were going to absolutely rock.

Making it to the concessions room, where the liquor and horderves were plenty, it was prime time for music stars to socialize.

One young rapper approached, way too drunk off his drink, slurred with a smirk at your general direction. Commenting on whether or not Ezreal paid for you to have boob job in order to please him.

The giddy-boyish-sunshine smile turned utterly dark. The laugh he forced was ear grating. It chilled you to the bone. There was a flash of yellow. And briefly, you felt your arm empty of his presence. Then the scene unfolded. The man's drink completely spilled all over him. Another flash. He was pushed, stumbling to the ground.

Ezreal merely snickered into his suit sleeve when bouncers in the room dragged the drunk man away by the collar. Deeming him too drunk and unfit for the show, and subsequently tossed out.

Ezreal tugged you off to a far, secluded corner. He took you into his arms, squeezing tightly. Apologizing into your ear. You smiled softly, and rubbed his the back. Reassuring him you weren't hurt by the comment. And gave him a grateful kiss into his hair for sticking up for you.

KAYN

Kayn 'Big ol' Tiddle Bitties'. If he could change his middle name to that, he would. It'd be his other rap persona, in ode to your breasts. Rhaast approved. And sure, you may be insecure about them, but Kayn fucking hell wasn't. He swore, one day, he would scream in praise at the rooftops. (Thankfully that hasn't happened...yet.)

He prayed to every demon, anti-christ, Eldritch God on this forsaken plane of existence for you to bless his presence with those huge knockers. And holy shit, did you ever at the event.

From the outfit alone, if he leashed himself for you, and placed a crop in your hand, he'd be on all fours. This wouldn't be a classy event anymore. It'd be an all-out fetish party.

Sadly. Reality kept it to a red-carpeted event. Where he had to act professional. Lead you accordingly, and restrain himself on every level possible. It took all his effort to not just call an Uber and take you in nearest love-hotel.

After mingling before the show, it was time for the awards. You took your seat next to each other. As the event played on, with various performances, you felt something being thrown into your cleavage. You looked down, spotting popcorn. Turning a cheek, you saw a group of young men laughing. Making comments about your breasts, and high-fiving one another when they 'made the shot'.

Kayn noticed. And boy, was he about to lose his shit during a performance speech. You placed a hand against his chest, whispering for him not to make a scene, and not allow the clowns to hurt his reputation. Fine—he wouldn't commit a crime. But he would show them who they were fucking with.

You slapped a hand over your mouth, muffling any lewd noises. Kayn planted his face in your cleavage, biting and licking your chest. He took up all the popcorn, and spat it out the guys like buttered bullets. They jumped with looks of disgust, cursing under their breaths about how damn crazy he was. With a final growl, they scurried away.

Kayn cackled, and you had to shush him when Yone leaned back in his chair and gave a look.

an: holy shiii tysvm for this req. @ccraccz! you're a genius. pls keep stalking my page *smooches you* sadly i have to break this up into two parts, since I wasn't expecting to make it so long??? lmfao??? pls stay tuned for part 2