#maybe she'd be a bit jealous

[buckyalpine]

Imagine jealous!sharon want to get you out of the way so she can be with Bucky…

She hurts you (even it’s like a bruise) and Bucky begins to be so protective of you 🥺🥵

ABSOLUTELY.

I'm imaging this with a soft sweet reader and fuckboi Bucky. Hear me out, okay.

He's not looking for a relationship at all, finally feeling a sense of freedom after getting a bit of himself back. He's so flirty with everyone, so charming, he knows he can get whoever he wants.

He fucks.

A lot.

Sharon eats it up, loving the smirks he gives her, his playful baby blue eyes always sparkling. She loves the naughty way he bites his lip and don't even get her started on how gorgeous he is when he works out shirtless. His Brooklyn accent comes out when he calls her darlin' and it makes her weak in the knees.

There's just one issue.

The looks he gives Sharon aren't special. She's not the only one he calls darlin', even the old lady at the coffee shop shares the same pet name. Bucky can't help the little smirks he tosses around to others, flirty compliments naturally falling from his lips. He's a bit of a heart breaker but it's who he is.

That's just Bucky.

That's Bucky with everyone else.

Then there's Bucky with you.

The quite lab assistant who worked at the compound.

He didn't have it in him to playfully flirt with you when you asked about his day. He actually liked talking to you, finding any excuse under the sun to keep the conversation going, poking at the little nick knacks you have on your desk so he doesn't have to leave so quickly.

Sharon hates the way he looks at you. Whenever he's around you, he looks at you with puppy eyes as if he's wondering how someone so sweet could possibly exist. She catches onto the way he's not the same with you as he is with others. He's called everyone in passing darlin' with a drawl of his voice but you're his doll. He's never used that with anyone else. That's reserved just for you.

She can't stand it.

At first she tries to pick you apart in subtle ways' maybe you'd finally realize you had no business talking to someone like Bucky.

"You're so pretty even though you wear glasses"

"Don't worry, that dress would still look good on your body type, its meant to suit everyone"

"I wish I was as brave as you to wear that! I'd love to have that much confidence but I could never"

She smiled sweetly while you pulled your lab coat closer together, clutching it tightly in your hand. Your heart sank to your stomach. You'd worn one of your favorite dresses, one many others had always said you looked perfect in but some how Sharon made you doubt that, despite her sugary smile.

Then she took it a step further to make sure you were more isolated, insisting you'd be uninterested in plans when the team wanted to go out. Purposely giving you extra work when they had drinks together. Anything to keep you sad and holed away in your lab while she kept Bucky all to herself.

She'd do anything to get rid of you.

She was almost certain everything was going accordingly to plan, inching closer and closer to Bucky during a movie night until she was pressed against him, sharing his blanket. Not that Bucky noticed since he was more distracted over the fact that Sam was also squished against him on the other side of the small couch. Sam was also buried under the now too hot blanket, his deep snores irrupting the movie having fell asleep on Bucky's shoulder.

"Damn bird brain" Bucky huffed, ignoring the fact that he pushed Sharon off while reluctantly adjusting himself so Sam's head wouldn't slip, shaking his head when Sam grumbled, trying to snuggle into Bucky more.

"Bet you wish that was y/n, huh" Tony wiggled his eyebrows and much to Sharon's distain, Bucky blushed. Not did he deny it.

It didn't matter though. She'd find a way to get Bucky's attention, it wasn't like you were real competition anyways. She figured you'd have the sense to like someone better suited for you, someone in your league, definitely not the very handsome Sergeant.

That was until she found out you had a crush on the super soldier yourself. You'd let it slip out during a conversation with Nat, not realizing there was someone near the lab. Sharon didn't think you actually had a chance with Bucky but it didn't matter.

At this point she didn't care about what it took.

She was sick of the way Bucky was soft over you.

So she took a more direct approach.

"Y'know, I heard someone has a little crush on a certain super soldier" Sharon smirked, wandering to your table, tinkering with one of your tools while you looked at her like a deer caught in head lights.

How did she know?!"

"I-I don't-

"Oh please y/n, everyone knows" the blonde rolled her eyes at your gaping mouth before continuing, "I just thought I should let you know that he's not interested"

You felt like you had been punched in the stomach, the hurt expression on your face made her satisfied,.

"Oh" Was all you mustered out, embarrassed beyond belief while she shrugged. You blinked back tears while Sharon squeezed your shoulder out of faux concern, handing you a tissue.

"I'm so sorry, honestly I just thought you should know because he likes me. And I like him. So it would be best for you to move on, because were seeing each other" It didn't matter if it was a lie because she intended on making it real soon enough.

From that day, you avoided everyone in the compound like the plague, throwing yourself into work, feeling ridiculous for having even thought of Bucky that way. Of course he'd never go for someone like you, you should've known that from the start.

Sharon's plan was short lived after she overheard Bucky worriedly asking Tony about where you'd been all week since he hadn't seen you. After some endless teasing, Tony reassured him you were fine and just busy with lab work, not knowing the true reason as to why you'd overloaded yourself.

Sharon despised the pink that decorated Bucky's cheeks whenever someone said your name.

She hated that she'd seen him walking by the lab hallway in search of you.

She'd do anything to end all of this.

Including hurt you.

-

You made your way down to the gym hoping to sweat some of your unrequited feelings away, putting on your headphones before hopping on the treadmill. Sharon walked in moments later, blonde hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, her toned body on full display in nothing but a sports bra and some tiny shorts.

You felt even worse.

You tried to stay hidden, deciding 15 minutes would be enough, though your escape was cut short with Sharon caught your arm just as you were about to leave.

"How about we spar for a bit" She smiled sweetly, giggling at your confused expression. You'd never sparred in your life, in fact this was probably the third time you'd even used the gym the entire time you'd lived at the compound.

"Sharon, I-I don't think that's a good idea, I've never-

She cut you off, dragging you to the mat, practically shoving you to the middle with more force than necessary.

"It's fine! I mean, it's good for you to learn since you work here n'all C'mon, I'll help you and show you what to do" Before you could say anything, Sharon had flipped you onto the mat, twisting your arm behind your back without warning. You gasped in pain as she gripped harder, pulling further up your back until she heard your joints crack.

"Let-let go" You winced out, confused over what part of sparring this was, your body hitting the floor when she released her grip.

"Ops" Sharon pouted with faux innocence, taking a long sip from her water while you hissed in pain, seeing the formation of a bruise already forming on your arm.

"SHARON"

Sharon squeaked in surprised at the loud voice that boomed through the gym, bouncing off the walls. Her eyes shot up to see a very angry super solder making his way over to the mat, eyes darkening as they landed to your injured form on the ground.

"What the fuck did you do?!"

"Bucky, we were just-

"Don't" Bucky growled through gritted teeth, rushing over to your side, and slipping his arm around your waist.

"Angel, are you okay?" He cupped your cheek, helping you to your feet and taking your hand in his, examining it with the utmost care. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

"M'all right" You nodded, your face heating up under his gaze, still a little shaken, your body trembling.

"How the fuck could you hurt her" Bucky spat, his metal hand clenched to his side, itching to punch Sharon in the jaw, having seen what she had just done but he didn't want to deal with the mess that would come afterwards. "The hell did you do that for"

"Excuse me? I was just showing her how to-"

Bucky's jaw clenched, instantly shutting her up. He refused to let go of you, keeping you firmly tucked into his side, growing unbelievably protective over you.

"Fine, go ahead, I'm sure she's different from all your other little side pieces" Sharon scoffed, smirking at the way your face fell. Bucky felt like he'd been hit in the chest; you were far more than any of his hook ups and he'd never considered treating you that way.

"You. Don't. Touch. Her" He glared her at before walking off with you. After the incident, Bucky insisted you go to the doctors to get checked over, waiting outside of the room like a kicked puppy. He couldn't help but feel guilty that all this had happened because of him. He also wondered that you thought.

Did you think he'd just use you for one night?

He would never.

He knew he wasn't into dating. He gave up on the dream of getting married, having kids, all that years ago. But that was before he met you. Ever since you'd thrown him a shy smile along with the softest hello Sergeant Barnes, Bucky had been a goner.

If his feelings were was bad before, it was even worse now.

You were told to ice your arm for the pain and swelling. Bucky had swept you away right to the kitchen, despite you telling him you'd be fine, plopping you onto the kitchen island wrapping an ice pack in a towel. He held it to your arm, frowning at the way you refused to look at him, your face downcast to the floor.

"Doll?" Bucky wrapped his arms around you for a comforting hug, wondering if the altercating with Sharon was still upsetting you, "Are you okay sweets? I missed you, haven't seen you in ages"

"I-I'm fine, I'm sorry" You pulled away from his arms, remembering Sharon's words from earlier, instantly missing the warmth of his body. "I know you don't feel the same way Bucky" You bit your lip to keep it from trembling.

Bucky blinked in confusion, having no idea what you were talking about. What did he not feel the same way over.

"What do you mean y/n"

"I mean I like you-but I know you don't like me that way so I kept myself busy so I wouldn't bother you because Sharon said-

"Wait, slow down, what did Sharon say"

You sighed before recounting all the things that had lead to this moment, Sharon insulting you, then telling you to back off, to straight up fighting you.

"Oh doll" Bucky shook his head, feeling worse over what had happened but over the moon over your confessed feelings, "She's right you know," He teased at the pout that made it's way to your lips before playfully pecking them, catching you by surprise.

"I don't do relationships. Certainly never had before. That was before I met the sweetest thing in the world and she's had my heart since" Bucky whispered, his hands, one warm, one cool cupping your cheeks, "She has me dreamin' of sayin' I do and that white picket fence, a ring on her finger, a pretty little baby bump with flowers on the window sill. Maybe a baby boy n' a baby girl. Maybe even a cat. She's the cutest little lab assistance and I'd love for her to be my girl, sweets"

Bucky held your face in his hands, his thumbs caressing over your warm cheeks while you grew bashfully shy, burying your face into his chest instead, making him chuckle.

"I didn't think you were the relationship type" You shrugged, toying with his dog tags, "I'm not you're darlin' Bucky"

"That's cause you're my doll" Bucky tilted your face up making you look up at him, his lips pressing the softest kiss to your nose and then your lips. "My one and only doll"

#bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky angst #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fan fic #bucky barnes fanmix #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky fan fics #bucky fan fic #bucky fan fiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfics #protective bucky barnes #bucky barnes x f reader #bucky #soft bucky #sharon carter

[talaok]

PostOutbreak!Joel likes reader but he tries to hide it because of the age gap. To try and put us off, he can be a bit standoffish/mean but Ellie can tell it’s a facade and tells him to drop it and the age thing doesn’t matter if you really like each other. Then a fluffy confession omggg

Pairing: PostOutbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: unspecified age gap, joel being a lil insecure and scared, and Ellie being a menace, but its mostly all fluff who am i kidding

a/n: this was the cutest fucking request ever, thank you anon

You know those books or movies where it's painfully clear to everyone but the two main characters that they love each other, and you keep reading or watching thinking "How could anyone not see that he likes her?" as you increasingly get more frustrated and annoyed?

Well, this is a bit like that,

not a bit actually, completely so.

And in this metaphor, you and Joel were the two oblivious main characters, while Ellie, poor Ellie, was the unfortunate witness of your blindness.

It was so incredibly clear to her that she sometimes struggled not to laugh at your interactions.

I mean the first time Joel saw you was the very first time she'd seen him blush and forget how to speak in the span of a second- it was hilarious.

And then when he'd catch him staring at you or pretend not to purposely take the longer route home just to catch a glimpse of you outside the bakery... it was hard to only chuckle underneath her breath, but she managed... 

until today

Joel slammed the door as he got it, like really loud, not like his usual slam.

"what's wrong?" Ellie asked, her brows frowning in suspicion as he kicked his boots off his feet before halfheartedly dragging them to the kitchen where she was sitting.

"nothin'" he grumbled, 

Now that made Ellie sigh with annoyance,

he was always the one to blab about how she could always confide in him, and if that was the truth, then that meant it went both ways.

"Y'know a grumpy old man once told me that it's good to share how you're feeling" She tilted her head to the side, raising her brow as Joel rolled his eyes, filling a glass with water "Would be real hypocritical of him to not take his own advice..."

Said old man, was now rolling his eyes even harder, drowning the full glass in a second

"'s nothing, don't worry 'bout it"

"Joel" Ellie only glared at him,

and as always when it was her,

he was convinced faster than he liked to admit

He sighed, before speaking "It's stupid" he said

"I don't care" Ellie shrugged, placing her elbows on the kitchen counter where she sat and using her hands to support her head, her whole focus on Joel,

who sighed, again.

"I just-" he placed the glass in the sink before turning back to her "I just saw y/n talking to I guy I-"

"Oh my god you're jealous!" she said it with such enthusiasm and with such a smile pulling at her lips that you would have guessed she'd just won the lottery

"no" Joel frowned, shaking his head "What are you on about? I'm not jealous, I just don't like the guy"

"yeah" Ellie snorted "I'm sure you just "don't like the guy"" she air quoted as she laughed 

"Why would I be jealous?" Joel went on pretending,

perhaps lying to himself together with her, the jury was still out.

"I'm just worried for her-" he argued "she's too kind and too fucking nice and Jake's an asshole"

again, Ellie only smiled as she watched him lie so blatantly

"why would you be jealous?" she pondered his question with amusement "well I don't know... maybe 'cause you have the biggest fucking crush on her"

"What!?" he spat "I don't know what's going on with you today, where did you get all these ideas? I-"

"Oh my god please shut up Joel" she groaned, rolling her eyes "That rude asshole act you do around y/n may work with her, but you don't fool me, Miller"

Ellie could swear she saw a hint of panic in his eyes

"I know you like her, just like I know she likes you" She finally said, done with this little act "I honestly don't get why you two don't just declare your love to one another and live happily ever after or some shit"

It was like he froze,

and while Ellie thought it was because he'd just been busted by a 14-year-old, it was for a wholly different reason

"she doesn't like me" he stated

And at that, at that Ellie could just groan as her palm descended dramatically down the length of her face

God, she'd always known he wasn't the brightest, but this? This is a little too much even for him

"Are you blind or something?" she threw her hands out for emphasis "She's definitely better at hiding it than you, I'll give you that, but I mean, still... it's fucking obvious dude!"

"Ellie" Joel only shook his head "you 'don't know whatcha talkin' 'bout"

Ellie was now very close to yelling at him.

"Joel I'm serious, she likes likes you!" she argued, "why do you find that so hard to believe?"

But of course, Ellie couldn't have known what was going on in Joel's mind, how certain he was that it wasn't true,

about how he knew he didn't deserve someone like you, someone so kind and beautiful and smart,

how he had spent months trying to get the thought of you to leave his tainted mind,

how he'd decided to be mean, rough, rude to you in the hopes that you would stop being so nice to him, in the hopes that you would start to avoid him, to hate him, and he'd never have to see you or that gorgeous smile again.

And finally, Ellie didn't know about how he was too incredibly, terribly old for you, for such a pretty young woman.

Half his hair was gray for god's sake, he never had a chance

"I could be her father Ellie" he finally confessed what had been eating up at him for so long "I'm too fuckin' old"

Ellie didn't even need a moment to take that it, she listened, thought about it, and immediately rolled her eyes

"SO WHAT?" 

You don't understand how long she had to pretend not to want to give the both of you a good shake, 

it was only right for her to finally shout it out

"First of all, you're not that old" she started listing, "second of all, she obviously doesn't care" she continued "and finally Joel, if you really like her, and if she really likes you, then it doesn't matter!"

But Joel was not convinced, he'd spent too long telling himself the opposite, and he couldn't even fathom the possibility of what Ellie was saying

"you just have to tell her"

she said it like it was easy, like the mere thought of it didn't give Joel a minor heart attack, like he hadn't woken up from multiple dreams where he would confess his love and you would laugh at his face, or worse, tell him you felt the same, something Joel knew not to be the truth.

Also, Joel had no idea when exactly throughout this conversation he'd admitted to liking you, but I guess it didn't matter now, it made no sense to keep the farse on.

"I can't Ellie, I-"

"oh my god you're such a chicken" she moaned "You're the one that always tells me to be brave!"

"that's different"

"how!?" she bugged her eyes, holding her palms up in show of her frustration "I get that it's scary, but what's the worst thing that could happen?"

And that, for some reason, stuck with him,

He really had nothing to lose,

It's not like you were friends or you would talk often, it's not like he would be ruining a relationship, there wasn't one,

And yet... yet it still terrified him,

"Ellie... I don't know"

"c'mon man, but your big boy pants on" she groaned "I'm telling you, she fucking likes you"

__ __ __

Joel didn't do it.

He couldn't. He just-

You were perfect, you were perfect in a way that made him feel all the more dirty,

like being close to you, talking to you, touching you... would be like plucking a flower with torn-up hands, 

And fuck him, but Joel was scared, like he'd gone back 40 years and become 16 all over again.

He couldn't do it, he couldn't, wouldn't do it, and he'd set his mind to that, made peace with his cowardness and dread.

Until of course, Ellie's twisted mind came up with a way to force his fears to life.

"Howdy"

The kid was smiling so broadly that she looked like a child with a brand-new toy,

but Joel's eyes were somewhere else,

he was looking at you

"Hi Joel" you smiled, punching a knife into his gut

You were at his front door with his kid, who was very clearly plotting something, and Joel wondered for a moment if this was what would finally make his heart give out.

"Hi," he said, his voice sounding distant

Why is she here?

"Aren't you gonna let us in?" Ellie urged, 

Us?

"Uhm, I-"

but Ellie had already sneaked inside, dragging you behind

And now the awkward scene was even more awkward, just at the entrance of his home.

"All alright" Ellie clapped her hands, watching Joel stare at you as you tried to avoid his gaze "I'm gonna go to my room," she said, shouldering him not so subtly

"Cool down dude" she mumbled, before disappearing upstairs.

What the fuc-

"I'm sorry to barge in like this" you finally spoke, a gentle smile on your lips "Ellie said you needed to tell me something, so I just... came here I guess" you finished with an awkward laugh

Fuck-fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-

"If it's too much trouble I'll just go-"

"no," Joel said, before he could stop himself, finally realizing he was still holding the door's knob, and in a spur of bravery, deciding to use it to close the door.

"Oh, ok" you mumbled, puzzled by his demeanor "so uhm, what is it you needed to tell me?"

God damn that fucking trick-playing kid of his

"do you- do you want something to drink?"

the question took you aback, but then you did something that stunned Joel even more, you laughed,

you laughed softly, quickly, like you were letting out all this stupid awkwardness in a simple gesture

because that's how you were: Magical

"Sure" you shrugged, grinning "some water would be nice"

If Joel had to watch your face for an instant more he feared he was gonna explode, so he did all he could think of, he walked to the kitchen, only glancing at you again when he handed you your drink,

to his dismay, finding a smile still drawn on your lips.

"thank you" you said, taking a sip

god, even the way your lips wrapped around the rim made him want to drop to his knees.

He needed to get a grip.

"so... are you gonna tell me or do I have to guess?" you joked, your fingers drawing patterns on the glass

Was this really happening?

Was this hell?

"I..." he trailed off, running a hand through his hair as he glanced from the counter to you on repeat "I wanted to tell you that..."

"that?"

"that- the uhm-" he shut his eyes for a second, searching for words "the...bread you gave us this week was real good"

Goddamnit

"oh"

Even you couldn't hide your disappointment

I mean, you certainly didn't expect it. A compliment from Joel Miller? What universe were you in? 

Just like you didn't expect any of this... him actually letting you in his house or offering you water...

You had half expected him to shut the door in your face,

The most he had ever given you was a half smile at a joke you told him while he was picking up bread, the rest were all rude grumbles or just a bunch of stoic looks... 

and yet... yet a part of you couldn't help but have set expectations a little higher.

What a silly fool you'd been, 

hoping for a love confession from a man who has made it very clear he despises you,

but still- a girl can dream, right?

"thank you" you mumbled, as Joel cursed himself over and over in his head "that's very nice of you," you smiled, stalling a second to see if he was gonna say something else, interrupt you at some point,

but he remained silent

"well if that's all, I'm gonna go then, thank you for the water I-"

Until he wasn't

"no-stop- I-"

Ellie was right. 

He had to do this, he had to win his fear and try at least, or he was gonna regret it for the rest of his life, and he already had too many of those.

The problem was that you looked really beautiful today, and he'd never been good with words

Fuck it- if he was gonna make a fool of himself so be it,

He had nothing to lose and everything to win,

he had you to win.

"Yes?" you asked, trying to tame your hopes down

Think Joel, think

how the fuck do you tell a woman you like her?

"There's one other thing I've been meaning to tell ya" he cleared his throat, standing up straighter as he took a step closer to you.

"'m not great at doing this type of thing" he admitted, shaking his head slightly "but Ellie... she's right, I'm always tellin' her to be brave and everythin', so... I guess it's my turn now," he said, letting out a short, anxious laugh "I don't even know- I guess what I'm tryna say is that I'm gonna be honest now, but I want you to know that- that I know what you're gonna say and it's ok" he swallowed thickly, preparing himself from your inevitable rejection "I understand, really, I just- I thought I should try at least" 

What was going on?

What the fuck was he saying?

"Joel, what are you talking about?"

This was it.

It was now or never.

"Y/n I-"

his heart was beating out of his chest, and his legs felt like jelly, but he had to do it, he had to take a leap of faith-

"Y/n I like you" he breathed like the words longed to be out of his mouth "I like you a lot, I have for a while now"

he watched your mouth part, your whole face filling with shock as you blinked over and over, trying to make sure this was really happening.

"Y-you like me?"

"yes" he nodded "And as I said, I know you don't feel the same, I know I'm old, and I've been an asshole to you all this time, so it's ok, really I-"

"stop talking Joel" you huffed a laugh, stepping closer, and then closer again, until your hand was on his arm "please just-" you bit down a smile, and he was so confused, so fucking confused, "say it again," you asked

"I like you y/n" he murmured, trying to get his mind to start working again,

but you were leaning closer,

and who cared what his name was anyway

"you were rude to me"

"I was, I'm sorry I-"

You pretended to be thinking about it, glancing upwards as you pursed your lips together

But who were you kidding?

"you're forgiven" you smiled, looking up at him as you slowly raised yourself on your tiptoes to gently, oh so gently, press your lips to his.

Joel was certain he had just died.

But then he opened his eyes again, and you were still there, beaming up at him, and he felt such a wave of happiness that he could have started crying right there,

only he took on a different route and grabbed each side of your face with his hands, crashing his lips with yours and kissing you, kissing you like he'd been dreaming of for months

exactly how you imagined he would,

better than you imagined, actually

so much better.

"Ha! I told you, Joel!"

He groaned as he leaned away, shooting Ellie an annoyed glance

"What are you doin' here?"

"just came here to gloat" she shrugged, watching you two with a grin plastered on her face

"I think you've done enough of that" he muttered, but you could only smile

"thank you, Ellie," you grinned "Thank you for doing this"

She raised her brows, looking at Joel as if saying "See, she's thanking me, why aren't you?", but then her expression got more genuine as she shot you a smile

"you're welcome" she smiled "Better having to see you kiss than having to put up with Joel being all sad 'cause you're talking to Jack or any other guy"

You gasped with amusement as Joel shut his eyes in embarrassment, his cheeks tainting with red

"Ellie-" Joel grumbled, 

A soft giggle flowed through the room as Ellie turned away and went back up to her room, seemingly satisfied with her work

"You were jealous?" you teased him, your hands on his chest, while he'd moved one of his from your face to your waist.

"maybe I was" he fessed up

You smiled even brighter 

"And you like me?" you asked for the thousandth time

"yes, sweetheart, I really fuckin' like you" he smiled too now, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that made time stand still and the world spin around

"I like you too Joel" you finally said, giving the man an actual mini-stroke.

"say it again"

#sorry for not posting lately im not going through the best time at the moment #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #fluff #joel miller imagine #joel miller blurb #joel miller angst #fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo #joel miller x f!reader

[capslocked]

PASCAL

male reader x karina & irene

part 1 of two roses, by every other name

28k words

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

Irene’s is remarkably not.

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so it goes.

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

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

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

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

“So I guess, pace yourself or something.”

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey," is how you answer, always.

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

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

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

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

And so it goes, and so it goes.

-

"Have a drink," someone keeps saying.

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

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

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

Happy New Year, sorta. You wait it out.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if you had any intention of absconding without her.

-

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

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

A real celebrity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And wouldn’t you know."

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

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

"Hm, I’m thinking."

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

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

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

Irene will finally perk up, gleaming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tough to say.

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

And - she would, really.

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

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

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

It’ll make the cab driver clear his throat.

"What you’re saying is ‘no.’"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Um, do you mean Rosé?”

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

-

Enter then, Yu Jimin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not for long, the question lingers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is sorta how you've always known her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You're one to talk, Irene."

“Careful,” Irene warns.

"What, you gonna set me straight?"

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You remember the knit of her brow.

“Do not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ha."

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

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

Karina just runs her tongue across her lips, sighing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just to keep her gasping, panting.

Like a woman starved for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-and vanish somewhere in Irene's mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

You both do. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm… fucking cumming.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She breathes, "god. Irene."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like Karina wants you to look.

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

She laughs at the premise. 

“I dunno, what's a girl to do?"

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

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

-

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

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

Irene laments and hopes in the same breath. 

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

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

"Honey," is how Irene responds, leisurely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She ends it so charming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the girl absolutely fucking keens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fucking, please, god-."

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

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

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

One.

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

Two.

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

Three.

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

Four.

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

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

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

"God, I can’t, just- ah.”

“Breathe,” Irene says.

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

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

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

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

And she wants you to-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You absolutely get it. 

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

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

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

Who stands any chance to resist?

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

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

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

"You can cum for me too, baby."

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

“Just cum.”

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The three of you know she deserves nothing less.

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

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

The thing is, with Irene: facades fade fast.

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

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

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

She simply shudders apart.

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

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

“Irene, look-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Irene lets out this wanton sound, desperate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It steps out into pure necessity.

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

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

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

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

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

In and in and in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And in case you missed the point:

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

-

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

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

So,

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

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

A bit of color.

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

She finishes with a cough. And says again:

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

Well. She's got you on that count.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because I'm not the type.”

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re not married,” you correct.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s probably right.

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

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

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

-

On Monday: the holidays are officially over.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She doesn’t really care.

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

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

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

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

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

She’s totally caught you staring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stop fucking her, halfway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking god, Irene-”

“Mhmm?” she fucking coos.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sight alone.

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

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

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

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

You’ll make your vows like any other.

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

"I think you might be projecting."

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

"An affair," you repeat, skeptical.

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

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

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

"That's the fantasy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right in her warm, wet little mouth.

Jesus, her tongue too-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her pout, right there, waiting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

// Karina 10:42 pm > suggestions?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

// Karina 11:07 pm > really

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

// 11:11 pm > you're funny

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

"Something edgy," you deadpan.

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

"No," you say. “God, no.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

// Karina 11:17 pm > and… do what?

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

“Can you fucking leave it-”

Irene rolls her eyes.

// 11:18 pm > do you need ideas

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

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

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

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

"How, what - babe."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mm."

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

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

"You'll be good right?"

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

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

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

"And give her an extra hello from me."

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Though, unfortunately, the suggestion falls short on delivery.

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

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

"Shut the door behind you?"

"Locking it too," you tell her.

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

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

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

She must see the confliction you're in-

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

"I- don't really-"

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

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

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

-

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

This isn't quite how you pictured-

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

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

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

"Yeah. That would work."

Like it's no big deal-

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

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

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

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

(You know, god help you.)

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

Always traveling for this reason or that.

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

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

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

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

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

The long and short of it is: 

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

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

“Yeah, I’m sure she’d love that.”

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

-

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

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

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

She takes another spoonful of yogurt between her lips.

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

“That’s fucked up.”

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

-

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

“Elaborate.”

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

"Are you really."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Holy fuck, you're-"

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

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

But instead,

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

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

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

You cum just like that: 

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

You shoot clean up, all thick, hot splatter.

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

"Jesus, Karina, baby you’re-"

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

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

(Sanity is being generous, considering.)

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

The protégé, the goddamn heir-apparent:  

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

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

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

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

[flkwh0re]

Moms Friend

warnings: age gap (reader is 19 and Nat is 39), mommy kink (N), blow job, eating out, fingering, p in v, dirty talk, unprotected sex, breeding kink, cockwarming, a little bit of jealous Nat. That's all!!

Summary: You come home for a bit, and your moms best friend finally makes her move in you.

A/n: This is my first fic i’m posting here!! I apologize if it’s not great!

You had just pulled into the driveway of your childhood home. A few weeks ago you had planned to surprise your mom and come home. Grabbing your bags from the trunk, you walk to the door knocking. You hear your mother shout something incoherent.

"Oh Детка you're home!" Pulling you into a big hug, you catch a glance of your young brothers inside. They see you too running to the door. "Y/n you're home!!" You smile as Billy and Tommy pull you into a big hug.

Vision, your father, steps out into the hall. His smile fades as he sees you. Your relationship with your father is not the greatest, but with your mother it's amazing. Wanda had treated you better than any other mom you could've asked for, her best friend Natasha as well.

It then dawned on you that you haven't seen Natasha in while, so you figured maybe invite her over or ask her if she'd like to plan something. You pulled out your phone, searching for her contact.

After texting her, it was only a matter of time before she answered. You both decided you'd come to her place for lunch while you're mother and father were at work and your brothers at school.

"Y/n honey, tell me how school has been." Wanda asked with a smile. "Just like always, I'm top of most of my classes." You look at her, a proud smile plastered on her face. "Well isn't that just amazing, Vision." She ask him. He returns nothing but a nod, causing a small frown to creep onto your face.

"Oh, mom I'll be having lunch over at Natasha's tomorrow!" You say excitedly. "That's great! She's been asking so much about you, and I just don't know the answer to everything. My girl is a busy girl." She smiled.

Your evening consisted of catching up with your mom, listening to your brothers and all the things you've missed, and your father ignoring that you were even there. You honestly don't know why your mom is still with him, but you know it's probably for the best.

-

The next day arrives soon, and you're on your way to Natasha's house. Your nerves creep. You love Natasha, but there's always been this feeling towards her. A yearning for her. You know you can't act on it, because it's nothing but a silly childhood crush thought something tells you it's more.

You pull into her driveway, the front of her house being decorated with cute fall decor.

Stepping out of your car, the cold air hits your face only making your shivering nervous body worse.

You knock on her door, waiting a few seconds to hear for footsteps. Then you hear them, and Natasha telling you to give her a second. "Y/n!! Gosh I've missed you." She pulls you into a hug, kissing your forehead softly.

She pulls you inside, and quickly helps you remove your coat. Her eagerness to see you makes you smile wide, and laugh. Oh how you've missed her. Nothing or anyone, even your own mother, compares to how Natasha makes you feel.

You catch up with her on everything, while eating the food she prepared. You were interrupted by your friend Kate blowing up your phone with text then a call. "Hold on Nat, let me get this."

"Y/n I am going to hurt you!" She shouts into the phone, "Why the fuck didn't you tell me you were in town!!" You giggle at her, "Hey don't you fucking laugh at me!" Only causing your laughter to worsen.

Natasha on the other hand was not laughing, more jealous that her time was ruined with you. She hated that she got this way, but she couldn't help it. She tried to stop, you're her best friends daughter. You're also 20 years younger than her. Her thoughts were interrupted by your words.

"Sorry Natty, that was Kate. She wants me to come over as soon as possible." Her face like stone as she replies with, "So you're leaving?" Your nerves taking over again, leaving you silent. You don't wanna leave Natasha, you'd stay there forever with her. "Well not now, but probably soon. I'll make it up though, we can have dinner sometime."

-

Soon, the two weeks of being home quickly passed. You still hadn't made it up to Natasha, so you decided you'd show up to her house.

She opens the door, shocked to your arrival. "Y/n what are you here for?" She asked confused. "Well I never made up time lost with you, so I brought a desert and figured I'd spend some time with you and watch a movie or something." She felt a smile creep onto her face.

You settled down quickly on her couch, her following behind. You had both decided on watching (insert wtv movie).

Time had passed fast, she knew if she didn't act then she'd probably loose her chance. "Y/n come here, sit in my lap." You quickly scurry onto her lap, only to be stopped in your tracks when you notice her hard-on. "You feel that baby? It's all for you." She attaches her lips to your neck, kissing softly.

"Nat, what are you doing? We can't do this." You say nervously. "Says who? You're an adult sweetheart."

Within minutes she has you on your knees, pulling down her boxers. Her dick springs out, your face pulling a shocked look at her size. She brings her hand to your face, guiding your mouth into her length. You bob your head up and down on her. Gagging noises and her moans fill the air.

You bring her to her orgasm, swallowing everything she gave you. "Such a good girl for mommy. Now get up on the couch." You follow her orders and she helps you remove your clothes. Her lips attach to your nipple, while her hand gropes at your other breast.

"How's that baby? Is mommy making you feel good?"She asked in a sultry tone. "So good." She smiles at your weaker state, as she kisses down your stomach. Her mouth reaching your core, and her noise brushes your clit causing your hips to jolt. She attached her mouth to your pussy, sucking and licking.

As she works her tongue, she adds her fingers to the mix stretching you out. Your orgasm crashing in, in full speed.

She stands up, then aligns her tip with your entrance pushing in slowly. Once you've adjusted to her size, she shows no mercy on your pussy. "That feel good baby? Mommy's gonna fill you up. My little bitch to breed." You can't even form a sentence in your fucked out state.

"Aww poor thing is too dumb, can't even form a sentence. Tell mommy you want her to fill you up with her babies." You tried to spit the words out, but it just came out as an incoherent mess and moans. "Cmon baby tell me or else I won't." You still didn't speak, not until she pulled out of you. You gasp and quickly spoke out. "Please mommy fill me up!"

She smirked, then thrusted herself back into you. In only a matter of seconds you could feel her cuming inside you. She continued her thrust, your orgasm quickly washing over.

She placed a soft kiss on your head, then pulled herself out of you. Laying down behind you, she slid her cock back into you. "No mommy! I can't-" she quickly shut down your please. "Don't worry baby, I have you. Mommy just wants to be in you." She kisses your shoulder as you drift off to sleep.

#natasha x you #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff #natasha romonova #fanfic #marvel

[romanoffsbish]

The Understudy

Wanda Maximoff x F!R

“Natasha x F!R”

Natasha Romanoff x Maria Hill

Warnings: Jealousy | Yandere—Attempted Murder (if you squint) | Mutual Pinning (Simping)

Smut: Mommy (W) | d/s | Tribbing | Oral / Cum-Strap (R) | Overstimulation | 🤏🏼 Breeding | Masturbation (W) | KO | Soft Aftercare | Cockwarming

Natasha was a charismatic woman—sure, yet you found yourself enraptured by her gorgeous understudy—Wanda. | WC: 6,945

Request: “anything about jealous top!wanda and just having her way with fem reader sounds good to me” | College AU

I am so sorry it took so long @wandagcre 😩

18+ | Minors DNI

Wanda let a harsh breath leave her as she glared up to see as Natasha circled you like a hawk and if not for the sake of her credibility around campus with the faculty she wouldn't have let the other woman grip you by the hips and pull you in. The both of you wore wide grins as Natasha's nose nudged yours, pushing your face to the side as she gently cupped your cheeks, Wanda was rather close to combusting at the intended next move.

——

“Cut!"

The moment your professor called out the command you separated from your cast mate with a softer smile. Yet Wanda's jealousy didn't simmer, relief far away when the redhead still kept your attention on her.

Natasha pulled you back in, but only for a friendly hug.

"I just wanted to say, thanks for trusting me Y/N/N."

"It's easy to do," you giggled and squeezed her tight, then you parted ways and went to collect your bags.

There was a tension in the air as you prepared to leave that you didn't quite understand, so you sought it out. After glancing around the room for a moment you saw the source—Wanda Maximoff, Natasha's understudy with her eyes angrily cast upon the Russian's face.

She's also the unobtainable woman of your dreams, or so you deemed as you'd yet to approach her with more than a bit of shop talk. Normally the brunette would carry the interaction and nine times out of ten it was perfectly pleasant. However, Wanda always seemed standoffish when you weren't alone, which made you think that maybe she didn't want people to see you two as anything more than potential on stage partners.

Oh what a fool you were, because as you hurriedly waltzed out of the auditorium you avoided her stare that had shifted over to you—a longing glance that lingered long after the large oak doors shut behind you.

——

A week had come and gone, the show was not far off and it was coming together nicely. You and Natasha practiced your lines religiously and kept the bond between you both strong for the sake of chemistry and your overall grade as this show would be your final. In return, a beautiful friendship had been forged and you were more than grateful for the expanded circle.

All that stood in your way was the darn kiss, your heart not only yearned for another, but Natasha's had one which only seemed to make you more nervous.

You'd recently met her girlfriend, Maria Hill, when you went to their dorm to go over the script two weeks ago.

It was a bit intimidating, but when she offered you a chocolate chip cookie and help on your homework you knew she was the perfect partner for your new friend.

Natasha dreamed of making it big, and to do that she'd need a partner who understood that intimate scenes were just a part of the job, not a slight against her.

The woman even gave you her blessing last night with a warm smile, "I trust you." That alone had eased most tension you had left for the show; you were ready.

—

Today was the play's opening day, the set pieces were complete and the scenes ran to perfection. Besides the kiss, the both of you only ever got close to sharing a passionate lip-lock for the sake of show business. It was however not too necessary until today to share it.

When you walked onto stage you skipped over to the redhead who was casually reading out of a textbook.

"Hey Tasha," you greeted, the redhead peered up as she mindlessly closed the book to see your smile. It was adorable how nervous you were honestly, the kiss was only a blip in the play—lasting less than ten seconds.

This is a PG-13 university production after all.

"Hey honey," she greeted, tone sweet as can be in an attempt to ease your tense shoulders and it worked.

For the most part anyways. "A-are you ready?"

Natasha smiled, "I am," then sighed, "but, are you?"

You nodded unconvincingly and she stood to her feet so that she could approach you, her hand cupped your cheek as she stared into your eyes. "Follow my lead."

A nervous smile was all you offered the woman who moved in even closer, her warm breath on your cheek felt rather comforting. "We don't even have to kiss, all we have to do is make the audience believe it happens."

"I don't want to disappoint people," you muttered with a nervous conviction and the redhead chuckled softly. "No one will leave knowing, I'm an amazing actress."

You giggled and Natasha beamed knowing that she'd at least calmed a bit of your nerves. To the both of you it was obvious that her touch was meant to make you ease into the concept of the intimacy, but to onlookers it would almost present as an act of personal affection.

The redhead waited for you to make a move, but it was not something you had time for as you quickly realized that the prop above your heads was teetering in the air.

Wanda had been stood behind the red draped curtain fuming, her hand reflexively wrapped around the string that suspended the hefty prop above Nat's head. There was no conscious intent when she yanked down, it was purely reflexive as she watched you two practice.

It was all you could do to yank the woman out of the line of impact before the piece shattered on the stage.

"Holy shit Nat," you squealed, "that was a close call!"

"Yeah," the redhead hardly acknowledged you, eyes too focused in on the blur of familiar black and red hues weaving between the curtains. "Are you okay Nat?"

No, she most definitely was not, but she'd pretend.

The redhead internally rolled her eyes, but pressed on as if the freak accident wasn't premeditated. To your face at least, because not even ten minutes later—after she convinced you all was well did she go find the perp.

"Maximoff," she growled as she found the woman in her usual spot, "I am not an oblivious idiot like Y/N."

Natasha cringed at her own words, it wasn't right to diss you but to be fair, she just nearly lost her head.

"I haven't a clue what you are going on about," she chirped bitterly, not even remotely covering her big feelings. "How unkind you are to poor Y/N though."

"Y/N and I have a fine working relationship," she immediately set the woman straight, "She's a sweet person and if you stopped being so broody maybe you could be the one she hangs out with after practices."

"I'm just the understudy," she reminded Natasha, who rolled her eyes in frustration at her petty behavior.

"You need to let it go Wanda," she groaned, "I am the theater major, you are only taking this for an elective."

Wanda stood and whisper shouted, "I want it more!"

"No," Natasha corrected as she stepped to her, a clear sign she wasn't afraid of the brunette with the raging anger problems. "You want Y/N more, which is 100% by the way because all she is to me is a friend!"

"I see the way you look at her," Wanda sneered.

"That's because it is my job, Wanda," Natasha scoffed in genuine offense before adding, "I have Maria."

Wanda glared inquisitively, "Who the hell is Maria?"

"My girlfriend since freshman year of high school."

"Oh."

Natasha chuckled agitatedly, "Yeah, so if you could refrain from trying to kill me again I'd appreciate it very much. I've planned to live a long life with her."

"I," Wanda was honestly stunned into silence. "It was an accident—but originally, I wasn't really sorry."

"At least you're honest," Natasha chuckled amusedly. "Don't confuse this moment Maximoff," the redhead continued, "I might not be a threat but you know as well as I do that Y/N is a catch—don't drag your feet."

"I know, but I can't talk to her about anything other than this stupid class," Wanda admitted in lieu of her masked pride faltering. "She's just so pretty, and soft, it's like I lose the ability to form thoughts around her."

"Pretty things are meant to be taken and cherished," the Russian teased, smile fond as she remembered what it's like to fall in love for the first time; Natasha wanted that for you too. "Trust me Wanda, Y/N is easy to talk to and I hypothesize she would be thrilled if you did, maybe try your luck tonight at the after party."

Natasha playfully acted out taking a shot as she winked at the up until now, sapphic disaster, then she swiftly left the room to let her ponder. When she returned to the stage she found you yelling at the stagehands. She shook her head in amusement then made her way over to save the poor students from your misguided wrath...

—

When you calmed down you found yourself hidden away in your dressing room staring at your reflection. There was this unspoken tension in the air once again and it made you feel queasy. It was hard for you to tell if it was first night jitters or something else entirely.

Deep down you knew it was an unwarranted sadness, one that you associated with the fact that the course would be over after this weekends line up of shows and you'd yet to find the courage to truly speak to Wanda.

"Hey, did you understand the acting prompt," and "That was a weird film to show a class full of women," were not effective ways to speak with your crush.

You knew that, but every time you built up the courage to ask her if she wanted to hang out you remembered the way she looked at you whenever you were around others. A loud sigh left you at the painful reminder that nearly made you miss the faint knock at your door.

"Come in," you meekly called out as you stood up to face whomever it was. Wanda quietly closed your door and walked into the room with a forced confidence.

"Oh, hey Wanda," you chuckled nervously, "Is Nat ok?"

You weren't sure why you asked that in greeting, but it's also not rocket science since she's her understudy. The question wasn't meant to offend either but it did as Wanda considered the possibility that she didn't have a chance with you, but then you gave her a soft smile and she remembered why she was here in the first place.

"She's fine," she politely replied, then she took a step closer and wordlessly returned your smile. You tilted your head slightly and she understood. "I just wanted to come by and wish you luck, though we both know you aren't going to need it. You're a rockstar onstage."

Wanda found amusement in the way your eyes avoided looking into her own momentarily. Once you finally found the courage to look into hers your smile had softened, which had the same effect on her heart.

"Th-thanks Wanda," you stuttered and so she got the confirmation that Natasha basically gave her earlier without exactly saying it. You liked her just the same, something she caught as your eyes fell to her lips, it was brief but obvious enough to fill her with glee.

The woman giggled and leaned forward to place a seemingly friendly kiss, to you, on your cheek. "Break a leg out there sweetheart, I'll see you later at the party."

As soon as she left the room you fell back into your chair with a wide grin and giggled, a hand on the cheek where you could still feel a damp warmth from her lips.

The nerves in your body had all but vanished, so when you were called to the stage an hour later you strutted onto the platform with confidence and it showed in the way you acted every scene to perfection. Even the kiss.

Natasha and you shared a sweet kiss, one that you let her lead as she had the natural acting chops. It was honestly terrible since all you could imagine as her lips moved against yours was what Wanda's would be like.

Your friend's lips tasted like cherry chapstick with faint hints of nicotine that you planned to admonish her for later on after the show. There was perceivable heat to it but the truth was it was void of any genuine passion.

When the two of you parted there was a sweet smile on your lips to mirror the sentiment of your characters, and it only grew wider when you saw Wanda watching. There was something special about the way she looked at you, with a tight smile but a warmth still remained.

For the first time this whole semester you felt hopeful.

—

At the party you were the focus of everyone's attention, loud cheers and genuine accolades met you at every corner in partner with Natasha's. The redhead took it all with a wide smile and thanks, but you however did not have the courage to be so proud. Your friend did her best to take the attention, seeing you look so shy.

When the chance to break away presented itself you took it, heading to the kitchen where you found an array of substances. Just as you reached out for a packed joint you felt a large, soft hand on yours.

"Oh," you chuckled awkwardly, "you can have it."

"We could share," a raspy voice proposed, her hand fell to your hip without request and you slightly stiffened. "You were amazing tonight Y/N, so let's celebrate."

The woman's words made you feel unhappily queasy. "I-I, um," you began to stutter, unsure how to tell this stranger that you wanted to celebrate with another.

"My room is upstairs," she cluelessly teased, as if your stance alone wasn't uncomfortable. "Move on Santos."

Wanda internally beamed when she saw you turn to her with a beyond grateful gaze, the shift breaking you free from the strangers hold and subconsciously closer to her. The horny blonde however wasn't open to being cockblocked so she turned as well and moved closer until their chests brushed. "Last I checked I don't take orders from you, Maxipad, so how about you move on."

Wanda's head tilted dangerously and you felt a flutter of joy in your chest, as well as desire between your legs. The woman caught sight of your thighs clamping and smirked triumphantly, "How about we ask Y/N?"

Your eyes widened, but your lips obediently opened as Wanda seemed to not shy away from you in public.

"What's your name?" The blonde deflated, "Raya."

"It's nice to meet you Raya," you lied with a friendly smile, "But I promised to meet Wanda at the party."

"Well, you heard her," Wanda boasted, her hand reached out and took the blunt from your fingers and smugly handed it over to the blonde in obvious pity.

The moment Raya departed you felt a ringed hand in yours, and you latched on eagerly, letting her guide you through the crowd and up the stairs to an empty room.

As if the universe deemed your dreams worth reality you felt her hands grip your hips and lips catch yours. Wanda decided since talking wasn't her strong suit that she'd start by giving into her urges first. The moment was nothing but carnal, her bare knee slid between your thighs and pressed against your core.

With elegance in her every movement she guided you over to the bed and pressed into you deeper, your thinly veiled pussy rubbed against her skin and you mewled so harshly your swollen lips had to separate.

"Wan-," the redhead shushed you with a gentle peck of her lips that reassured your nervous heart. Alongside her eyes that were full of a warmth that told you this wasn't going to be a once off itch to scratch. "Mommy needs you to stop thinking detka, let me help you."

Amusement tickled in Wanda's throat at the pliant nod you gave, adoration in her heart as your eyes glazed over and body melted further into the mattress. The glare in her eyes reminded you to speak, "please."

The permission left your lips in a breathless whine and so the redheads hands slid beneath your dress that she apparently already bunched at your hips, the cold of her fingers as they tauntingly trailed over your skin made you gasp. "I've been waiting for you to say it," she interrupted your moment of shock with words that brought an adorable pout to your lips. Wanda chuckled as she watched the curiosity fade beneath the surface of your lust as her thumbs brushed over your nipples.

It was embarrassing the way she reduced you into a wordless mess, her knee a contributing factor until she abruptly pulled it away. Viridescent eyes that were reminiscent of obsidian stones, in their active state of lust, stared down at you with a warning not to whine. Wanda beamed at your understanding and rewarded you with her lips back on yours for a fleeting moment.

A sloppy kiss to your jaw, hands roaming over your body, a goddess straddling your waist in a skirt that was much too short for her intentions for tonight to have been anything but what it already was; sinful.

You were somehow expected to remain cognizant, it was a ludicrous notion, so you didn't, all you could do was move just as she asked of you until you were moaning beneath her as her core brushed over yours.

The motion was repeated, a shiver ran down your spine at the sound of her pleasure that loudly followed up yours, it was a sound you never wanted to lose. Her movements picked up, a bare pussy against a covered one and you wanted to scream at the unfair advantage she had over you as her moans overshadowed yours.

Wanda admired your innate understanding to not touch without permission, the way you kept your fidgeting hands at the top of the mattress made her decide to reward you with even more stimulation. Especially since it was mostly her feeling pleasure as she'd yet to remove an article of clothing from you. So in a blur of erratic movements you found yourself in a more exposed state, cold air brushed over your sweaty body as your dress was haphazardly tossed aside. "Oh," Wanda hummed, "so much prettier than I dreamed."

Dreamed. The erratic beating of your heart against your ribcage actually lessened as you heard her admit to having thought about you like this before, her words from before began to make sense now too. Suddenly you were closer to the edge, a bright smile adorned your face fleetingly as you felt the delicious coiling of pleasure in your abdomen. Only to be made better as Wanda's plump lips wrapped around your nipple.

A loud cry left you when the fabric of your panties delicately stimulated your clit, "mommy please." The honorific left your lips easily, it clearly wasn't a trained response to her prior claim to it, but a natural reaction. Wanda bit into the plush flesh of your breast, arousal clear as you felt it seeping into your drenched panties.

Wanda rasped, "Wanna cum with mommy?" The smirk she wore went unnoticed by you, with the crossed eyes and agape mouth that muttered out a strangled, 'yes' as she peered up from your heaving chest. If she was possessive before it wasn't noticeable to you, but all the little moments—like the glares she sent Nat's way, now made sense as she spoke. "Tell me who you belong to," she requested this with a bite to her tone that matched the darkness in her eyes. Her teeth scraped up from the sensitive skin between your breasts to your throat.

There was no hesitation in you to reply, "mommy."

Wanda sped up her hips and started to suck harshly on nearly every inch of skin she could, intent obvious as she set out to prove your words correct. "Let go detka," she purred before her teeth sunk into your shoulder, her determined hips stuttered, the both of you writhed in tandem and the brunette pressed into you harder.

While you gasped for air the Sokovian smiled, her own breathing labored but not nearly as bad as yours. A sense of accomplishment washed over her, remaining for a sweet moment before she craved more of you. You blearily whimpered at the insinuation of her lips as they moved down your tense body, harsh love bites and soft kisses left behind—usually one after the other.

Her ministrations more than enough to have you squirming in anticipation for what you hoped was coming next. Wanda's lips pressed to your hips, then upturned cockily as they impatiently bucked of their own volition, her teeth once again scraped over your soft skin, this time over your pelvis before they had a hold of your panties so she could slowly pull them off.

Wanda was about half way down your legs before she just couldn't hold herself back anymore, the smell of you was far too enticing, so she stopped abruptly and rushed upwards with her tongue out. A lewd moan left your lips as she hummed in satisfaction, tongue vicious as it continued to lick at your sensitive, swollen pussy.

For a brief second you could only feel the warmth of her breath as she pulled away just to really breathe you in, her nose affectionately nuzzled against your clit as she inhaled and kissed your sloppy folds that tingled with need. "Oh my," she chuckled, "you're too divine."

Wanda was impossibly lost in you, initially she was going to tease you further, but then she couldn't stop. Her tongue was a beast as it lavished your intimacy just to prolong the taste of your essence on her buds. The way your slick settled against her plumped upper lip was a comforting promise that you'd linger on her face in the morning. Wanda felt like a fucking pervert with the way her mind ran wild with depraved things that would surely require a deeper conversation first.

If you'd let her, she would devour you whole, much like she was doing now. You felt like she'd split you open, her thumbs dug into the soft flesh of your ass cheeks to spread your pussy just a little bit wider and a hum of appreciation followed as you dripped down her chin.

There was no stop to her madness until you broke the silent rule, allowing your hand to drop down and slip between the messy strands of her hair. It was instinct, and so it wasn't admonished right away, the woman actually loved the way that you both pushed her away and pulled her even closer when she pulled your clit between her lips as two fingers entered you and curled.

The sound of you spilling out and onto some random persons sheets caught your attention just as it did hers. Wanda marveled at the sight of your aromatic arousal that coated her fingers, palm, and dripped from her wrist, meanwhile you were shyly covering your face.

Wanda chuckled, "look at mommy detka, it's okay," her fingers gently tugged at your wrists and you peered up to find her slick, grinning face hovering above yours. "These are my sheets," the brunette added, then she chuckled as your eyes widened comically, you didn't know how she knew but you didn't care much as you had other things on your mind, like the sex you desperately wanted more of and, "you're in a sorority?"

The woman took no offense to the question, the bias of pink wearing, former cheerleading stars being the only ones to join the rush life was common. Most of the girls in the sisterhood she claimed didn't exactly look like Wanda, with her dark makeup, edgy clothes and lower arm sleeve tats, she couldn't really question the shock.

The conversation however was boring, the reason why being that her mom wanted her daughter to follow in her Delta footsteps and so the brunette did, because her parents sacrificed a lot to come here as teens. It was the least she could do, and even less interesting for her to reminisce over so she simply brushed by it as her fingers distracted you by collecting your slick.

"Such a loud, pretty thing you are," she teased as you gasped, her lithe fingers having swirled over your clit before they lifted to her already glistening lips, "I bet I'll have you moaning even louder, like a bitch in heat, with my cock pounding into your tight, needy hole."

Wanda admired the lust fueled darkness that swirled in your otherwise soft eyes. "Would you want that?"

"Of course," you blurted without shame, a smile of reassurance offered that led her right off of the bed.

When the brunette returned from her closet she was surprised to see you sat up, patiently waiting and keeping an eye out for her return. No words were spoken as you saw her skirt fall, eyes completely focused in on her glistening pussy that dripped slick down her gorgeous, muscular thighs. A chuckle pulled you from your thoughts, you slowly lifted your gaze and eyed your almost screen partner with a pout.

"If you're good," she began as she made her way to the foot of the bed, making a show as her voice dropped and her body slowly crawled toward you, "I'll let you get a taste." Wanda adored the way your eyes lit up, but she couldn't help but to tease you as her body pressed into yours. "Well, unless I fuck you too dumb."

"I w-want to," you admitted shyly, "to t-taste you."

"I know," she didn't spare you the embarrassment whatsoever as her thumb brushed over your chin, spreading the drool that was drying. "It's on your face."

The wink that followed made you tremble beneath her in a perfect display of desperation, just as she wanted. A devious smirk followed the pop of her thumb as she released it from her mouth; ironically your mouth ran dry. Wanda was about to ruin you in the best ways.

However, everything had happened so quickly up to now that she felt the urge to slowdown, in need of clarity, "Is this what you want? If I fill you with my cock that means you're mine now Y/N. Mine to fuck, cherish and if you'll let me, to fully fall in love with."

Unbridled lust still coursed through both of your veins, it was clear you wanted her to get moving by the way your hips twitched, but the soft tremble of your lip softened her into kissing you gently to ease the stress. Wanda saw the questions in your mind, and she'd answer them all, but for now she'd fuck them quiet.

Wanda had bought this strap just for you, actually. It was crimson red like her signature lipstick, thick like you'd never seen, and had a cum reservoir that she knew you'd love even if she'd never had the chance to ask you beforehand. The brunette could tell just by looking at you that you'd be a slut for a good filling.

"So," she prompted once she decided to spare your lungs from the fire burning inside. You nodded your head aggressively, words hard but doable when she pursed her lips; waiting. "Please, fuck me mommy."

"Gladly," she purred, rubbing the length of her strap against your slit to collect arousal as she peered into your eyes with a determined, possessive expression. Your hands reflexively curled and you felt emboldened the longer you held her gaze with an attempt to match the intensity of her, but you were once again nervous.

"C-can I touch?" Wanda nodded, offering you an encouraging smile as you timidly reached out to feel her up over her shirt, the tips of your fingers brushed over exposed skin and you appreciated how soft it was. Then you grew confident, fingers fisted at the collar of her shirt and tugged. "mommy, please take it off."

"I see even when impatient that my girl has manners," she chuckled softly at the sight of your beaming eyes, then she tossed her shirt across the room and leaned down to passionately press her lips to yours. Her body firmly pressed into yours, the brunette swallowed your mewl as her strap slipped into your hole just to parrot you as your once timid hands firmly groped her chest.

Once she got a grip of her thoughts she chuckled softly, sending a shiver through you as her lips had begun to trail down your jaw. "You like mommy's tits, hm?"

"I love them," you admitted with pure, genuine intent, hands continuing to knead at the flesh to distract yourself from the burning pain as she harshly worked to mark your skin in a slow, determined fashion. Then you continued softly, "I love everything about you," and she melted into the moment more, the teasing she had planned for you came to a stop as she filled you.

Wanda's hands slid beneath your arched back and pulled your front flush to hers, keeping your body as close to hers as she could while shallowly thrusting into your slippery cunt between your ragged breaths. Her lips gently brushed over the skin beneath your ear and she felt the way your body trembled, and reveled in the way you moaned so breathily when she sucked.

"You took me in so well," she purred, aware as your spine began to curve downward that the pleasure had simmered some, so she settled you back down and let her strap naturally slide from your cunt, leaving only the tip as she gazed into your needy eyes. Then her hips snapped and she grunted, "just like I thought."

No reply fell from your lips, at least not in the form of words as she'd set a ruthless pace that only left space for you to moan mindlessly as she harshly rutted her hips into yours. Waves of pleasure rolled through your body, ending with your eyes as a harsh thumb swirled against your clit, her other hand gripped your hip even harder as your bodies sinfully moved in tandem. The chemistry was palpable in the air that reeked of sex and stale smoke that seeped beneath the dorm door.

Which only made it that much harder to breathe as you gasped so pitifully for air, the sensation overwhelmed you into a place of pleasurable uncertainty. The strap was a completely new experience for you, every toy you'd ever used was sleek but this one was outlined in thick, hyperrealistic veins that dug into your walls.

"Oh," a particularly harsh thrust and you were back to arching your back, and crying out, "feels so good." Your sweaty front briefly brushed against hers before your back returned to the mattress where its sole role was to move against the sheets as Wanda rutted harshly.

"You close honey?" Wanda knew already, she could feel the resistance as your walls squeezed around the toy, and even attempted to push it back out. What she truly wanted was to see where you were at mentally. You nodded weakly, mind too foggy to reply and she felt elated by your state. "Mommy is too, cum with me."

The rapid addition of her calloused thumb against your unhooded clit threw you over the edge alongside the brunette who had the gruff hilt to thank for hers. To watch your eyes grow hazier as they crossed once you got lost in pleasure stimulated her own climax too. Just hearing you moan had her teetering on the edge; Wanda was certain she didn't even need the friction...

Wanda began to lay gentle kisses to your warm skin as her thrusts continued, this time so slow you could feel every ridge dragging and subsequently shivered. You whimpered, "no more," hands weak, albeit firm as they pressed into the brunette who chuckled softly, "come on detka, you can do it, just one more for mommy."

"One," you warily agreed, and the brunette beamed, she paused her hips just to sprinkle some kisses onto your face in thanks. Her heart warmed as you giggled and her lips shifted closer to yours, eyes locked now that she was hovering directly. You both felt as your walls trembled around her strap, she smirked as your eyes closed in an attempt to calm your mind down.

"Open," she commanded and you reluctantly did, lips naturally pouting as you were forced to look into her intense eyes full of a love you saw already existed well before you two gave into this steadily building tension. It was a bit disconcerting but in a self-deprecating way, not in a grab your belongings and flee the state kind.

It was surely curious, but truthfully it was too hard to process much of anything with how her hips shallowly moved, they picked up the pace ever so slightly but Wanda wanted this orgasm to be more intimate, she wanted to foster in you the connection she's found.

Her intense gaze never wavered, and you never closed your eyes—maintaining the connection even if it felt like you were going to combust under it. Wanda's lips were parted in a half smirk as she took note of every little change in your reaction to the slowed down pace.

Before, you were moaning unabashedly and now you were panting and whimpering. The fingers that just left crescent marks in her shoulders and drew angry lines down her back now gripped onto the sheets for dear life because this pleasure was simply unlike before. Something about the connection blooming right before your very eyes was exhilarating; it was comforting.

"Mommy," you whined and stared up intently, eyes brimming with tears as you felt overwhelmed by it all.

"Yes, love?"

"C-can I?" Wanda nodded, accompanied by a sweet smile that crinkled the skin of her nose and eyes, it was genuine, intimate, and the reason why you squirted.

Well, that and the surprise of being filled as Wanda had squeezed the cum pump without any warning.

Wanda felt the same need you just satisfied burning deep within her as your body contorted and a shriek of unnerving pleasure left your lips. Rutting into you didn’t provide the same pleasure it did beforehand now that your walls were slick but too tight to fight against.

In a craze she pulled out and tossed the strap away, her thighs corralled yours and tensed as two of her fingers worked her over fast. You gazed up just in time to see her face wash over with pleasure, there was a look of betrayal on your face that amused the brunette. Her fingers left her core and slipped passed your lips before you could protest that your job was stolen from you.

“I said you could taste, just not how,” she reminded you, and you didn’t even feel a need to protest. Far too busy sucking her fingers clean and feeling the spark of a forming addiction—you needed to taste the source.

However, you were too tired tonight and Wanda saw that as she gazed down into your glistening eyes. It was better that way too as Wanda’s cunt continued to drip.

"Twice," Wanda teased as your slick too dripped down her legs, “you are filthy; squirting on mommy’s bed.”

“‘M sorry,” you mumbled but she wasn’t sure you even knew what you were saying as your eyelids fluttered.

While you slipped in and out of sleep Wanda began to get a bath set up for you both, in one of the only en-suite’s this house has—perks of the house mom being your real mom’s best friend. Your soft snores amused her as they traveled through the crack in the door, into a steamy room decorated with rose petals and flames.

Truthfully, beneath the deceiving layers of grunge she wore with a resting scowl was a woman who genuinely believed in the sappy love stories that Hollywood sells. Wanda wasn’t a one trick pony, she heavily negated the societal need to keep interests separate. In public she kept her image intimidating, unintentionally she did it with you too, but now she’s ready for you to see all of her and with that you deserved her sappy humanity.

Wanda returned to the room once she deemed the tub was ready for you both, but she paused—allowing more steam to fill the space you’d soon occupy, just so she could admire your nude form beneath the moonlight. A smile bloomed as she caught sight of the marks she left behind, some too deep and noticeable for you to hide.

The woman felt prideful as she approached, but her resolve softened the closer she got as you looked so peaceful surrounded by her stained, mussed bedsheets. Currently, all she truly wanted was to hold you close.

You woke up with the gentle jolt of your body, made as Wanda lifted you up and into her chest, not forgoing a kiss to your temple that made you melt into her. A whine of protest followed seconds later as she placed you right onto the cooled toilet. In contrast, your body naturally reacted as it too sought relief, filling the toilet with the remnants of your passionate night together.

Wanda had slipped away again, but you were too tired to note her initial absence. When she returned, fresh pajamas in hand, you whined angrily. It was adorable, the way you reached for her and glared, as if she’d abandoned you, your intimidation tactic failed.

Wanda softly spoke, “Are you ready to bathe love?”

You shook your head and frowned, a bit embarrassed to ask for help but fortunately Wanda was in tune with you as she reached for the toilet paper and wiped. It was quick and she got you into the warm tub before you could overthink the moment. Successfully too as you melted into her front as the warmth soothed your aching muscles and fogged your mind up with peace.

There was no rush to her movements as she cleaned the both of you—if either of you had plans tomorrow it was fair to assume them canceled now. Wanda wasn’t ready to part ways and she knew you would likely be in the same state—if not more so after tonight’s drop.

Once the water began to chill, effectively making you shiver, she got you awake and out of the tub quickly. Wanda adored the way you clung to her, only parting when she persisted so she could get you two dressed.

“Brush your teeth,” she gently commanded, then with you distracted she returned to her room to place the freshly laundered sheets onto her mattress. Then she slid into a harness that made your eyes widen as you rushed out of the bathroom to find her. The muddled space you were in faded as you were unsure of her intentions, you even took a conscious step back once she began to approach but you quickly met the wall.

“Don’t be afraid,” she teased you—with the wide eyes and hesitant smile. “I was gonna ask, do you think it would be okay if mommy slept with her cock in you?”

Wanda’s arm was quick to wrap around your waist, holding you up as your knees proved useless, you felt her nose nudge into your jaw as her lips left warm kisses over the marks you’d yet to see on your neck. Even with as sensitive as you knew your pussy to be you gave in without any fight at all as you pleaded.

With a gentle hand Wanda slid the strap against your pussy until enough lubrication had manifested. Then she settled onto her mattress before guiding you over and slowly inserting herself back into you until there was no space left to fill. You pressed your lips to hers desperately, looking for a bit of comfort as you adjusted. A slow, passionate lip lock ensued until you felt the pain subside and the exhaustion return.

The Sokovian eased onto her back, gentle as she pulled your body down with hers to keep you comfortable. A blanket soon covered you both and you smiled as you tiredly remembered the night’s events—her intense eye contact that should’ve terrified you but it truly didn’t.

"I can't wait to fall in love with you," you admitted against her chest in your state of post-sex delirium and it brought a smile to the perceivably tough woman. It was too early, Wanda knew that, but the brunette had loved you for ages and now she is patiently waiting for you to return the sentiment. "ya uzhe lyublyu tebya."

(I already love you)

————

Bonus:

"Oh no," Natasha mumbled to her girlfriend, eyes catching sight of the random blonde that corralled you against the table. "Poor girl, she's not going to survive."

Maria humored her girlfriend by gazing up just in time to see a fuming Wanda storming over to you both.

"Which one?" Natasha chuckled and pecked her lovers lips, "both—but one will for sure be more pleasurable."

"You're a menace." Natasha smirked, "Oh, I know..."

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff au #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x maria hill #blackhill #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda x reader #wanda x fem!reader

[r3starttt]

WARM LIKE A GUN

jealous ex ! Ellie

Cw: toxic and obsessive behavior. stalking. strap-on sex (r!receiving). use of names like whore, slut, good girl. toxic relationship. spit. clit slaps. cum eating. jealousy-hate sex. teasing. dom! mean! el.

It had become a ritual, a perverted quotidianity. Hands burning at the emptiness, aching to get the smallest tact of your flesh. Tongue sticking out at the tought of you and fingers desperately scratching every fold of her skin pretending it was you.

Not even the cigarette abstinence had such effect on her mind, on her body, on her life. Maybe because that didn't involve skin to skin contact, maybe because that was a sin she didn't actually care about.

She was always this insane, always too focused on the next victim instead of enjoying the achievement of getting what she so much wanted. Obsessively wandering her eyes at the women on the street to find the new target, unconsciously flirting with waitresses and nice ladies at every place she stepped in.

But you made a mess of her.

Ellie really tried to get over you, after all that's wham she wanted - in the very, very first beggining. The result was some half-lided eyes looking for you in every crowd, for an ass like yours, tits as deliciously shown as yours. The image of when she first met your persona never disappeared, and kept on playing with her.

Her mind got so traumatized she kept on looking trough photos and pictures of you to make her remember the real you and not the perception she'd built of you - same she got from when she first met you.

Hands over your hair, running down your body at the beat, a drink in hand and the widest smile she's ever enjoyed of. You approached her first.

Maybe that's why she never forgot about you, because you've chosen her as your target, and not the other way as Ellie was- is, so used to do.

And probably that's the reason behind the violent though of ripping your skin off your body, well, she wouldn't, not literally.

Those same hands that caught her attention for the first time now touching someone else's body. Gripping at a ridiculously short dress to get a taste of someone else's ass. Is that what you've become now? She's not even hot, or nice, or decent. She's a whore, do you like whores now?

No blame on her tho. You yourself wanted to rip your own skin off- same reason, the sight of her.

The woman in front of you wasn't bad. Nice ass, breasts bouncing at her every move, doe eyes trying so desperately to catch your attention by batting her pretty long lashes. Red lips running out of color and painting the glass in hand instead, wandering over your neck in another desperate attempt to get a taste of you.

She was nice, just not your type.

She would've, in any other moment of your life. Just not now, when you have ellie eye fucking you as you so much missed.

You were equally insane, target over target until you got to her. The thing is, she wanted to get rid of you and you never planned on fighting her back.

You regret it now, you should've played a little bit more.

Drink and drink and drink, you were beyond lost on your thoughts the heat and the music. Some feminine hands deliciously dancing over your body, you've got over ellie once again.

Or so you thought because you had to excuse yourself moment later before you got a little bit of councsiousness back. Getting rid of the roaming hands over your body and the multitude of gorgeous women that caught your attention at you every step.

Purse in hand, heels making your feet bleed and your dress barely covering your body anymore. The air hit your skin, made your hair dance a bit and your eyes open wide to make yourself at home as fast as possible.

The sight inf front of you wasn't knew though, a sort of new expensive motorcycle you somehow knew was standing right in front of you- well, resting near a wall, being lightened enough by the fluorescent lights outside the bar.

Was it a neighbour's?

-

It wasn't

It wouldn’t make sense since it's resting again in front of you, now at home.

It would be a psychotic coincidence, Ellie to be more precise. You had no one else in mind.

Not that you actually care either, you looked for her on those hands at the club, on your drink and those red lips that got to touch your skin eventually. You really wished it was her, but not really, you were fine without her and if she got another taste of you, even when you wished it happened, she would go insane. And you weren't in the mood to deal with her.

Or so you thought.

Because the way your hands are intertwined on her hair, tugging at it- says otherwise. The way the palms of her hands are gripping at your flesh also says otherwise.

There's a mix of alcohol and cigarette on your mouth, a tint of weed too. You can feel your lipstick all messy over your lips, you can see it on her face. There's drool connecting both, it's all so desperate and stupid. Humiliating.

Your legs are around hers, keeping her still. Ellie's doing the same, with her hands on your ass, spanking it whenever you try to make this go faster.

Your arms are locked around her neck, scratching it oh so slightly. Her nose tickling your neck, your clavicle, breathing in and out all of you.

You're both aware this is a once in a long time thing, because yes it's gonna happen again just not any soon.

"You've find yourself a new whore to fuck?" Her voice echoes out of nowhere, causing a knot on your stomach. You simply shake your head, enjoying how the tips of her digits dance along your stomach, up your chest. "no?" She whispers once more, her breath hitting your neck, accompanied by her saliva just some seconds later as she leaves wet sloppy kisses along your shoulders.

"You mind it?" You hit back, relentlessly. In response there's only a chuckle. One of her hands keeping its place on your ass, the other one gripping at your breasts, individually and so desperately it hurts. "You're mine" her response rebounds in your mind, too proud yourself to let her hear what she wants, but "you think so?" Her palms let go of your body, her touch getting deeper on your stomach just to push you. "I know so"

"Oh, is that so?" Your fingertips pass swanning over the hem of her shirt, just the perfect amount to get a taste of her stomach. "Want me to prove that to you?"

Her hands get fully off your body, now placing her palms over her her waistband to get rid of it. You already know what she wants, what you'll receive from her. There's no way she wasn't planning on going back home without fucking someone and fuck it makes your skin burn, what if it wasn't you the one she'd fuck tonight? Maybe you do like- "such a whore williams"

"Sit on it" she avoids your latest mock, simply making herself comfortable and doing you a favor by opening her legs enough for you to fit on her lap.

Her hands roam over your dress, naturally pushing it up your waist. "I'm the whore?" The tip of her digits rubbing circles over your already damped cunt. Your mouth opens very slightly at the touch, trying to contain yourself from giving her what she so much wants, failing.

"Make yourself ready f' me, yeah?" you swear you discern a mocking smile on her face, becoming more visible the more you pass your clothed cunt over her dick. Her hands rest on the sides of her legs, getting the privilege of watching you lose all that attitude you've won the pass minutes.

You whine at the sensation. Thrilled every second, every move- desperate to bounce on her, clenching oh so hurtfully around nothing. Her lips pressed eventually over the crook of your neck, sucking, nibbling or kissing every inch of skin she could reach.

You kept on grinding onto the buldge, letting out small pleads here and there. Whining and mumbling nonsense, helping yourself to keep your body in place by ressting your hands anywhere over her body.

"You think she could make you feel like this?" At the absence of your response, well, a poper one that wasnt lol by a whine out of that pretty mouth of yours, she spoke again "havent even started and you cant speak? Mhm?" One of her hands moved again, down your body. Her palm shoved down the hem of your dress, touching very slightly the tip of your clit, giving it some slapps before actually making small circles above. "So?"

"The fuck are you- fuck" cut off by a sigh, you tried to speak once more "the girl at the bar?" Your legs started to lose their strength, you had to slow down.

"Is there someone else?" If anything, you despised her stupid teasing, her nonsense questions and how she always had her way with humiliating you. "No" you simply whined, feeling the palms of her hands restrict you from moving anymore.

"I'm gonna make you mine" her lips pressed over yours in such aggressive kiss. Underneath you, her hands worked on getting rid of your underwear, getting rid of anything keeping any distance left between both. "m' gonna stretch you n' fill you up" giving the situation your mouth simply let out a whine, letting her know you were beyond thrilled by such idea. Being hers forever, making this games between both end.

Her thrusts start slow, giving you the chance to even ride her. She was getting something else in exchange of course. Her mouth being filled by your nipples, licking and sucking absolutely senseless. That until her hips started to slam into yours. "think anyone else can make you feel like this, hm?" She whispered in between your breasts, eyes fully fixated to your closed and clenched ones. Such delightful scenery for her.

“you can play cool, but I've been watching you" she interrupted herself by the desperate need of getting a taste of your lips. Harshly grabbing your cheeks to pull you closer. Instictively you opened your mouth, giving her all those pretty noises as closely as she wished. "No one's ever got you soaking their fucking cock" there's a mess going in between her and your mouth, everything so wet and messy, and fuck your pretty voice driving her insane.

Her hips kept on diving thrusts into you. Bouncing you up and down onto the soaking plastic, making a mess underneath. Her thighs being equally wet and her clit being hit just perfectly at how you clenched and bounced around the strap.

"Gonna cum f' me?" You nodded, feeling the knot on your stomach get yourself all weak and numb. You could still taste your lipstick, the outline of your lips wet down your chin. Fucking humiliated by her once more.

Ellie started hitting into your cunt with harsher bucks, desperately to make you cum, she felt close. Wet and obscene sounds filling the room. Smacks that splattered the slick shared, groans and a stoic figure wuickly replaced by whined and shacky hands roaming over your body, playing with your ass, gripping it so harshly.

Her eyes wanderer over your face, down your body, enamored by the creamy arousal that drowned your pussy leaking down her cock so deliciously. "Can't- Ellie" and just like that there was such pretty mess down your thighs. Your unsteady breathing accompanied by whines. Fuck she would never get over you.

Her fingers quickly plugged inside your sensitive cunt, clenching around her for one last time. All to stuff you back in and get a taste of her hard work.

Months of watching you fuck with random girls, wanting to get rid of them the moment they came outside your house. Months of wishing it was her making you feel this nice. She'd achieved it.

Her fingers popped into her mouth, kissing you next, almost instantly. She had to share, didn't she?

"Always such a good girl f' me, aren't you?"

#ellie wiliams #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams smut #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie smut #ellie x reader smut #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #ellie fanfic #ellie williams

[cupid-styles]

omg bestieeeee i so need hocker h nd ballerina to talk and smooch !!!!! ngl i’m a sucker for protective and jealous h 🤭🤭🤭🤭 🐱

I feel like ive made you guys wait way too long for this one gvkdfjgkf

a continuation of this blurb! (and sort of this one)

word count: 2.3k (we had a lot of ground to cover)

content warnings: minor mentions of smut, slight angst but all is fixed by the end, not ramadan friendly

main masterlist | hockey h masterlist

talk to me

. . .

Two weeks.

Two weeks of radio silence from Y/N.

Two weeks of over-thinking everything he did that night.

Two weeks of Harry drunk texting her on lonely nights.

please just tell me if you hate me

im so sorry

ill leave you alone if its what you want, I just need to know

Each and every time, Y/N read his messages, eyes scanning over the words, and locked her phone.

The truth is, she doesn't know what she wants from him, if anything. She doesn't know why she felt so attracted to him that night — she was tipsy, not drunk, and in complete control of her actions. She never hooked up with people in public — no messy makeouts, but she certainly never let anyone finger her in the hallway of a bar.

The entire thing was completely unlike her. Maybe that's what scared her the most.

Deep down, she wanted to reply to him, but she didn't even know what to say. She didn't want him to leave her alone — maybe that was selfish, but she liked knowing he was at least a little okay. She'd even been keeping secret tabs on the hockey team. They had won their past two games, but Harry had been thrown out in the most recent one for unsportsmanlike conduct. Apparently, he'd gotten into a fight with one of the players on the other team.

Admittedly, that worried her, but she didn't want to be his babysitter. On top of that, the spring showcase was this weekend, and she'd thrown every last bit of her energy into rehearsing and practicing to make sure her performance would be absolutely flawless.

She didn't have the time — or mental capacity — to worry about Harry right now.

. . .

"You look like an idiot."

Harry rolls his eyes as he adjusts the collar on his button down for the third time. James and his girlfriend Melanie had helped him with ironing it out so it looked presentable enough on his body. Anything he ever did rarely called for slacks and button up shirts, but Melanie advised him to look polished and put-together for tonight.

He wasn't in a place to reject her advice.

The other teammates that James lived with weren't quite as kind. Stephen, a sophomore defenseman who was only on the team for the perks of sleeping with every girl he could get his hands on, wouldn't stop throwing sarcastic comments Harry's way.

"Shut up, Stephen!" Melanie calls from the living room. She marches into James' bedroom as Harry smoothes out a few leftover wrinkles in his slacks, swallowing tightly. "When's the last time you cared about something besides fucking random girls? At least Harry has some direction in his life."

"I'm just saying, the girl's been ignoring him for weeks. She's gonna laugh in his face."

"Leave!" Melanie exclaims, batting him on the shoulder. Stephen lets out a yelp of pain and Harry smirks, despite the anxiety throbbing in his chest. "You're not helping! Get out!"

Reluctantly, Stephen rolls his eyes as he follows Melanie's orders and leaves the room. She sighs and comes up from behind Harry before flashing him a hopeful grin.

"You look great, H. I think this is a really sweet gesture."

He nibbles on his bottom lip as he turns to face her. "Okay, but what if Stephen's dumbass is right? She could call security on me and have me removed."

Melanie gives him a sympathetic look, "Yeah, it's a possibility. But isn't it better to go down fighting?"

He shrugs.

"You said ballet is her everything. It's her entire life. Show her that you're willing to integrate yourself into that."

"Yeah," he breathes out, nodding slowly. "Yeah, you're right."

"I know I am." she grins. "Okay, let's get you over there. Don't forget the flowers you picked up!"

. . .

30 minutes later, Harry can't stop shifting uncomfortably as he sits in an aisle seat in the campus auditorium at Y/N's spring showcase.

The massive bouquet of flowers in his lap keep making his nose run and he feels like he's being suffocated by the buttons on his shirt that go all the way up to his neck. Best of all, according to the show program, Y/N isn't scheduled to go on until the very end. She mentioned to him once that being placed as the finale act is the best and biggest compliment, and he can't fight the bit of pride that thrums in his heart.

For an hour, he sits there, fidgeting with the cuffs of his shirt and pinching his bottom lip between his fingers as he waits for Y/N to go on. He sits through mediocre singing showcases and even a violin solo that almost puts him to sleep, if not for the older man clearing his throat next to him. Melanie and James even text him during the intermission to see how it's going, but he doesn't have much to report back.

Finally, the show comes to a close and her name is announced, following by the title of the French piece of music she's dancing to. His heart throbs in his chest — he's so nervous for her, especially knowing she hurt her ankle just a few weeks back. But the second she graces the stage, she's a vision of beauty, strength, and delicacy all at the same time. It's enough to take Harry's breath away.

As he sits there watching her, he doesn't move a muscle. Not for a single jump, spin, or step. He doesn't know anything about ballet — not aside from what Y/N has told him — but in that moment, he realizes that he'd be willing to learn every little thing there is to know if it meant she let him back into her life.

She's gorgeous. She offers a flawless performance and the second she's finished, a look of relief washes over her face as she takes a subdued bow, her pretty eyes widening when she sees all the people — Harry included — standing and applauding her.

For Y/N, the hard part was over. For Harry, it had just begun.

. . .

Y/N is elated to have a moment of silence after her performance.

With the dressing room door shut behind her, she lets out a long, deep breath. The dance she'd been driving herself crazy over for months was finally over.

And yet, for some reason, she feels empty.

She shoves it down as sits, eager to get her pointe shoes off. She's ready to shed her costume and get into sweatpants and head home. She knows the rest of the performers are heading out to a party tonight, but she's exhausted.

She's sorting through the bag of clothes she brought when there's a soft knock at the door. She knows she only has around 20 minutes to get out before the janitorial staff starts cleaning, so she rises with a sigh, unlocking the door and opening it.

"I'll be done soon, I just need to change—"

It's not the janitor, though.

It's Harry. Standing there stiffly in a starchy button down with a huge bouquet of flowers that almost encompass the width of his broad shoulders.

"What are you doing here?" she blurts without thinking.

"I came to watch you perform," he replies gently. His throat bobs as he hands her the flowers. "These are for you."

"You didn't watch me." she snorts with a shake of her head. She hasn't accepted the bouquet yet.

"Yes, I did," he instantly fires back, "What, do you wanna see my ticket for proof? I was in seat F34, next to an old man who kind of smelled like soup, and he kept clearing his throat and it was really annoying but I didn't care because I came to see you, and I'd sit through hours of bullshit to watch you dance."

Harry can't read the blank expression of her face, but he takes it as a step in the right direction when she takes the flowers from him. She blinks as she glances past him and then steps aside, motioning for him to come in.

"I have to get my shit together and leave soon, so... just sit in here."

He nods. He's hesitant to allow himself to relax since he's not sure if he's in the clear yet. She closes the dressing room door behind her and places the bouquet on her vanity.

"I need to change," she says, spinning around to face him. "Close your eyes."

He chuckles until he sees the serious expression on her face. "Wait, really?"

"Yes, really."

"But... I— y'know—"

"Just turn the fuck around, Harry."

He does as he's told, shutting his eyes as he listens to her roll her tights down and step out of her leotard. One day, if she let him, he'd be more than happy to do that for her — not even in a sexual way, but he knows how tiring it can be to take off his own gear after a long game. He thinks it would be nice to be there for her.

"Okay, you're good," she murmurs. She's stuffing her things in her tote bag when he bats his eyes back open.

"Are you meeting up with anyone after this? I'm sure your friends came to see you, but I just wanted to maybe talk and... y'know, clear the air a bit." Harry says, wringing his hands nervously in his lap. Y/N furrows a brow as she analyzes his body language. She doesn't think she's actually seen him look anxious before.

"Um... no," she says with a shake of her head before quickly revising her answer, "No, I mean, I'm not meeting up with anyone and no one came to see me. Except you, I guess."

"Wait, really?"

She sighs as she pauses the process of gathering her things. "Really, Harry."

He swallows tightly. They're silent for a moment as she grabs her jacket and throws it over her shoulders.

"Come over and we'll talk. I borrowed my friend Matt's car for the night but— yeah, you can follow me to my place or whatever. And I can't promise I'll be awake for much longer but I think clearing the air could be... good."

A rush of relief makes its way through Harry's body.

"Okay. Yeah, let's do that."

. . .

"I never said it, but you were flawless tonight."

Y/N laughs breathily as she settles onto her couch, a cup of sleepy time tea in her hand. Harry rejected her offer for one (his response had been, "Y/N, do I look like someone who drinks tea with a sleeping bear on it?") but he'd be lying if he said it didn't at least smell good.

"I fucked up on one of my jetés — I'll get yelled at for it on Monday, but otherwise I'm decently content with the performance."

"Well, you couldn't tell," Harry replies, "Seriously. You were perfect."

Her cheeks warm and she stares down at her tea. Her legs are sprawled out in front of her while Harry sits on the other edge of the couch, giving her plenty of room to stretch out.

"So... clearing the air."

Harry clears his throat and nods, prepared to embark on the speech he'd been practicing in his head for weeks. But then, she speaks.

"I'm sorry for running out on you and ignoring you," she says, keeping her gaze down in her lap. "That wasn't... I'm not the best person. I'm bad at feelings and I use ballet as a crutch. I figure it's the one thing I'm really, exceptionally good at, and that should give me a pass in life but I know that's not true. I can't just go around treating people like shit because I'm... scared."

"What are you scared of?" Harry asks through furrowed brows. "I'm sorry if I stepped out of line that night, I should've been better—"

"You didn't. You were great. You did everything perfectly," she replies with a shake of her head. Her response surprises him, but he tries to hide the shock on his face. "I'm scared because you're you. You're a hotshot hockey player and, besides this showcase, you're the only other thing I've thought about these past few weeks. That's horrifying for me."

"Is this...?" Harry attempts to roll his lips into a thin line, preventing a smirk from bursting onto his face. "Is this a very Y/N way of telling me that you like me?"

She groans, as if it's the worst thing to ever happen to her, and it makes Harry laugh.

"Don't laugh at me!" she exclaims. That only makes Harry cackle even louder as he slowly crawls over to her, taking her warm cup of tea out of her hands and placing it on the coffee table.

"You're cute when you're exasperated." he murmurs. She pouts and his eyes crinkle with a grin as he peels her shaky hands away from her face.

"You're the one exasperating me."

"I know," he replies lowly, licking his lips as his face hovers over hers, "I like it."

"This isn't us agreeing to date, by the way." she quickly tacks on. He issues out a mhm as he leans forward, testing the waters, and pressing a light kiss to her nose. "We need to take it slow. Like, painfully slow. Or else I'll freak out and run away again."

"Whatever you want." he mumbles, kissing her right cheek. "I mean it."

"And you can't just overwhelm me whenever you feel like it."

He laughs and kisses her left cheek, then her forehead.

"Okay. Any other demands?"

He stops pasting kisses to her face then, instead choosing to simply loom his lips over hers. He can feel her heart beating rapidly in her chest and watches as she swallows nervously.

"No," she finally whispers. "Just kiss me."

And so he does.

#writing #hockey h #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles one direction #harry styles blurb #harry styles angst #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x oc #harry styles au #harry styles smut #one direction #harry styles x y/n #hockerry #harry's house #fine line #hs4

[barcaatthemoon]

jenni's girl || alexia putellas x reader ||

alexia gets jealous watching you hang around your ex.

minors dni, 18+, smut ahead, bottom reader, top alexia

alexia was seething as she watched jenni flirt with you and buy you drinks. she knew that you knew what was going on, and yet, you still let it happen. alexia had pretty royally screwed up earlier in the day by completely dismissing you, but she still hadn't expected you to go running into jenni's arms the moment that you got into the club. especially not with the history surrounding the two of you.

that was why alexia was so scared. both of you had dated jenni, but alexia could see the lasting mark that had on you. sometimes she felt like all you wanted was to go crawling back to the older woman. she did her best not to think about the fact that she had been your rebound for jenni, but when she saw the way you hung off of the other woman's arm, it was impossible.

"has anyone ever told you that you need to relax?" mapi asked as she draped an arm around alexia's shoulder. alexia was quick to shrug it off as she continued to glare at you and jenni. "she wouldn't do that to you. maybe you're getting so upset because you're pro-,"

"i would never!" alexia shouted as she shoved mapi back. mapi's brows furrowed in anger before she stormed off. they were all supposed to be happy and celebrating, but alexia was having a bad enough time to ruin anybody else's night. you glanced away from jenni for the first time in probably 10 minutes to see alexia sitting by herself, obviously upset.

"go to her, but be careful. i wouldn't want to see you get hurt," jenni said. she pressed a kiss to your cheek, which alexia definitely did not miss. she got up from her seat and began to walk towards the exit, completely ignoring you as you followed her. the two of you managed to get outside and to the parking lot before alexia finally turned around to face you.

"i'm surprised you're not back in there with jenni," alexia scoffed. you frowned at her, deeply upset by the accusatory tone that she was using. "come on, i know that you miss her. i know that deep down, you'll always be hers because she had you first."

"it's not a competition like that, alexia. i'm with you because i love you. yes, i love jenni, but as nothing more than a friend now. you two are friends, and i don't act like you are whenever she asks you to hang out, do i?" you crossed your arms over your chest. if alexia wanted a fight, you were more than happy to give it to her. she was acting ridiculous, and there was no way that all of her anger had come from a single interaction between you and a mutual friend.

"prove it. prove to me that you're not jenni's girl anymore," alexia challenged.

"are you serious?" you asked her. alexia's facial expression didn't soften or move at all, giving you your answer. you rolled your eyes as you moved past her to get in the car. alexia was pissy with you on the drive home, ignoring you until the two of you got back home.

you learned just how serious alexia had been in the parking lot whenever the two of you got home. she had a tendency to shut you out a bit whenever she got jealous, but the tension between the two of you had been extremely horny. alexia found a good balance of that in pinning you against the wall and sliding her thigh in between yours while also denying you any sort of softer affection.

she seemed to relish in the desperate little whine you let out after being denied for several kisses. alexia was staring at you with watchful eyes, darkened by the thoughts of all the ways she'd turn you out to prove that you'd do anything for her. she couldn't wait to bend you over every surface in the house to fuck you senseless.

"ale," you pleaded with her after being denied another kiss. you looked up at her with your best puppy dog eyes and pout, which usually would have worked at any other time. you realized that you must have really messed up back at the club if she wouldn't even give you a second look now. "i'm sorry ale. please, just give me a kiss."

"jenni used to kiss you when she fucked you." alexia wasn't asking because she knew how jenni fucked. you let out a whimper as you crumpled against the wall a little. her face softened for a moment as she sighed and pulled you back up to stand straight. "cari?"

you were at a loss for what to do. you had apologized to alexia and tried to explain yourself, but she wasn't listening to you. in that moment, alexia could see the turmoil that she had been causing you. once she had softened, she looked more like your alexia. you had been fine playing things up whenever you knew that she wasn't genuinely pissed at you.

"i'm sorry," alexia apologized as she pressed a kiss to your forehead. you stepped forward into her arms, pushing both of you away from the door. "you have every right to be mad at me for acting like an ass."

"fuck me hard enough to make me forget about you being a dick. better yet, fuck me hard enough to make me forget how jenni used to." alexia looked surprised by the glint in your eyes, but she went along with it anyway. and if she needed a little more motivation, you had it ready on the tip of your tongue. "god, i don't think anybody has ever made me feel that satisfied. she used to fill me up so fucking good ale, i don't think you under-,"

alexia didn't even make it to the bedroom with you. she spun you around and pushed on your shoulders to bend you over the back of the couch. barely half a second passed before you felt alexia's body weight press against yours as she leaned forward to whisper into your ear, "stay right here, just like this. if you move an inch, i'll let you go see if jenni will take your bratty ass back."

you swallowed thickly as alexia backed away from you. she disappeared down the hallway before coming back just a couple of moments later. you wanted to turn your head to look at her, but you didn't doubt that she'd kick you out for the night. there was an edge to her voice, one that came along with a look of anger that you had seen earlier in the night. you knew that you'd be lucky if alexia let you finish by the end of the night.

"color?" alexia asked as she placed her hands on your skirt. you had worn a very short, leather miniskirt out. alexia had been appreciative of it on the car ride there, but not so much once everybody had filled into the club. many of the girls on the team thought that you were attractive and had attempted to get with you in between your relationships with jenni and alexia.

"green," you answered. alexia, thankfully, didn't rip your skirt as she removed it from your body. it was definitely something that she wanted to see you wear again, even if the moment someone else looked at you, she'd get all jealous and grumpy. alexia carefully set the skirt on the couch next to you, just barely in your eyeline.

"i'd mark your ass up, but i think you'd enjoy that a little too much," alexia told you. you knew that was far from the truth. all it had taken for you to decide that you weren't a fan of being spanked was one particularly wild night whenever you had first gotten together with alexia, one that you were surprised she remembered.

"fuck, ale," you moaned as you felt her fingers run over your center. your underwear were still on, but the press of alexia's fingers was anything but gentle. she wanted to make sure that you could feel everything.

"don't worry, i will," alexia promised. she pressed a line of kisses along your back as she slotted herself right up against you. you let out a gasp as you felt the strap-on that she had chosen for the night press against your cunt. alexia smirked with her lips pressed into the crook of your neck. "i just don't think you can handle it just yet. even with all that big talk, i'm not quite sure you could take my new toy."

"new?" you tried to turn your head back to look, but alexia held your neck firmly in place. you let out a whine as you were denied what you wanted, pulling a chuckle from alexia's lips.

"careful, if you keep this attitude up, i'll bring someone around and make you watch," alexia threatened. it was something the two of you had spoken about quite a bit, and despite how into it you were, alexia knew it would drive you wild. "imagine someone who would be good for me like ona getting all of your orgasms and kisses while you have to sit there all by yourself."

your cheeks were flushed and burning as your head was forced down. alexia's free hand came around to tear your underwear open. you were glad that alexia didn't get in moods like this often or else you'd be going broke trying to replace your clothes. she slipped two fingers inside of you slowly, scissoring them to stretch you open before she added a third.

"breathe," alexia instructed. she kept her hands still as she monitored your breathing. you took deep breaths, ones that alexia matched with gentle thrusts of her fingers. "when i take my fingers out, i'm putting the dildo in. it's the last time i'll be gentle for a while, are you ready?"

"wait!" you shouted out before alexia could move her fingers. "can i have a kiss first, please? alexia, it's all that i want."

"after, i promise," alexia said. you let out a little whine, but nodded for her to take her fingers out of you. she stayed true to her word, replacing her fingers with a harsh thrust of what was definitely a new toy inside of you. you hadn't gotten to see it, but it was thicker and longer than what you were used to.

alexia didn't break out the strap with you very often, generally only if you asked for it or she was really tired. this felt like she had custom ordered it or bought it from a high-end place. there were ribs and ridges that you could feel every bit of as she pounded into you harshly. the icing on the cake, however, was the slight curve that made sure she was fucking into all the right places with every thrust.

"fuck, ale. i'm cumming!" you were lucid enough to know that it was too quickly, but alexia didn't stop. she only grabbed you by the hair and fucked you even harder through your orgasm. she was being rougher than you had ever thought to ask her to be, knowing that she usually hated it a little.

the grip on her hair didn't let up as she continued to fuck you harshly. she managed to get you into your second orgasm quickly, which was when your legs really started to feel like jelly. alexia was supporting you fully now, your body not even touching the couch anymore. alexia briefly pulled out of you just to flip you over and place your body against the couch once more, only this time facing her.

"give me your legs," alexia commanded. you lifted them as much as you could, which wasn't very much at all. alexia scoffed as she just grabbed your thighs and manhandled you into the position that she wanted you. "color?"

"green," you answered weakly. alexia seemed to check on you before she took you at your word. the toy felt completely different from the new angle, and you were screaming out at the first few thrusts.

"shh, just take it," alexia told you. this stretch was completely different than the one before. "breathe, i won't have you passing out on me."

you tried to find a good breathing pattern while she was fucking you, but there really wasn't one. still, you took deep breaths when you could to keep your vision from going fuzzy around the sides. alexia leaned her forehead against yours, but she kept her hand on your jaw to keep you from leaning in any closer. she seemed to remember what she told you, which you had hoped that she wouldn't.

"one more, i know you have it in you. cum for me one more time and i'll give you all the kisses you can handle," alexia promised. you closed your eyes and pushed her head down towards your chest. alexia let you move her a little, knowing that you were getting so close.

"ale, fuck. i don't know if i can." your eyes were squeezed shut as you tried to focus on her fucking you. it was hard, but you knew that you had to try. you felt almost like you were going to cry as your body teetered on the edge of another orgasm. you were so sensitive that your body wasn't sure whether or not it liked the pleasure anymore.

"come on, please. i just want to watch you cum for me, please baby. show me that you're mine," alexia begged you. it was not what you had expected to hear, and the little whine in her voice sparked something in you.

"i'm yours, ale, yours," you repeated over and over until the words jumbled together. this time, you weren't screaming and moaning like the others, your mouth fell open silently as your head dropped back. alexia felt a gush of liquid coat her thighs and drip down onto the floor between your bodies.

"good girl," alexia mumbled as she leaned forward to kiss you. you were too out of it to properly kiss her back, whining once again. "are you okay?"

"i'm fine, ale," you promised her. she nuzzled her head against your neck to pepper a couple of kisses there. "how are you?"

"a little soaked, but i expected as much." you hadn't expected alexia to tell a joke. she carried you into the bathroom and laid you in the corner of the shower as she turned on the water. it wasn't until alexia was standing in there with you, cleaning you off, that you realized what she had said.

"you talked to jenni about fucking me, didn't you?" a part of you was angry, but it also intriguied you quite a bit. "that's how you knew what would happen if you switched with the third. you never take me from behind like that."

"i like to look at your pretty face," alexia said. she grabbed your cheeks and pressed a kiss to your lips. "next time, i'll ask first, i promise."

"next time?" you asked, incredulously. alexia nodded as she turned the water off and stepped out first. she wrapped herself up in a towel before grabbing the fluffy robe for you. "fine, but we need to talk about what you're going to do for me."

"excuse me?" alexia was taken aback by your tone more than anything else.

"i came for you like you asked, even though you were playing games with me and didn't tell me. you said i can have whatever i want, remember?"

"(y/n)," alexia sighed.

"no, alexia, you promised." you crossed your arms over your chest.

"okay then, what do you want?" alexia asked you.

"i want jenni to join us for a night next time she flies in to visit," you said. alexia's jaw dropped, but she couldn't argue with you. besides, she had ideas of her own along that vein that this would be a good trial for. "you promised, ale."

#woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso smut #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas smut

[starstruckmoony]

Hi, could I request a enemies to lovers with Enzo? Love your writing :))

tysm for the request anon!! i am so so sorry for taking ages to post this but i got veryyyyyy carried away and it may or may not be too long BUT i hope you enjoy it and that it's similar enough to what you imagined <3

king of my heart.

masterlist , requests

pairing - lorenzo berkshire x reader

summary - you and lorenzo are both sore, jealous losers with egos the size of jupiter, so you decide that you hate one another and that academic competing is the way to go. you keep that up for six full years, until something rather unfortunate happens and destroys your entire game plan.

trope/tags - enemies to lovers, rivals to lovers, angst, fluff

word count - 12.8k

warnings - language, smoking

if there was one thing every single person who ever crossed your path knew about you, even if you were barely acquainted, was that you had sort of been raised without the ability to accept that you cannot always come out on top. it was simply incomprehensible. you'd been told that you were a gifted kid from the moment you became aware of your pathetic little existence. it did wonders to your ego. your smarts and determination amused your tutors, petrified them even. and the better you got, the more motivation it sparked in you.

you intended to keep things going your way when your acceptance letter for hogwarts arrived in the mail. you weren't worried, not even a little bit, and neither were your parents. being the best of the best was a running thing in your family.

unsurprisingly, it couldn't have started off better. your professors loved you. other kids envied you. each essay and exam result you'd ever recieved was the textbook definition of perfect. your grades were nicer that aphrodite's reflection in the mirror, as hermione had told you once. it was a lot coming from her. she was also amongst the few of the smartest, most hardworking students in your year, but you never felt threatened by her, or anybody else for that matter. there was, weirdly, no jealousy. on her part, at least, considering you so very effortlessly secured your spot as top of the class and never let anybody take it. she'd always be happy for you like the good friend she was, proudly patting you on the back, yet you couldn't help but think if she ever felt a little angry behind that supportive smile of hers.

and funny enough, you were finally able to stop pretending to know what it was like one fine wednesday before the christmas holidays. you had come into class more confident than ever that morning, smugly waiting for your potions essay results. you were hoping for a hundred, but a ninety nine, maybe even a ninety eight, didn't seem so bad either. that would have been, if lorenzo berkshire hadn't got his essay back with a score better than yours. he, much like yourself, was just another sore loser who craved academic validation like a drug, silently fuming whenever somebody surpassed him. he had dealt it with for months, watching you ace everything from charms to transfiguration, and always being second to you. the jealousy consumed his entire being, and he was kind of going mental, so you one could only imagine how ecstatic he was when he saw your face twist with dread after snape praised him in front of everybody. he wouldn't have hidden that mocking grin on his face if you held a knife to his throat and it made you want to choke him to death, for lack of better term.

"l/n." he sang as he successfully caught you in the corridor right after the said lesson. twat. you ignored him and increased the speed of your steps, biting the inside of your cheek, so hard that it began to sting. you didn't instantaneously realise how desperate he was to get your attention, but it became a lot clearer when he stood in front of you, entirely blocking your path. your little attempts to confuse him and avoid the situation were useless. it was kind of pathetic.

"what do you want?" simply shoving him to the ground and acting like it never happened would have done the job, but god forbid you swallowed your pride for once. 

"c'mon, don't be so pissy, i'm just trying to make conversation." you saw right through him, anyone would. him? wanting to make conversation with you? after death-glaring you every lesson for three months straight? and then bursting your bubble and being so smug about it? you almost scoffed, "you're in my way."

"oh, my apologies." he moved to the side and bowed dramatically, waiting for you to leave. you rolled your eyes, and took a single step forward, just to have him come right back to his original spot.

"move." you tried to shove him and even attempted to run for it, but he was faster than you. your nostrils flared, "you know that today was just dumb luck, right?" you crossed your arms, thinking you'd get under his skin, but there was no sign of change on his face. on the contrary, he was more accomplished than ever. you were fuming.

"i wouldn't call it that." he tilted his head to the side, observing your face.

"alright then," you copied his movements, "plagiarism?" his smile fell a little. it made you a lot happier than it should have. you expected victory from that senseless squabble, but lorenzo wasn't the type of person who backed down so easily. that was something you should have known.

"you're projecting." he shrugged, blankly staring at you.

"projecting?" you almost stuttered.

"projecting. pick up a dictionary, yeah?" he gave your head a tiny pat, and left you standing in the hallway, dumbfounded, angry, and a little humiliated.

that moment alone set off a feud that changed the trajectory of your miserable lives forever. each time he did better than you, whether it was on an essay, an exam, flying lessons even, your urge to wipe his existence of the face of the earth got stronger. the feelings were mutual on his part. you went back and forth like that for a while, trying not to be that obvious about it, but one could only hide their true feelings for so long.

it started off with hushed insults, which got strategically thrown around every time you'd cross each other's path. having other people notice your diminishing confidence was proper nightmare fuel, so you kept it as subtle as possible. then it turned into shoving and pushing, which was enough to set off some alarm bells in the heads of your friends. neville had told you that it wasn't worth it, and draco, of all fucking people, had told lorenzo to tone it down, but you refused to listen. you offered a few empty promises, saying that you'll sort it out sooner or later (sort out as in make sure you never let lorenzo get a score higher than yours again, but that was not going to happen).

your sooner or later turned into a few godawfully long years. saying you hated him may have seemed like an overstatement, but there was no other way to describe that burning feeling of i want to fucking kill you that entirely took over you whenever you laid your eyes on him. it kept getting worse and worse, without you realising just how bad it had become. your little competitions had completely lost their significance. it didn't matter who was first anymore. it could be ron or pansy, and you wouldn't bat an eye. all you cared about was surpassing each other, even if you were among the average with your scores.

that being said, it became an open secret of sort. as stupid as you made your classmates out to be, they were not, and they quickly put the missing puzzle pieces together. one of them spread a rumour that you tried to kill lorenzo, or vice versa, you couldn't really remember. and frankly, you couldn't blame them. you had given them more than enough reasons to think that you hated his guts. the most ridiculous instance had to have been the one during potions class when snape assigned you to work together. you could have placed a bet of two million galleons that he did it on purpose. it was like he wanted you to fail.

lorenzo had managed to insult you before he even took a seat at your table, calling you too stupid to work with in front of the entire class. you told him that he was a daft idiot when he unwillingly slumped down into the empty seat next to you, which had only set him off more. you accepted your fates almost immediately, knowing that whatever task snape assigned to you wouldn't be done, even if it cost you your grades.

just like you predicted, you did everything but what you were supposed to; spilled every sort of liquid there was all over each other's things, broke a few glasses, set two notebooks on fire, and burnt a hole in the table. you had stuck him to his chair, too, and lost a few house points as a result.

***

a sane person would have reached a certain point and stopped, pushing all of those stupid grudges aside. forgive and forget, that whole talk. hopelessly, your friends thought you would have got over it as you were growing older and that you would have chosen basic human decency over some hurt feelings and an insignificant competition no one gave a shit about. but no. you were not sane. you were ruthless, and you continued trying to make each other miserable like your lives depended on it. you hated lorenzo berkshire, and he hated you just as much. you were too naive and caught up in it all to realise that it'll come right back for you later.

it was like some sick obsession. from obvious sabotaging during classes whenever you got assigned to work together (followed by unsatisfactory results you blamed the other for) to throwing insults at each other in the corridors where everybody was set to hear you, you had checked every single one off.

you called him a useless arsehole on a daily basis. he called you an insufferable bitch every time he saw you. you had cursed out each other during lessons and done even worse things when nobody was looking. and if anyone did see you and try to get involved and call you names, it was bad news for them. you were each other's enemies to insult and demean and degrade and ruthlessly bully, nobody else's. only you were allowed to call him a cockroach, and only he was allowed to call you a snake. your relationship with lorenzo was nothing you could explain to somebody with a fully functioning brain, even if you tried.

one night in your fifth year, you had successfully snuck out in search of some sort encyclopaedia to help you out with your DADA assignment. none of the books which you were allowed to use did good enough of a job at making it easier, so you were hoping that the restricted section would have something better to offer - which it did. you couldn't recall the last time your trip to the library was that short.

to make things even better, you successfully avoided bumping into an annoying brunette who made your life oh so entertaining (unbearable). lorenzo wasn't anywhere to be seen. you smiled to yourself, feeling a sense of freedom at last. you were praying that the prick got bored of looming around the corridors all alone like a loser, waiting to terrorise you.

you began humming a tune you heard dean play on his old gramophone (one that got confiscated), and skipped around the corner to make your way to the grand staircase. mistake number one. you tripped over something, someone, but managed to stay on your feet as opposed to falling face-first onto the ground. you didn't even have to look back to know who it was.

"my, my, out rebelling again?" lorenzo leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, smirking in satisfaction when he noticed how you were grimacing. he stepped on one of the books you dropped, refusing to move when you tried to snatch it back.

"do you mind?" you spat, aggressively pulling it from under his foot. you straightened out your clothes and dusted yourself off before tucking the literature you had picked up under your arm.

"stealing?" he raised an eyebrow.

"borrowing." you corrected.

"without permission?" he tilted his head to the side in faux amusement, "i wonder what would happen if i alerted a professor about this."

"and you'd tell them what?" you scoffed, barely able to hold your laughter in, "that you saw me stealing while you were sneaking out to go for a casual wank?" what a fucking idiot. you rolled your eyes, turning away from him with the intention to walk away from the scene. you were not in the mood for his bullshit.

"yeah, yeah, run away like you always do." he uttered in disappointment, yawning. he knew exactly which buttons to push, and it wasn't surprising. you were familiar with each other's habits and emotions more than you'd like to admit. you stopped in your tracks. sighing, you set the books down onto the stone tiles, and spun around to face him once again.

"aguamenti." you cast the spell with an evil smile, and in a matter of seconds, a wave of water was shot straight in lorenzo's direction, leaving him soaking wet. he gasped out in shock; his clothes clung to his body. the water was unbearably cold, it was so fucking freezing, he could barely move. the commotion was noisy enough to alert filch and his beloved ms. norris, but those were the last of your worries. your felt rather fulfilled, that was what mattered.

"you asked for it." you shrugged, but did not turn your back on him just yet. that would have been the easiest way for him to attack, so you mistakenly waited, thinking he would strike for you. he dug his wand out of his pocket, and muttered a spell, "vermiculus."

you whipped your head in the direction in which he pointed his hand, realising what happened a second too late. he had turned your precious books into worms. you yelped in surprise and stepped away from the disgusting mess on the ground, your back bumping into his chest. you turned to face him and gave him a harsh push, backing him up into the wall and shoving your wand into his face.

"uncast it." you demanded. he laughed. how stupid did you have to be to even think that he'd listen to you, "no."

"berkshire." your words came out louder than expected. you wouldn't have been shocked if you saw a teacher coming around the corner to reprimand the both of you for looming around so late, but you didn't care.

"undo the damn spell." you repeated, just about ready to strangle him if you deemed it necessary.

"no." he pushed you away and took a hold of his own wand. he tried to disarm you, but failed miserabley. two could play at that game, then "stupif-"

"what's going on here?" filch's scratchy voice stopped you mid-spell. your head snapped towards him, and you instinctively stuck your wand inside of your clothes as if he hadn't already seen it. being too preoccupied by trying to come up with an explanation that you hadn't previously used to get yourself out of trouble, you had forgotten about the slimy creatures crawling on the floor. a worm wiggled towards you, too close for comfort, and you scrambled to get away, clumsily bumping into lorenzo once again. he gave you a somewhat gentle shove to get you away, and you kicked him in response, right in the shin.

"she tried to drown me." he explained with an irritated groan, rubbing the sore spot on his leg.

"he destroyed school property." you added dramatically, wishing to kick him one more time. filch's eyes trailed over to the filth beside your feet, and he made a face of disgust before instructing you both to follow him to dumbledore's office.

the whole ordeal ended with the books being safely returned to their spot on the shelves of the restricted section, a half-assed DADA assignment and the two of you getting put on bathroom cleaning duty for seven days straight (no magic allowed). it was probably the biggest mistake of dumbledore's life.

the bathrooms were not cleaned properly once. in fact, they'd only end up in conditions which were about ten times worse than their default ones. lorenzo was too busy spilling bucketfuls of water, dirty or clean, all over you to care whether he scrubbed the junk off every single sink there was (payback for the stunt you pulled on him in the corridor), and you were too busy hitting him with funny smelling toilet brushes (made sure you got all that rubbish into his hair, too) to polish the tiles and mirrors to perfection like you were told to do. it was disgusting and sickeningly entertaining at once. dumbledore considered punishing you with some other method, but gave up seeing what the boys' toilets looked like after night four. not even detention was able to come between the two of you. limits and common sense weren't either.

***

in your sixth year, the unimaginable happened. there wasn't a single soul who saw it coming, not even yourselves. maybe it was magic. maybe it was a sign from the universe. maybe some higher power did everybody justice. whatever it was, it sent your professors into a spiral. their shitty damage control was finally paying off, as cruel as it turned out to be.

classes had become increasingly more difficult than they were in previous years. to follow, to manage, to keep track of, and everything in between. mcgonagall had pulled you outside twice, asking you what was wrong after she had noticed that you were falling behind. many of your peers were, actually, but nobody would have ever expected it from you. the results you'd achieve weren't always as perfect as they were in your first year, though you had never struggled to get past eighty points until then. it was singlehandedly the worst thing that could have ever happened to you. priorities were hard to sort out, so there was a noticeable decline in your performance. you were absolutely miserable, and it did not get better, only worse. so bad that you had forgotten that you had a certain slytherin to compete with.

it was the day before halloween night, lessons had come to an end. your friends scattered around different places – some to the great hall, some to hogsmeade, some headed straight to bed, all intending to clear their minds after a stressful week of difficult assignments and dreadfully challenging essays. nearly every student left the transfiguration classroom with a relieved smile, happy that even their low scores ensured them a pass. hermione got a ridiculous amount of praise for her outstanding results, and even an encouraging pat on the back from mcgonagall.

so, a wonderful end of october for everybody but yourself. your expectations weren't high when you handed your toughest essay in. you thought you'd get sixty points at best. not hoping for much, yet still trying to ignore the worst possible outcome - one that was bound to get you someday like proper karma. but that wouldn't actually happen, would it? there was no way. it was impossible. you felt like a bloody idiot.

you failed. you fucking failed. for the first time in your life. and it was much more humiliating than you had imagined. you were so upset with yourself that you hadn't even bothered to pester lorenzo about his results, and strangely, he hadn't approached you either. no glances, no death glares, no hushed insults. not during the lesson, not after.

you left the transfiguration classroom trying your hardest not to cry, ignoring all of your friends and wishing to get out of the castle as soon as possible. you needed to be alone. you weren't looking for anybody's comfort, validation or their empty words of sympathy that would lose their meaning the moment you fixed the mess you were in. so you went to the black lake; where very little people preferred spending time, where you could be at peace with your own thoughts, and where you could catch a much needed break, even if it was only for a little while.

you slumped down onto the grass with a thump, bringing your knees up to your chest and letting your tears fall. you failed. for merlin's sake, you failed. it was like everything you had ever known was suddenly gone. you weren't even worried about what your parents or professors would say. truthfully, you couldn't give less of a damn. you were so disappointed that you had blocked out everything and everyone else, or whatever stupid opinion and solutions they might have had to offer. everyone, except for lorenzo and that dumb game you two were, for an even dumber reason, still playing. he must have been oh so happy to hear about your failure. he'd never let you live it down, you knew it.

"l/n?" speak of the fucking devil. he always had fantastic timing.

"get out of my sight before i throw you into the lake." you spat, wiping your tear-stained face with your sleeve, not looking at him.

"shiver me timbers." he sang, not feeling threatened at all.

"berkshire." you warned, turning your head towards him and meeting his gaze. you shouldn't have moved. worry flashed through his face for a brief moment when he caught a glimpse your puffy eyes, and he pressed his lips together, guilty. could he actually bring himself to pester you while you were in such a terrible condition? no, he couldn't, regardless of the resentment he felt towards you.

he cleared his throat and took a step closer. you sighed, staring back at the landscape spread out in front of you without uttering a word, "what happened?" he questioned hesitantly.

"nothing that concerns you." you attempted to shut him down. he raised both of his eyebrows, a little amused, "someone upset my favourite rival," he scoffed, "of course it concerns me."

you rolled your eyes, "just leave, will you?" but did you really want him to? your voice shook as you spoke. you despised the part of you that was wishing for him to stay. you wanted to be alone more than anything, but you knew you'd break down again if he listened to your plea and left you there. you'd take his overused insults over failure any day.

"not until you tell me what happened." your jaw clenched, and you muttered a quiet curse, knowing that he most likely wouldn't let up. as if that one would miss out on an opportunity to annoy you. he settled down in the grass, right next to you, waiting.

you sat in silence for what felt like forever. he didn't push you to speak again, and you were pretty reluctant to say a single thing. not even calling him names seemed tempting. you sighed for the nth time, starting to tear up again, "i got my essay back with thirty points." you sniffled, silently preparing yourself to get made fun of.

"fuck," you heard him mumble, and he scratched his head shortly before speaking, "if it makes you feel better, i got twenty eight." getting on your nerves was always in his best interest. although, having to see you so seriously upset was not on his bucket list, not anymore. you stared at him in shock, frowning, "what?"

he nodded. the look on his face was so sullen that you were starting to believe him, "are you not taking the piss?"

he snorted, "i wish i was," he avoided your gaze, "i, uh," he pursed his lips in thought, letting out a breath of frustration, "i was convinced i'd do well even if i started last minute... without research, but uh, guess i was wrong." you hummed, doubtful.

"why are you telling me all this?" you shook your head and trailed your eyes back to the lake, finding it rather difficult to believe that he was being so... nice. it was your first normal conversation and you had no clue what to make of it.

"who else am i supposed to tell it to?" he responded, annoyed. you bit the inside of your cheek, just as irritated, picking up a pebble. you examined it shortly before throwing it into the water.

lorenzo watched you curiously, having very little to say, which was terribly weird in itself. lorenzo berkshire not having a single unnecessary, offending comment to offer? your failures had truly taken a toll on you, completely.

"i can't believe we both fell off." you said in wonder, throwing another rock below the surface.

"right," he agreed, without an urge to backtalk, "fucking hell, i've no reason to hate you now." he blurted out, horrified by his own words.

"fantastic, now i suck at that too." you let out a dry, emotionless chuckle. you weren't crying anymore, just silently fuming at lorenzo for being the one to stop it without even properly trying.

"you suck at everything." he corrected.

"i take after you." you retorted nonchalantly.

"dumbass." he bit back a smile.

"dickhead." you were struggling just as hard. holding in your laughter was never more challenging, but you were determined not to break character.

you found yourselves in an eerily comfortable silence. by the looks of it, things would be alright. knowing that he messed up too somehow put you at ease. not even because you were happy to him fail, but more at the thought that it just happened to be at the same time as you. you found a certain dose of comfort in it. it was written in the stars, as it seemed.

"get lost now." you broke the bubble you found yourselves in. it was about time you got back on track. there was no way you'd get all friendly and gushy with him, even after whatever that was.

"alright, alright." he stood up, groaning as he did so. he dusted off the pieces of grass that got stuck to his trousers.

he stared back at the lake shortly, waiting to see if you'd say anything else he could offer a witty response to. he was a bit sad when you didn't, and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers, sighing, "well, i shall see you-"

"never." you finished that for him.

"perfect." he added, turning on his heel and heading towards the castle. you allowed yourself to glimpse at him one last time, simply not being able to let him have the last word.

"you've got some on your arse." you were talking about the remainder of the grass that was stuck to his clothing. he stopped to clean it up, and then flipped you off wordlessly.

you thought that was the last of your civilised interactions. there was no reason for you to bore your mind with it. you happened to fall behind at the same time and it gave you a decent bonding moment, but it was nothing more than that. just two people who claimed they didn't like one another very much talking properly for once. nothing, it was nothing. simple as that. so you weren't able to pinpoint why you kept looking back on it nearly every day, or why you felt so guilty for calling him stupid and useless, or why making fun of him for getting a lower score than you wasn't rewarding anymore, or why competing so fiercly was no longer satisfactory. and why he too, happened to feel just the same. maybe you had grown out of it.

you blamed it on the stress. you did have lots of different things occupying your mind anyway - such as your major arithmancy exam that you decided to pull an all nighter for.

for the first time in a while, you stayed inside the library past closing hours. madam pince wasn't too happy about it, but she liked you enough to let you crash there and warned filch not to throw you outside if he happened to notice you during his nightly patrol. the woman had some interesting tactics up her sleeve, none of which you ever questioned.

you swore, probably for the tenth time in the past two minutes, crumpling up yet another piece of parchment. you had to start over a ridiculous amount of times. the pile of rubbish on the floor was growing larger by the second. ripped up paper, bottles of ink, broken feathers, it was definitely a sight. there was no way you were getting through all of that on your own. and oh how that angered you. you rarely ever needed assistance with anything, but this was just a little bit above your level. that enraged you even more. a helping hand was starting to sound promising.

"you're still here?" you didn't even flinch, knowing all too well who that voice belonged to. did god or the devil just answer your prayers? you never got past your little habits of leaving the dormitories to do whatever there was to be done around the castle almost every night, so there he went, running into you again. lorenzo peeked out from behind the bookshelves in front of you, smiling like a little kid who was just about to do something egregiously silly. you couldn't not grin back, despite being angry.

"you're still here?" you repeated his question, crossing your arms.

"i asked first." he moved towards your desk, pulling out an empty chair and settling there next to you without even asking if you wanted him there. weird, that one.

"alright, and?" you teased further. he bumped your shoulder with his own. he wanted something. punching him suddenly sounded like a fine option. he looked over your arm to examine your notes.

"arithmancy?" he glared at you, kind of bemused. it was another subject he was that awfully good at, unlike you. you weren't terrible, but not exactly the best either. an infuriating thing.

"my favourite." you responded sarcastically, throwing your quill across the table. he hummed, sitting back in his chair, but not taking his eyes off of you. he definitely wanted something.

"what?" you could sense it already. he was gonna mock you again.

"do you need help with that, perhaps?" or maybe not. you looked at him, skeptical.

"from you?" you raised an eyebrow.

"well, i mean, yeah." he shifted in his spot, as if he was anxious. you did a double take, and then burst out laughing, wiping away a non-existent tear. he was just too damn funny. him helping you? that was a good one. you carried on with that little performance of yours for the next minute until it hit you that he wasn't joking.

"are you serious?" you asked, just to confirm. there was absolutely no chance.

"look, i can leave-" he stood up, "no," you grabbed a fistful of his sweater and pulled him back down. he yelped, startled, "what's your deal?" you weren't letting him get away with that so easily.

"what do you mean?" he was geniuenly confused.

"don't play fucking dumb," you jabbed a finger into his chest, "why are you being so kind to me all of a sudden?"

he laughed uncomfortably, scratching the nape of his neck, "well, i thought, you know, since it seems like we're no longer on about hating each other, that-"

"oh." you interrupted him, chuckling in disbelief. you shook your head, rubbing your temples in frustration and then letting your arms fall to your sides, "look, berkshire, just because i'm not trying to kill you anymore doesn't mean i want to be friends."

"what!? for fuck's sake, you're impossible." he stood up once more, this time darting out of your reach.

"here we go again." you rolled your eyes. you just couldn't interact without quarreling, could you? he paced around inbetween the bookshelves before returning to your table, "you're not exactly giving me any reasons to be nice right now."

"i never asked of you to be nice." you argued.

"you could appreciate me trying." he retorted. you had no idea what on earth he was trying to achieve. you could only think of so many explanations, "why? so that you could gain my trust and then stab me in the back when it's convenient for you?"

"that's what this is about?" he muttered something under his breath, "i thought we were past that rubbish."

you wanted to laugh hysterically, "okay, we may have pushed the resentment aside, but you can't exactly expect me to trust you."

he understood that, unbeknownst to you, "i never said that you needed to trust me," he sighed, leaning over the table, "listen, i offered to help you because i can see you're struggling. i'm not here to sabotage you if that's what you're worried about. i'd be wasting my time." he straightened his posture, standing there with his arms crossed.

"because i'm already terrible enough and don't need anyone's interference to properly fuck up, right?" you were prepared to tell him to bugger off if he refused to give you the answer you were looking for, furious at him and yourself.

he paused, hesitant. you were so fucking stubborn, and he loved you for it, "correct." alright then.

you picked up your quill, "sit down."

you got your exam back with a shocking score of eighty-nine, surpassing even hermione. not lorenzo, but you were second, and that was enough to have your ego flying right back through the roof.

i told you you could do it, he said, but not without me, he had to point out. you had to give him that. how could you not? he casually decided to save your life without you even asking for it. if it weren't for him, you most likely would have majorly fucked up on that exam. that's not saying that it wasn't difficult. he had no patience and you had even less, but you had somehow survived that night in the library without biting each other's heads off or getting into any additional fights. he even followed you back to your dorm, an offer he didn't allow you to refuse and one that you were too exhausted to complain about.

in the few weeks that followed, you decided that it was for the best that you block out whatever happened between you that night. christmas holidays were approaching, and you couldn't let that ruin your mood. lorenzo told you that mattheo said that it was a shift in the matrix. you had no idea what that meant, it sounded horrifyingly muggle, but you agreed for the sake of agreeing. a shift in the matrix, bloody nonsense. a coincidence, you called it. an accident, even. an accident that helped you out tremendously and made you reconsider lorenzo on nights when you couldn't sleep, but still an accident. 

who were you kidding? something had definitely changed. other students started noticing it too.

you had gradually become somewhat friendly rivals who'd rub their own success into each other's faces for the laughs till they got threatened with a jinx or tickled to death. some occasional name calling too, just not as intense. but you weren't friends. nothing near it. you had done a pretty good job at convincing yourself you never would be. treating him a little better than usual was the farthest you'd go trying to mend all those years of jealousy and grudges. that was what you started living by, pushing away that strange tingling sensation that would coarse through you every time his hands happened to brush against yours when you walked side by side.

it is exactly why you almost spilled acidic liquid all over the table and burnt a hole in it again when he sat next to you during potions one fine afternoon.

snape was visibly mortified by the sight, partially because of that incident from two years prior (when you almost set the entire classroom on fire), and partially because he couldn't believe that mcgonagall was actually onto something when she purposefully failed you both. it would go down in history as one of the most ridiculous moments of his career. he sent a warning glare your way before beginning the lesson.

"excuse you?" you whispered once professor snape finally turned his back to the class, raising both of your eyebrows in question. was lorenzo asking to get violated?

"harry took my seat." he pointed towards the table where he usually sat. and shockingly enough, there was harry, sitting next to draco, for whatever sick and twisted reason. you gaped at them, then at lorenzo. not looking into that deeper was maybe for the better.

okay then. you didn't respond, trying to get into taking some notes like you were previously instructed. that would have been easy (it was for the first quarter of the lesson), if lorenzo's presence wasn't keeping you so alert, stopping you from focusing on what you deemed more important, "merlin, can you breathe a little quieter?" you snapped.

he purposely inhaled louder than he normally would, grinning proudly when your eyes rolled back into your brain. you kicked him under the table. he yelped, but oddly, covered it up with a cough. you glared at him, doubtful. that was not the reaction you were expecting to get.

you resumed trying to copy the crucial bits from the chapter snape assigned you all to analyse, very poorly. it was kind of impossible. you weren't used to having lorenzo sit so close to you for such an extended amount of time. ignoring him was unimaginably hard. your notes had never looked worse. words missing, constant mistakes, sensless scribbles. you reached for a new pot of ink after seeing that you had run out, and then felt his finger poke at your side.

you flinched, catching a glimpse of your professor who's head was still buried in the pile of assignments he needed to grade. he hadn't noticed you. good. but then lorenzo did it again, right where you were most ticklish, because he knew. you swatted his hand away, not missing the way he smiled to himself. little shit.

you reached to poke him too, and when you tried to pull away, he took a hold of your wrist, not letting go. he had a lot of good defense tactics up his sleeve. you didn't try to yank your arm out of his grip instantly, which was the perfect opportunity for him to tickle at your side with his free hand. this time, you held back a startled giggle, kicking him under the table one more time. he snorted, resuming his little game.

you were both sweating trying not to make too much noise, but neither of you was letting up, not letting the other have the satisfaction of winning. he eventually moved his chair closer to yours with the excuse to tickle you more effectively. your legs were touching under the table, but only because it was easier for you to kick him that way. it went on for at least fifteen minutes, until snape finally lifted his head, his eyes on the class. you separated, thinking you were being slick about it, when it was the least fitting explanation for what had been going on. the two of you had your lips pressed together, trying not to laugh. your professor could only sigh in response. at least you didn't set anything ablaze.

hermione tucked her arm under yours in the hallway when your lesson ended, grinning mischevously, "would you like to tell me what happened just now?" 

you scoffed, rolling your eyes playfully, "huh? i don't know what you're on about." you played dumb, despite knowing exactly what she was getting at. and you had no idea why. it's not like you had anything to hide.

"i think you do." she pushed. there was not a chance for you to get out of that conversation.

"really? i truly don't." you still tried, though. acting foolish was your only escape route.

"y/n." she dragged out, laughing and pulling you along with her. potions were your final lesson of the day, so you were already able to picture her desperate attempts to pull some information out of you all the way until bedtime.

"what? we were just fighting." you finally gave in. you knew you would have to eventually, but you loved your free time a little too much to let her annoying interrogation tactics drag on for so long.

"so you do know what i'm on about." she teased, scarily invested.

"what else could you possibly be on about?" you snapped, pushing away that uncomfortable feeling that settled in your chest. you had no reason not to tell her anything, so you couldn't pinpoint why you were feeling so guilty all of a sudden.

"the way you two sat closer together than every couple in our year?" she exclaimed, astonished by how shamelessly you were avoiding the subject.

you gasped, feeling a bit offended, or maybe called out. you couldn't tell which one it was, "that is not what happened." that was an overexaggaration if you ever heard one. was she out of her bloody mind? sometimes you thought that she enjoyed setting you off as much as lorenzo did.

you stepped through the portrait hole with the rest of your housemates, pushing through the crowd to get your dormitories faster. you wanted a nice shower, some peace and quiet for reading, and then decent sleep. it was that simple. you survived the walk through the common room without anyone asking additional invasive questions, immediately heading for the toilet once you arrived to your dorm.

you really needed that shower. it made you feel whole again. you stepped out after putting some comfortable clothes on, skipping over to your bed and then cursing out loud when you realised what was on it. amongst your own, there was lorenzo's fucking book. you had accidentally taken it when you scrambled to collect your things once class ended.

you could have just given it to him tomorrow, or not given it back at all. like he'd know who took it. it was incredibly tempting, but it also felt unnecessarily mean. what if he needed it to study that night? you brushed it off, not like it was your problem anyway. you sat down onto the mattress, picking up a novel from your nightstand and throwing the other books straight to the carpet so you could comfortably settle on your bed. you then put it back. you didn't feel like reading anymore. you laid there, thinking. peace was never an option in your world.

you groaned, snatching his book up from the floor and venturing back into the common room. you hadn't bothered to explain yourself to anybody, and you continued trotting over to the dungeons with a neutral expression on your face (neutral as in i am very much internally raging and if anybody tries to talk to me i might use the imperius curse on them). very useless it was, that relaxing shower of yours.

none of the slytherins lounging on the sofa questioned you, your appearance was pretty telling. good thing you ran into mattheo on the way there. getting in wouldn't have been so easy otherwise. you disappeared in the direction of their dormitories, stopping right in front of lorenzo's door. you swallowed harshly, begenning to get nervous. something was wrong with you.

you hesitated before knocking, tapping your foot against the ground furiously as you waited. "one second!" lorenzo yelled from the other side. it sounded like something had fallen over. the noise was followed by a few curse words and some shuffling before the door opened.

much to your dismay, you were met with a bare chested lorenzo, wearing nothing but a pair of trousers which loosely hung around his hips. his hair was wet, and his cheeks were a tinted with a light shade of pink. he had stepped out of the shower merely three minutes before you showed up. you inhaled sharply, swallowing the sound of surprise that almost escaped you and feeling your face heat up. his eyes went wide, given that he was taken aback much like yourself. you were the last person he was expecting to find on the other side of the door.

"hi." he greeted awkwardly, pulling his trousers up a bit as if it would help. you opened your mouth to speak, then closed it. opened it, before closing it again. you were pretty sure you resembled a damn fish. whatever was happening to you, you did not like it one bit.

"i- you- we- ithinkthisisyours." you finally spluttered, slamming the book into his chest. his hand touched yours momentarily when he grabbed it so that it wouldn't drop onto your feet. you felt lightheaded.

lorenzo was kind of freaking out, but only kind of, not even bothering to look at what you had given him at first. he was a little too busy staring at your blushing face, wondering what the hell was going on and why his heart was in his throat all of a sudden, "are you alright?" he queried, concerned.

"i am perfectly fine." that was a lie. 

"ah," he nodded, then eyed the piece of literature in his hands shortly as he slowly figured what it was, "oh! thank you."

you laughed in misery, "okay!" before shutting the door in your own face. you tripped and almost fell down the stairs as you ran, still flushed and your heart beating in a way that you found a little too unusual to push away.

you received a few judgemental glares from the students you had run past. the question marks were practically visible above their heads. you were too busy going hysterical to sneer at them for staring. you burst through the door of your dorm, breathless and blushing, "what the fuck?"

somewhere back inside the dungeons, a confused lorenzo turned to face his friends, still holding the book you had given to him. he had no idea what on earth happened, or why you reacted the way you did, or why he, deep down, found it more adorable than he'd like to admit. he groaned, falling face-first onto his bed. what the fuck, indeed. christmas holidays never looked more promising.

and oh how you regretted waiting for them with so much anticipation. you were supposed to get a break. from books, assignments, essays, whatever lorenzo was doing to you. hogwarts was supposed to be all yours. you weren't heading home that year. it was your parents' twentieth anniversary, so there was no point in going back, considering that you wouldn't see them (you didn't exactly have friends in your hometown either). they'd be having the time of their lives in the alps, and you'd be regretting every decision you had made up until that point.

not only because you were already bored out of your mind waiting for your friends to return, but because you saw lorenzo sitting at the slytherin table when you walked into the great hall on christmas eve. the image of him opening the door two weeks prior flashed through your mind. it happened often, in the most inconvenient situations too. you were hoping you didn't look too flushed.

"what are you doing here?" he questioned in amusement once you trotted over to him, an equally puzzled expression on your face. "i could ask you the same thing." 

"all in good time." he cleared his throat, awkward. it was weird, but you didn't think much of it just yet. instead you sighed, taking a quick look around, and then speaking, "my parents ditched me for a skiing trip."

he snorted, motioning over to the very empty seat beside him. you sat down, no thoughts behind it. he was the only person among the ones who stayed for the holidays who you knew enough to hold a conversation, so it's not like you had better options. besides, that was your chance to see if there was more to his sudden change in behaviour. you were unnerved at the idea of even having the desire to do such a thing.

"what's your excuse?" you reached over his arm to grab a piece of toast, as well as some jam and chocolate spread.

"parents as well." you didn't miss the way he shifted uncomfortably. you put down your knife and propped your arms on the table, eyeing him expectantly. he held back shortly, and you couldn't blame him. who were you to think that he'd trust you with a possible family issue?

"i was told that i'm a disappointment and i'm not allowed home until i get my grades in tact." he stabbed the bacon in his plate aggressively, not looking at you. your jaw dropped in shock.

"in tact?" you uttered in disbelief. it was practically common knowledge that lorenzo exceeded you in a lot of subjects, a little more than half of them actually, so in your mind, this shouldn't have even been a problem. he was one of the top students. everybody knew that. your parents expected you to do well too, but they weren't that pushy or strict. yeah, receiving a howler for momentarily falling behind in october was aggravating, but nothing that you couldn't bear. lorenzo's, however, were crossing a line.

he hummed, picking at his food, "don't say anything." he sighed, it almost sounded like a plea. he couldn't just ask you for comfort, or ask of you to understand. faux sympathy was the last thing he needed.

"no, it's just–" you chewed on the inside of your cheek and picked up your knife again, spreading some jam over the piece of toast you grabbed previously, "you're not a disappointment, that's bullshit." you bit into the crunchy bread, chewing it slowly, a sour expression on your face. lorenzo went a bit red, stumbling over his words before getting out a clumsy i know, followed by a hesitant thanks anyway. 

you said nothing for the remaining few minutes of breakfast, just eating in silence while other students chatted in background. when you were exiting the great hall together to return to your respective dorms, you made eye contact with mcgonagall for a brief moment. she offered you a proud smile, yet with a hint of mischief behind it. you had never been more confused.

you spent the first half of christmas day alone in the gryffindor common room, reading some trashy muggle romance novel you found under hermione's bed a couple of nights before. it was one of the worst books you had ever picked up, but there was something so annoyingly addicting about it that you just couldn't give it up. it left you feeling empty and lonely, and with a strong desire to fling yourself straight into the depths of the black lake.

"christ, l/n, why do you look so sullen?" you shut your eyes, exhaling through your nose. just what you needed. you weren't even gonna question lorenzo was doing there. you had a clue.

"you don't wanna know." you tossed the book across the room, internally celebrating when he decided not to investigate further.

he made a face, "merry christmas?"

"likewise." you replied blandly. when you didn't tell him to get lost, he jumped onto the sofa, getting comfortable next to you. he didn't look all too happy either.

you sat there for good twenty minutes, staring at the fire like your entire worlds were crumbling in front of your eyes. it didn't occur to the either of you how awful it would feel to spend christmas all alone for the first time. no presents, no childhood foods, no hugs from mum in the morning. you even missed your spoiled cousins who would nag you to play with them each time you visited their house on boxing day.

it fucking sucked, but god, at least lorenzo was there. you'd push aside everything that happened between you in the previous years just for a twinge of affection. something came over you, and you lowered your head onto his shoulder, almost sighing in relief when he didn't shove you away. he scooted closer and rested his head on top of yours, not speaking.

from that moment onward, you saw each other every day. he'd show up at your dorm at random moments and you'd show up at his at even worse ones. you'd take walks in the snow together and come back with soaking wet clothes and red noses. you'd smoke in the courtyard before bed after making sure the coast was clear. you'd go to hogsmeade and fight over who was gonna pay for the butterbeer until you came up with a nonsensical compromise. you'd sneak out at night to steal books from the restricted section of the library and then read them under covers in the slytherin dorms. you'd sometimes fall asleep next to each other and then act like nothing happened in the morning.

***

you expected it all to fade to nothing once everybody else came back to hogwarts, but then it didn't. you still took walks in the snow and argued over butterbeer and snuck out after midnight (and had to clean several toilets after getting caught almost every time). he still helped you with arithmancy without asking for anything in return, and you'd sometimes kiss him on the cheek if you were in a good mood. you thrived off of the expressions that would paint his face whenever you did that.

but with the return of other students also came whispers and rumours, following you around like shadows. you ignored them tactfully, not wanting to give anybody the satisfaction of confirming that their silly theories may have been right all along. especially not hermione. she wouldn't let you forget that until you perished. she'd probably leave a note on your grave too, so you'd have that humiliating reminder haunting you in the afterlife.

"i thought you two hated each other." mattheo deadpanned one evening after lorenzo had brought you to the slytherin common room, straight into the damn snake pit. you were squashed together on the sofa, a large book splayed open across your laps, not getting read. it was one of the stolen ones. all of his friends were there, watching you like hawks.

"we do." you responded nonchalantly, taking the cigarette that lorenzo handed you. you took a long drag before putting it back between his lips.

"then why do you spend so much time together?" draco was very obviously judging you. he of all people should have understood. lorenzo rolled his eyes.

"you are in no place to talk, mister i hate potter but snog him in my off time." blaise took your side, bless his soul, and tossed theodore's shoe in his direction. shutting draco up was easier than you would have thought.

"no, but why?" mattheo repeated draco's question, propping his chin up into his palm and observing you curiously.

"maybe, they're– wait, what do you call that?" theodore leaned into pansy, hoping she had an answer.

"masochists?" she replied casually and lit a cigarette herself.

you choked on your spit. lorenzo almost burnt a hole in the sofa. but then pansy brushed her friend off, staring at the two of you with a mischievous grin, "not really, i think they're just bad liars."

and she was so bloody right. hate was the last thing that could be used to describe your relationship. third year you's biggest nightmare was a better label for it, given that you couldn't even be in the same room as him without trying to turn him into something nasty.

present day you was having a difficult time stopping herself from trying to kiss him whenever he was in her presence. it was that fucking frustrating. you couldn't believe yourself. lorenzo was facing the same struggles, and you couldn't tell if he was worsening or subduing the tension by randomly touching you. not like you minded, you were loving it all and stopped bothering with trying to hide it from him. your ego may have been large, but your crush on him ended up being bigger.

potions class was usually the height of it all, although it wasn't the only period during which you got to sit next to your favourite rival. mcgonagall was was thriving, unlike snape, who simply could not get used to the positive energy surrounding you, or the way you were together each time he crossed your paths. seeing pure fear flash through his eyes at the beginning of every class was hilarious.

when lorenzo arrived, you felt yourself starting to smile and tried to push it away with the most unsettling thoughts you could muster. it did nothing. he sat down with a dramatic groan, and immediately started ranting about some minor issue he had run into that morning. he did that a lot. this time it was about his favourite pair of socks going missing. you sucked in practically everything he said, chuckled at the random curses, noticed every breath of frustration he released as he was rummaging through his bag. you didn't realise you were staring. lorenzo did, but he didn't comment on it. he liked when you were looking at him.

you failed to regsiter that the lesson officially began, but not much was happening, really. snape was telling you about felix felicis and how insanely difficult it was to make, while you were required to write down the most useful bits of the information he was giving out. when he finally sat down after assigning you to read an overly long passage, lorenzo shifted closer to you. you eyed him, puzzled.

"would you kill me if i asked you for a favour?" you focused half of your attention on the writing, half on him.

"depends what the favour is." you shrugged. he put his arm over the text to prevent you from reading. he wanted you to look at him. he had always wanted you to look at him. from the very moment your fued set off, it was one of those little annoying things that made your hatred for him stronger. not anymore, but it was still infuriating in its own way. you gave him your full attention. he may have seen some sparks fly. you had each other wrapped around your little fingers without even realising it.

he shifted even closer to you so that you could hear him better, considering that he had to whisper, "can you come to hogsmeade with me today?" his breath fanned over your ear as he spoke. you didn't respond, so he continued, "none of my friends want to and it would be stupid if i went alone. you do kind of owe me." ah, yes. for that time he saved you from detention after slughorn caught you two smoking in the astronomy tower. you shot him with an annoyed look. you both knew it was exaggerated and what your answer would be, yet you still played around with it. that's the way things went. he smirked. bitch.

"fine." he was so smug about it, you could choke him and snog him at the same time. he got his arm away from your textbook, but didn't retrieve his chair. you were squeezed next to one another despite having more than enough space. your arms were touching, and so were your legs beneath the table. you moved not a muscle, and neither did he. you had grown to like having him sit so close to you. it made you feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside, helping you ignore the freezing winter air and the thick layer of snow covering the ground outside.

you met him in the courtyard after a quick change of clothing following the end of your classes for that week. when hermione asked you where you were heading and why you won't be staying in the common room with the rest of your friends, you told a half truth. that you were heading to hogsmeade, but then bolted out the door before she was able to ask with whom. she would guess either way.

"i forgot to ask you why we were doing this in the first place." you spoke as you left the school grounds, your hands shoved into your pockets and your face hidden inside of your fluffy scarf. you were a little cold. lorenzo was too, his nose was already going red. it was an adorable sight to see, but you weren't dumb enough to say that out loud.

"i wanna pick up a few poetry books." you bit your tongue, trying not to laugh at him.

"didn't know you could read." you snickered, it was stronger than you.

"you're so original," he mocked, "they're not for me. pansy's birthday's coming up so i figured i should get her something."

"oh." the disappointment in your tone was obvious.

all of your willingness to go with him left you in an instant. his presence was more irritating than ever. he furrowed his eyebrows as he watched you chew on the inside of your cheek, wondering if he said something wrong. again... or not. lorenzo was smarter than that.

"what, are you jealous?" he nudged you, teasing. yes. you hated yourself just a tiny bit for that, "no," you scoffed, "in your dreams, berkshire."

"we both know you can't fool me." he kept the act going. you gave him a shove, making him stumble. he almost tripped and fell in a pile of snow. it was very funny. he tried to get back at you, but you slipped out of his reach, laughing when he began chasing you.

spending time with him was like a getaway from all the things that drove you mad, even though he sometimes excelled at that. he became a friend you didn't know you needed and a friend you were pretty sure you were catching some major feelings for.

you entered the bookstore as your unplanned snowball fight came to an end, its warmth immediately engulfing you. after being in the cold for longer than intended, it was just what you desired. you stuck with lorenzo for the first few minutes, helping him out and leading him away from the large isle of erotic novels he accidentally found himself in. people were looking at you weird, especially your schoolmates, so you stepped away from the crowded bits of the shop and decided to check out different sections.

a certain book had caught your eye – its contents intrigued you, but the price did something opposite. you put it back on the shelf without second guessing yourself. you hadn't brought any money with you. you continued roaming through the different isles, browsing through various books while you waited for lorenzo to finish. you lost sight of him for a few minutes, too busy debating whether to make him come back with you here some other time so you could purchase whatever your heart desired.

for the time being, you'd have to leave the shop with empty hands. lorenzo was luckier and ended up getting five poetry books which all seemed to be written by the same author, except for one. he handed you the odd one out. you opened your mouth, ready to complain about your fingers being cold and not wanting to carry it. slowly, you realised what it was. your jaw dropped a little.

he had seen you looking at it ever so longingly when he went to check up on you after realising you had gone off on your own. he picked it up without hesitation. you were too stunned to thank him, too stunned to say anything, for the matter. but he wasn't exactly expecting a thank you. he was just happy that you liked it, grinning when you blushed and struggled to keep it cool.

"you shouldn't have done that." you chastised. those were the only words you could muster. he rolled his eyes, "deal with it."

you punched his shoulder. he didn't even flinch, "you're welcome."

when he threatened to ruin your life when you were twelve years old, this wasn't how you thought it would happen.

"i'm gonna kill you." you weren't exactly addressing him, more like talking to yourself.

"you're still on about that?" he huffed, pretending to be bored.

"lorenzo!" you groaned, he chuckled, "i love you too." your eyes almost popped out of their sockets. his weird confession seemed unserious, but your heart still fluttered. little did you know that he wasn't as oblivious as you imagined.

he was positively glowing at the reactions he was getting from you. his tiny year five crush on you had blossomed into something stronger after that moment at the lake a couple of months prior, and at last, the possibility of you feeling the same wasn't looking so small. if only you saw through his actions. all those offers of help, and his complete dismissal of your rivarly, and his clinginess, and how he stuck to you like glue whenever he got the opportunity.

your walk back to the castle surprisingly wasn't silent. you were chatting quietly, snickering amongst yourselves. your shoulders brushed occasionally, and so did your hands, and you thought your heart might burst. you shivered as the wind got stronger, pressing yourself a little closer to him.

"you okay?"

"huh?" you didn't register what he said at first, "oh, yes. just a little cold, that's all." you explained, not taking your eyes away from the pathway you were pacing across.

"let's hurry up, then." he took a hold of your hand, swiftly leading you back to the castle. you were so, royally fucked. you clutched onto the poetry book tightly, focused on regulating your breathing. your entire face was on fire, your breaths ragged, heart beating rapidly against your ribcage.

four days later, you caught a terrible cold after accidentally falling asleep by the window while you were reading. hermione said that she expected better from you. she was fantastic help. you were pretty sure you were dying. your limbs hurt. your head was throbbing. your sinuses were clogged. your throat felt like someone had stuck a knife into it. but did you skip any lessons because of it or at least visit madam pomfrey to see if she could do anything? no, you weren't that helpless. you'd deal with it on your own.

or try to, at least. you stumbled into class resembling a zombie, eager to sit down and hopefully not do much work for the day. you placed your arms on the desk, laying your head into them and shutting your eyes. you opened them only a few seconds later when lorenzo shifted next to you. you were met with his worried face, just a couple of centimeters away from yours. when you didn't budge, he touched your cheek with the back of his hand, frowning.

"you're burning up." he kept his voice down, but his tone was giving away the fact that your state concerned him greatly. you waved a dismissive hand, closing your eyes again. he poked you to make you look at him.

"have you went to madam pomfrey?" he questioned. you shook your head. if looks could kill, his probably would have.

"i'll go later." you reassured him poorly, just to get him to stop. the last thing you needed was getting all flustered and emotional because he was showing more interest in taking care of you than anybody else in your circle of friends.

"your later usually means never," he was right. you hated that. you grunted, hiding your reddening face. that was both from the fever and from him, "hey." he threw his arm around you when he didn't get a resonse. you leaned into his touch faster than you thought you would, just searching for any sort of warmth there was.

other students were giggling, but he couldn't care less, "y/n."

you lifted your head again, and then allowed it to fall against his shoulder. mcgonagall stepped through the classroom door shortly after that, her mouth dropping a little when she saw the position you were in. she was gonna scold you for displaying your affection so publicly, but lorenzo quickly explained the situation, and before you were able to protest, she shooed the both of you outside.

he immediately intertwined your fingers, walking at a slower pace than usual, not wanting to tire you more. as annoyed as that made you, you didn't pull your hand away, and instead kept your body close to his. he was muttering something, scolding you for being so dismissive and not getting this fixed right away. you were too exhausted to argue, but he was right anyway.

you inhaled sharply as your headache increased in intensity, latching onto his arm and stopping in your tracks. you shut you eyes, thinking it would help and ease it a bit. you felt him move to stand in front of you. his forehead fell against yours and his hands cupped your cheeks gently. you held onto him, taking a few deep breaths through your nose. his thumbs grazed over your skin ever so slightly, as if that his was his way of trying to soothe you.

eventually, your eyes fluttered open, but neither of you let the other go. lorenzo broke the silence between you, "you're so bloody stubborn."

"you're one to talk." you chuckled dryly, hugging him a bit tighter. he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, waiting for you to give him a sign that you were ready to walk again. when you nodded, he took your hand again, leading you to the hospital wing.

madam pomfrey had you going back to normal with a simple flick of her wand after a tiny scolding, and then she pinched lorenzo's cheek and called him a "good boy" for being so caring. the unexpected praise had his eyes going wide and he was blushing madly – you were never gonna let him forget that one.

she instructed you to come back if the cold returned, but she was addressing lorenzo more than she was you. a smart move on her part, the older woman knew you and your headstrong ways well enough. she ushered you out only after she made sure were in perfect shape to head back to class, though you couldn't do it without rubbing her comment into lorenzo face until he turned completely red again. he had to tickle you to get you to stop and you caused a bit of a commotion in the silent corridors, but that didn't matter. you returned to the transfiguration classroom with your pinkies intertwined, all eyes on you. you two really needed to talk.

and what are the odds of him being caring enough to check up on you later that day. he knew he wouldn't find you in your dorm, or the common room, or the library, or the astronomy tower. instead, he headed to the only other place on his mind, where the two of you often hung out on nights when neither of you could sleep.

you were sat on one of the stone walls in the courtyard, a cigarette in your hand, kind of forgotten. you hadn't noticed that it was burning out, or the occasional ash landing on your clothes. your thoughts were going places, recalling the many events that occured during the past few months, and what on earth you were going to do about your feelings. you could hide them from your friends for some time, but not from lorenzo. you blew out a frustrated breath, pinching the bridge of your nose. being straightforward with that idiot was always easy. you never had trouble with telling him exactly what you meant. 

the fact that you were anxious about it now was the most maddening thing in the world.

"what a depressing sight." you flinched, whipping your head in lorenzo's direction almost instantly. you couldn't tell if that was luck or misfortune. you snorted, rolling your eyes and offering him the remainder of your cigarette. he gladly took it, joining you in silence.

"why are you here?" you questioned.

"came to check up on you." he replied.

"i can take care of myself just fine." you patted his back. he seemed unphased. of course he was, he knew he'd win that argument.

you glimpsed up at the sky shortly. it was snowing just a little bit. you turned to lorenzo, a pleading expression on your face, "walk with me?"

he nodded, tossing the cigarette butt into the snow. you left the school grounds once again knowing that you wouldn't make it back before curfew, but that wasn't something the either of you dwelled on very much. there were more important things to get worried about.

it was obvious that you kept dodging the subject, settling for talking about things so insignificant that you would probably tell somebody to shut up if they brought them up in conversation on a normal day. being ballsy wasn't your thing anymore, as it seemed.

as cowardly as you felt, the sore winner in you wasn't letting you back down. a long internal debate and a silent minute of self-deprecation was what it took to make you finally speak your mind... to an extent, "have you ever felt incredibly guilty about being wrong about someone?"

lorenzo stared at you as if you were insane. it was a little too early on in the conversation for him to start connecting the dots. his street-smarts were sometimes lacking.

"you sure your cold didn't come back?" he pressed his hand against your forehead. you let out a startled laugh, observing his questioning face.

"what?" you spluttered, shoving your hands further into your pockets. the skeptical look in his eyes was making you nervous.

"you're admitting that you were wrong about something?" he sounded unconvinced, but there was a hint of jest in his voice.

you bit your tongue, clearing your throat awkwardly, "yes." you breathed out. he nodded, a way to tell you to go on. he was definitely interested. you were beginning to suspect that he already knew what you were gonna say.

"i mean," you grunted, cursing quietly, "you know when you spend years convinced that somebody is an awful person and claiming you hate their guts but then end up realising that they aren't nearly as terrible as you thought when you get to know them properly?" you explained frustratedly, resisting the temptation to kick the snow piling at your feet.

his mouth fell open in surprise for a moment, but he quickly shut it, running a hand through his hair, "uh, yeah, actually." he uttered nervously, scanning your face for any sign of humour. but you weren't playing around, and certainly not lying. he had been around you enough to be able to tell when you were being truthful.

you gave him a brief nod, looking everywhere but at him. you barely noticed that your hands were shaking. you contined walking on, not saying a single thing. if he were to tell you that he could hear your heart beating, you wouldn't even have the time to act surprised.

"i have to tell you something." he stopped in his tracks, grabbing your elbow in order to make your steps halt. you faced him, looking down at your feet, waiting for him to drop the bomb. he chewed on his lip anxiously, running a hand through his hair.

"i, um," he was struggling, not exactly knowing how to begin. how to formulate that sentence, even. he wished he could just show you. he reached to take your hand, and you let him, standing there motionless.

it was his turn to panic, "i- fuck." he met your gaze. you knew that look. you knew that bloody look he gave you when you were both thinking the same thing. two years prior it would have been something along the lines of i want to kill you. but it had turned into something that was a lot closer to i want to kiss you. you wanted to fucking cry. 

you nodded, breathing out and blinking your tears away. he almost sighed in relief, cupping your cheeks, and that's when your lips pressed against the last pair of lips you thought you'd ever be kissing.

you reached up to touch his face – that pretty face you once hated the sight of, but then couldn't get enough of. you pulled back only for a moment, only to connect again, neither letting the other go. your kisses were unhurried, soft, and loving, despite months upon months of pining, despite the years of pent up hate that was, at the end of day, sort of bound to blossom into love.

at the end of your seventh year, when you were leaving hogwarts hand in hand, mcgonagall stopped you on the way out. it was only then that she told you what had actually happened that gloomy day october, the one that practically sealed your fates for eternity. the overflow of different emotions was too strong for you to have time to act shocked, and you pulled the woman into a big hug, thanking her with teary eyes. for putting up with you for so many years, and for managing to do the unimaginable.

#lorenzo berkshire #lorenzo berkshire x reader #lorenzo berkshire x you #lorenzo berkshire imagine #louis partridge #louis partridge x reader #louis partridge imagine #theodore nott #draco malfoy #mattheo riddle #blaise zabini #pansy parkinson #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader

[vampiresbloodx]

pairings: Wanda maximoff x Reader

warnings(18+ ONLY): legal age gap, Wanda's in her forties and reader is in their twenties, I try not to use specific gender for reader as I want everyone to enjoy but for smut I will use proper tag, oral s*x (r!receiving), top!Wanda, jealous Wanda, weird creepy guy(ew).

part 1, part 2, part 3.

Older!Librarian!Wanda getting jealous when anyone flirts with you, has their hands on you a bit too long for her liking.

She knows she's possessive, maybe even a little bit obsessive. Everyone should know you're hers and only hers. Even if she has to put a collar on it with her name.

Wanda wasn't always the jealous type, as she claims. Ever since you officially called her your girlfriend, she's been more protective, something changed in her that she couldn't quite understand.

She's still getting used to all this, it's way different than how she's used to it being, back in her day. Now she's got you by her side, you were just so damn pretty, she couldn't believe she's lucky enough to have you.

When she takes you out for your weekly dates, of course, shed not too surprised when someone comes up and tries to ask you for your number or compliments you, she doesn't blame them. She too would be in their shoes if she saw you.

A guy comes up to you, immediately, her grip tightens around your hand, pulling you in closer to her body, she can't help it. She needs you close. He's a waitress at the restaurant she's taken you too, he's being a bit too friendly, you didn't seem to notice, you're sweet, but Wanda has noticed you can be naive.

Naive to the point where you think the waitress was just being nice.

No.

Wanda wasn't stupid.

She glared daggers at him the entire time he was taking forever to take both of your orders, purposely ignoring her presence just to talk to you, when his hand touched yours, she saw you flinch away, laughing awkwardly, Wanda raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to continue, if he knew what's best for him.

He got the message as soon as she placed her hand on top of yours, and brought it to her lips, kissing your knuckles, enjoying how flustered you got.

She had already lost her appetite. The only thing she wanted was you.

She abruptly got up, ignoring the waitress as she was too annoyed to acknowledge anyone else but you. She grabbed your hand, forcing you to follow her as she pulled you into the bathrooms, locking the door behind you.

"Wanda? What's wrong? Are you-"

She cut you off by pressing your body against the wall, staring at you as her eyes go dark, you seem to get the message, not backing away as the aching in between your legs grew, more desperate for her.

She smirked, lips meeting yours to shut out the noises, though as much as she'd love for everyone to hear you scream her name as she makes you come, this is for her only.

Wanda got on her knees, staring at you the entire time she did so, making sure you were looking only at her, her heart hammering in her chest. She wasn't sure what overcame, why this feeling was so intense. She knew she was going to have to bring it up later.

But for now, she wanted to taste you, it would be better than anything this restaurant could ever provide anyways.

She has your mouth stuffed with your panties, wanting to know just how soaking wet you are for her and she's just started. Wanda expertly licks up your cunt, inserting a finger inside your tight hole, god, no matter how many times she fucks it she still can't get over how it clenches around her.

She feels you squirming, she loves it. Wanda doesn't look away and neither do you. It's a lot. She can feel it.

You come into her mouth, wetness pooling in, some of it dripping onto her chin, your cheeks burned at the sight as she pulls your panties out of your mouth, leaving you breathless.

"fucking hell" you muttered, slumping against the wall.

She grinned, pleased, licking her lips.

Then you say the words she was looking to hear.

"can we skip dinner please? I want you."

#librarian!wanda #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #stuff i wrote

[wlntrsldler]

ode to a conversation stuck in your throat | luke castellan

based on this post in luke's pov.

warnings: loser!luke a little bit, percabeth crumbs and teasing from them, swear words, luke being jealous

i. i used to call you my best friend, way back before you were my everything.

"beth, you need to drop it," luke groaned, toying with the armor on his body. the young girl had been stuck on this conversation for hours now. ever since luke showed up to the athena cabin to talk strategy (there was no strategy talk, it was a ploy to get luke alone so she could knock some sense into him), annabeth had been going on and on about you and luke and your relationship.

"i'm just saying, you need to make a move."

"you have been saying that," luke checked the watch around his wrist. he tapped on the glass, "for about an hour and seventeen minutes."

"i'm sorry, but we're tired of watching you guys give googly eyes to each other and not do a thing about it," she replied, trying to keep up with luke as he walked towards the woods. luke was using his height and long legs to his advantage, hoping that she'd finally give up. (he should've known better; annabeth never actually gave up on anything.) "even percy asked me what was going on between you guys and he just got here like ten minutes ago."

"we do not give each other the googly eyes," annabeth shot him a pointed look. luke paused, pursing his lips, "fine, i give her googly eyes but she doesn't reciprocate."

"i knew you were dumb, but i didn't think you were a fucking idiot."

"hey, language," he tutted, crossing his arms over his chest. he can see the crowds of campers gearing up for capture the flag. "who taught you that word?"

she rolled her eyes, "sorry, but 'freaking' didn't have the same oomph."

"we're done with this conversation, 'kay?" luke walked away, shaking his head. under his breath, he mumbled, "fucking kids, man."

from behind him, he heard annabeth call out to him, "and you wonder where i learned the word!"

luke chuckled, twirling his sword expertly as he approached the group. he spotted you a few feet back talking to percy. the kid looked scared out of his mind, but after you reassured him that he probably wouldn't sustain any life-altering injuries, his demeanor relaxed.

luke walked over to you, immediately placing an arm around your waist. you knew that it was luke before you even got a look at him. you nudged yourself closer to him as you ended your conversation with percy.

"you'll be alright kid," you said, offering him a genuine smile. "i know clar has been giving you a hard time, but she's just like that. she'll warm up to you."

luke could tell that percy didn't really believe you based on the look on his face, but he also saw percy's eyes flicker to the lack of space between you and luke and knew that it was his time to go.

percy rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat, "alright, thanks, y/n. i appreciate it."

"no problem, percy. i'm sure beth wouldn't let anything happen to you anyway."

as percy walked away to find annabeth, you twisted your body to face luke. you beamed at him in a way that luke could only describe as cute. whenever you talked to him, the crinkles by your eyes appeared and your cheeks pushed up on your face, a slight tint of pink dusted over them.

"hi, luke," you greeted, "ready to win?"

"yes, ma'am," he mirrored your smile. he adjusted the strap on your armor, lightly grazing his fingers over your exposed collarbone. "you gonna show off the skills i taught you?"

"of course," you paused, "i might even be better than you now. maybe i can teach you some things."

he softly pinched your hip, making you squeal. he laughed at your reaction. "don't get cocky, dove."

"i'm just saying," you slowly peeled yourself away from him, but held his hands in yours as you moved backward. "one day the student becomes the teacher, castellan."

"that day is not today, but i'm loving this confidence."

you sent him a wink before joining your siblings. luke felt his knees buckle at the simple gesture. his heart was hammering in his chest and he was half-sure that the people around him could hear his heart thumping against the armor, like a drumbeat. he was glad that his helmet was hiding his face because annabeth and percy were now looking at him, both of their hands in a "thumbs up" gesture in the air.

ii. and it may not mean much but your plates are in his sink and your sweater's on his bed.

your team won (of course you did), but the victory came second to the claiming of percy. percy didn't make it to dinner, no doubt stuck talking to chiron and mr. d about what it all meant, but he was back in time for the celebratory bonfire.

percy found annabeth and luke grabbing some cookies on the snack table when he finally gave up trying to understand the prophecy for the night. luke threw an arm over his shoulder, "forbidden child, how you holding up?"

"i don't really want to talk about it. i honestly don't even know how i feel right now."

"that's fair," annabeth said, outstretching her hand to reveal a handful of oreo cookies. "want some?"

"thanks," percy took a cookie, his eyes scanning the bonfire for any other familiar (and kind) faces. his eyes landed on you. "i do want to talk about that, though."

luke and annabeth's eyes followed percy's to find you talking to an ares kid. you were sitting far from the fire (luke knew you hated how the smell of smoke lingered on your clothes.) luke's eyes narrowed, head tilting in question because he'd never really paid attention to the kid before. james? jackson? j-something? he was racking his brain trying to remember the kid's name.

"they look cozy," annabeth stated through a mouthful of oreos. "he's cute."

"no he's not," luke argued, looking at his sister in disbelief. "he's like okay looking, i guess, but he's nothing like special. i don't know. do you think he's cute percy?"

"dude, you have issues."

whether luke chose to ignore percy's comment or genuinely didn't hear him, didn't matter, because luke was already riled up. he shouldn't go over there, right? you were just talking to the kid. gods, he really should know his name. "plus, he's an ares kid. he's like the enemy. y/n wouldn't do that."

the two kids shared a look, trying to hold in their laughter. luke was too preoccupied with looking at you to notice them anyway. his eyes were on you like a hawk. he watched as you moved over on the log you were sitting on to make room for him. luke's eyes widened when you locked eyes with him. you smiled at him, offering a little wave, before returning to your conversation.

"did she really just do that?"

"let someone sit next to her...?" annabeth asked, dusting her hands on her pants to rid of the crumbs. "yeah, it is allowed."

luke chewed on his bottom lip, "i don't like the look of this."

percy rolled his eyes, voiced laced with sarcasm. "really? what a surprise."

iii. my baby, spare me all the rest. please just tell me that nobody else touches you like i do.

luke was going crazy. he could count on one hand the amount of interactions he's had with you over the last two weeks. at first, he tried to tell himself that you were just busy. you had a lot of things to do, but then he started noticing that you didn't seem busy when jake asked to hang out. (luke scoffed when he found out the boy's name. of course, his name was jake. typical.)

it felt like luke was getting stabbed in the heart every time he saw you walking around with jake, his arm thrown over your shoulder while you laughed at his (probably unfunny) jokes. you called off your training sessions with him to go practice your archery with jake (he wasn't even that good) his usual seat next to you during meals were suddenly occupied by the ares boy. he even saw him walk you back to your cabin one night and he wrapped his arms around you in a hug like he wasn't going to see you the next day.

luke had grown grumpy and everyone noticed it, but nobody was willing to ask him why you and him stopped being attached to the hip all of a sudden. nobody was brave enough to.

the final nail to the coffin was when he wandered into the dining hall, making his way over to chris (because that's where he sat now) and he saw you in an unfamiliar hoodie. plastered over your chest was the insignia for the ares cabin.

enough was enough.

luke stood outside your cabin while everyone else was giving their offerings to the gods. he was trying to figure out what to say to you but his brain was going a million miles an hour. all the words blurred together into a gigantic mess. he was never good with words or explaining himself when it came to you. he never really had to tell you anything before, you always just knew.

sighing, luke mustered up the courage to knock on your door with his head hanging low. when you opened the door, luke could've died in embarrassment because he just started talking, like all of the lines he prepared just spilled out of his mouth.

"please dump him," luke pushed past you to pace around the floor of your cabin. "i don't know how serious your relationship is with him but i am begging you to dump him. you belong with me. i miss you and i haven't seen you really in weeks and it's killing me, dove. i don't know what to do because you keep canceling our plans to hang out with him and i feel like i'm losing you. and-and you're wearing his clothes now? if you were cold or something, you know you could always wear mine! i literally have a drawer under my bed of things that are reserved for you. i sprayed my cologne on them and everything because i know you like it, but you went to him? i just-"

luke stopped pacing and finally looked at you. you were hiding your giggles behind your fist. luke furrowed his eyebrows in confusion before his eyes trailed down your body. oh.

you were wearing his shirt. you walked over to him, reaching up to grab his face, "are you done?"

he was calmer now, "please dump him."

"i can't do that, luke."

"why not?"

you laughed at his whiny voice, "i can't dump him because i'm not dating him."

luke blinked, "you're not?"

"no," your rubbed his face with the pad of your thumb, "we're just friends. he's actually been helping me get over my crush on you."

luke's head was spinning. he definitely read the situation so wrong. "your what?"

"oh, castellan, please," you were blushing now. "it started out with jake wanting to ask me out but i told him about my crush on you and how i felt like nothing would ever happen between me and you. he suggested that maybe i should distance myself from you, at least until my crush went away, but the longer i was away from you, the clearer it became. i'm not getting over you any time soon."

"please don't ever get over me."

"you're a dork," you teased, but you smiled at him again. that special smile you reserved for him. "i can't believe you never noticed i liked you."

"i can't believe you didn't notice i liked you."

"will you shut up and kiss me, please?"

you didn't need to tell him twice. "yes, ma'am."

#luke castellan #luke castellan one shot #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan x yn #luke catellan x y/n #pjo #pjo fanfic #pjo series #frances writes #frances song fics

[vivwritesfics]

Gremlin

I get paid to be his best friend.

Lance couldn't begin to describe just how much her saying that hurt him. She made it sound as though she was paid to keep him company, when in actual fact they had been best friends for years and years and years and years.

She was his assistant, but assistant was a loose title. The more Lance thought about it, the more he realised that maybe she was just paid to be his best friend. They spent any free moment goofing off together, probably annoying everybody around them.

"Lancenot Stroll," she said as she strode towards him in her green Aston Martin shirt. She had a notebook tucked under her arms, but Lance knew they were full of odd little drawings, most of them inappropriate.

Lancenot Stroll. She'd been calling him that since they were kids. Lance did a bit where he pretended to hate it, but he really loved it.

"Gremlin," he said as she hopped up onto the little table. "What do you want?"

His racing suit was around his hips and his white fireproofs covered his body. He looked good, undeniably so.

Y/N leaned back against the wall as she looked at her best friend. "Can't I just want to enjoy your company?"

"No."

Yes, she could.

Lance leaned his elbows on the table and looked up at her. She couldn't stop herself from running her hands through his hair and messing it up.

Lance gave her a joking glare and, goddamn, if he didn't look cute. Y/N booped his nose and leaned back.

As Lance prepared himself for the race, Y/N scrolled through her tiktok with the sound off. She watched through the F1 tiktoks that appeared on her for you page, most of them about Lance (if it wasn't for her, he'd never know about any of the drama).

"Did you know there's a thing on tiktok where people say how many shots it would take for them to get with drivers?" She asked as she gently kicked her legs.

Lance looked up, something of a grin playing on her lips. "How many to get with me?" He asked as he walked closer and placed his hands on her thighs.

She pretended not to notice, but his touch was warm, addicting. Y/N swiped through the slides on the tiktok until she found Lance. "Two," she answered and read out what they had to say about him. "So fucking cute, like seriously, and, I'm so freaking jealous of Y/N I'd do anything to be in her position."

His dark eyes stared unto her own. "How many shots would it take you?"

"Easy, zero," she answered just a little bit too quickly. Lance's eyes lit up. "Because it's not happening."

Lance pouted at her. In response, Y/N squeezed his cheeks together. She loved it when he pouted, couldn't get another of it.

His facial hair burned against her fingertips as she pulled away. "You're cute, Lancenot," she said and hopped off of the table to 'do her job'.

"You are, too, Gremlin," he said as she walked out of the room.

***

"I get paid to be his best friend," Y/N said with a grin to the audiences of the Aston Martin tiktok page.

Lance watched her. He couldn't help but grin as she spun and snapped her fingers towards the camera. "Gremlin!" He shouted and she walked away from the camera, leaving the editor of the video to do their job.

Lance opened his arm and she tucked herself beneath it. "Good luck, Lancenot," she said and reached up to kiss his cheek.

He tightened his arms around her, gently rocking her from side to side. It was a pre race ritual; Lance called it his good luck charm.

"Come with me to the track?" He asked, kissing the top of her head.

Y/N thought about it. Well, she made it look like she thought about it. "This may come as a surprise to you, but I actually have work to do."

"What? No you don't."

"Lancey Lance," she said as she pulled away. "I need to plan all of the fun things for us to do while we're in the United States," she said and walked away from him. "Good luuuuuck!" She called as she walked away, heading for the privacy of his unused drivers room.

Before the race started, before the driver's got into their cars, Y/N's phone buzzed

Estie Bestie x

You guys are so cute together

But you should definitely get a room

#lance stroll #lance stroll imagine #lance stroll x reader #lance stroll fluff #lance stroll smut #lance stroll x reader smut #lance stroll x you #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula one #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #ls18 #ls18 imagine #ls18 x reader

[sleepyangelkami]

You having a secret crush on ellie and you keep it to yourself but she finds your diary one day and she can't help herself so she reads it when you go to the bathroom

DEAR DIARY e.williams

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 3.4K

ELLIE WILLIAMS X FEM!READER

 ☆ SUMMARY - you and ellie have been best friends for as long as you can both remember. she was the artist, you were the writer. you both respected one anothers hidden sketchbook and diary. until one day you're taking much too long in the shower and it's just... sitting there! ellie can't help herself and she finds out a little secret.

 ☆ WARNINGS - snooping? tinsey bit of angst if you can even call it that, touch starved reader, sort of loser!ellie a little, lil crying, petnames, use of y/n like once, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

for as long as you could remember, ellie had been your number one. she was your best friend in the entire world, you told her everything and she told you the same in return. okay maybe not... everything. there was one thing you'd been having an awful hard time keeping to yourself. though, you were sure it was much better in than out.

you and ellie were like an orange and black cat, you were fire and ice, the sun and moon, a writer and an artist.

ellie drew a lot. you'd seen multiple of her drawings before. you remembered the first time she'd doodled a frog onto your arm during a boring lecture from tommy and maria. she gave you a confused look to your state of shock. but you were merely surprised. sure, you knew she could draw. but you didn't know she was that good.

you were the writer. ellie was well aware of this. whether you had your laptop propped up on your knees, writing away or a pen in hand scrawling letters around the little pages. ellie always thought your handwritting was nice. it was much better than her fat chunky lettering that everyone always seemed to have trouble reading. she'd always watch the way your pen would dance across the page, so easily and smoothly. she was almost jealous.

you'd both grown to understand the boundaries of her drawings and your writing.

two things were off limits. one, was her big black bulky sketchbook that she often brought around to your house or sat under her arm. two, as your pink journal. she'd seen it once, questioning you what book was falling out from your locker drawer. you were honest with her. you told her it was your diary, the book you cherished the most, the book she could never read.

at first, ellie was a little taken aback.

sure, she knew everyone had their own secrets but it was you. you told ellie everything, or so she thought.

"oh, thank god." she spoke, pushing her jacket off as she walked into your house, right through the front door. the snow from outside decorated the crown of her head and the tip of her nose. "i was looking everywhere for that." discarding her wet boots at the door. "thought i lost it."

"nope." you chimed from your place at your kitchen counter. your stools had been the very ones joel had built for you. well, not for you. he really built them for anyone but when no takers raised their hand, you sort of felt like you had to. ellie laughed at you, stating nobody would want to sit at your kitchen counter ever again. "right here."

ellie soon made her way across the kitchen, taking the sketchbook from your hands softly. "you didn't... look at anything, did you?"

you shook your head from side to side. "'course not, els." that beloved nickname that had her cheeks turning pink. "'s the same way i wouldn't want you reading my diary. i wouldn't look at your sketchbook like that." god only knew what ellie williams was drawing on the cream coloured paper.

she breathed a sigh of relief, believing you. "okay, thank you." though she still had a gnawing feeling at the bottom of her stomach. what if you did? i mean, you wouldn't do that much less lie to her afterwards. but what if. once the thought entered her head, she had a hard time getting it to leave again.

"wanna watch a movie?" you questioned, placing your chin on your hands that had been propped up by the elbows onto your kitchen counter.

ellie sat herself on one of the white stools, not the wooden ones joel had made. "whatcha have in mind, sweetheart?" it wasn't often that ellie came over for less than a day. i mean, you two were practically attached together by the hip. if ellie was at your house, and even just for something as small as to collect the sketchbook, she was more often than not staying over.

you hummed, your lips pressed together. try as you must but you never were able to play off the stammering and flustered appearance as she called you those pretty names. but that was sort of the whole point, she liked the way your cheeks heated up. "something christmassy." you spoke. "like the muppets or something."

the girl merely raised a scarred brow at you. "it's november."

you huffed out a sigh, rolling your eyes. "'s never to early for christmas, els."

that was enough for ellie, she supposed. after this short interaction in the kitchen, you both ended up sat atop your living room couch, you fishing around with the remote. thankfully, she'd agreed on the muppets christmas carol, and you were not about to give up the oppertunity to watch your favourite movie with your favourite person.

a hand came down to your side, gently rubbing up and down gently. suddenly, the buttons on the controller seemed hazy and you blinked not once, not twice but three times, a breath falling from your lips. her fingers were so long and pretty, gently soothing the bare skin from underneath your shirt, barely hitting against your stomach. it wasn't much but for a touch starved girl alike you, it was enough to have your stomach in knots, your mind blurring into one big watercolour.

ellie seemed to have taken notice to the way your entire demeanour changed, her brows barely moving. "something wrong, baby?" you couldn't tell if she were being serious or not. perhaps it was because everything seemed hazy but truly, you couldn't distinguish whether or not she was trying to fool around with you or if her words had really been spoken with such innocence.

did she know what she was doing to you?

you cleared your throat, bee stung lips rolling. "lets jus' watch the movie, els." pressing what you assumed was the start button and watching as the screen lit up. avoiding the question completely.

you'd missed the way her lips curved up into a smirk.

of course, ellie williams was well aware of the effect she had on you.

you see, you'd been hiding this 'crush' on your best friend for quite a long time now. but it was times like this that you swore she knew, she had to. of course, she had to be aware of the way you stumbled upon your words around her or the way your face seemed on fire when she used those pretty nicknames on you. that was the thing, she called you the names, nobody else, not even those fuckbuddies of hers.

it begged the question, where did you stand to her?

you'd been best friends for so long now, you were sure she merely called you these things and seemed so impossibly close because she was comfortable with you. otherwise, there'd somehow be a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why she treated you so differently. though, the bigger part of you, the one consumed by romance novels and love letters, the one that consumed romantic films as if it were food, that part of you wanted to believe it was because you were different. well, not you necessarily. you didn't want to be different to all the girls she fucked, well, you didn't really care. you just wanted ellie's feelings for you to be different.

you didn't want ellie to look at you like you were one of those girls that'd spend the night then leave by morning without so much as a breakfast or goodbye.

you wanted her to look at you like you were worth a million stars. the way you looked at her.

you'd been enamoured by her since the day you'd met her and it appeared as though it were obvious to just about everyone other than her. your best friends dina and jesse had instantly picked up on it when you were kids. it was a wonder to both you and them how ellie still hadn't found out.

but even when dina and jesse brought it up, whether there was a teasing tone etched to their words or perhaps they were asking a serious question, you did exactly what ellie told you to do in every other situation. deny, deny, deny. probably the only time you ever took on ellie's advice.

the one person or thing, i should say, that actually knows about this little 'crush' on the auburn haired girl was the little pink notebook tucked away in the side drawer of your room, right next to your desk.

seeing as it was merely ink to a page, you didn't have to hide. you didn't have to become flustered the way you did when talking to ellie and you didn't have to lie the way you did to dina and jesse. you could simply breathe again.

it was the thing you admired most about this little book, the freedom.

you could say anything you wanted about anyone you wanted and nobody would ever know. it'd never leave the little pink book. besides, the only person that knew about your diary was ellie and you trusted her enough not to look through it. the same way you'd never pick up ellie's sketchbook and look through it.

not only because she asked but because you too know what it's like to have something of yours worth so much value. not in money, of course, but in a sense that it truly was yours and nobody elses.

"yes i could." you bit back to the auburn haired girl that sat atop your bed. the movie had ended hours ago, you'd even thrown on another one. this time, ellie got to choose and as always, she chose a horror. you hated horror movies and yet every single time, without fail, ellie was throwing one on.

"no you couldn't." she rolled her eyes. the current debate was whether or not you would be able to survive the scream movies. you were sure that you would, without a doubt but ellie wasn't so sure. "you can barely sit through a horror movie let alone be in one."

"they're just not interesting." you all but pouted, your stomach leaning against the bed as you looked up at her, tight lipped smile on your lips. "they always have the same plot and they're so... gory." it wasn't that you were scared of them necessarily. don't get me wrong, sometimes you're halfway behind ellie, screaming in her shoulder at what you're watching but even then, you still wouldn't choose to watch horror movies even without all the jump scares.

"yeah, yeah." she rolled her eyes again, she seemingly always did that when you were around. "just say you're a pussy."

you narrowed your eyes at her. "am not."

"annabell." the one word sent shivers down your spine.

"that's different." you defended. you hated the movie more than anything else in the entire world, probably even more than you hated ellie's silly jokes (you loved them really).

she cocked a brow. "how so?"

"because!" you exclaimed, flopping onto your back. "that's a scary doll that'll break into my house while i'm sleeping and―i don't know find some really creepy way to kill me. but ghostface?" you huffed out a giggle. "I could take him on."

this time, ellie tilted her head, a smirk on her lips. "really?" as if she didn't believe you at all.

you frowned at that, did she not think you were strong? you liked to believe you were strong, strong enough to take on ghostface? perhaps not. "i could take you on." you scoffed, looking at her arms.

although you wish you hadn't. the way they flexed under her shirt was enough to have your stomach rolling. her arms were the very thing that had you squirming, they were so defined and toned, along with her stomach, showing you what true muscle she had. your head felt nauseous merely looking at her.

she was getting closer to you, watching as you observed her, eyes never leaving her body. "that so?" teasing voice.

but you didn't respond with words, a mere "mhm." falling from your lips though it sort of sounded like a mix between a hum and a whine, you were failing so horribly at keeping your little secret inside.

"show me then."

you'd done this with ellie before, giggles falling from the bedroom door as you attempted to pin ellie down but right now felt so different. the air was off and the tension was rising.

at first, you tried to play it off. you playfully grabbed at her wrist, trying to push her onto the bed. usually, she'd let you win. she loved to see that victorious smirk on your face after she let you beat her. in the back of your head you'd know, though. you could never beat ellie.

but this time, she didn't let you win.

this time, she flipped your wrists and then you completely. your eyes widened when you realised how strong she was. you always knew she was strong, don't get me wrong but never had you been pinned down by her with such force behind her hands. you felt your face heat up and your stomach swirl as the girl landed above you, her head looking down at you with a smirk playing on her lips.

this time, she won.

"whatever." with a little shove, you manged to push her off. she let you, grinning as she sat back on the bed, pride swelling in her chest as she watched you flusteredly try to hide your face. "i have to go shower."

"good." she joked, watching you get up from the bed. "you fucking stink." she watched you grin and stick your tongue out at her, she did the very same in response, watching you enter your bathroom with clothes that had been sitting on your chair now in your hands.

and then, she was alone.

you'd done this the other day, about a week ago and everything changed. it was the day that ellie did the very thing she swore she'd never do and yet she did it anyway.

she just couldn't help herself.

when you were in the bathroom, showering, she'd reached over to the nightstand to look at the photograph you had on it, you and her, icecream on her nose and smeared on your cheek. a week ago, she'd grinned at it, thinking it was the most heartwarming thing she'd seen in months. then, her eyes had glanced to the little pink book that lay beneath it.

a month ago, she'd swear she'd never go near the thing, ever.

a week ago, she opened it and her eyes scanned the page.

she hadn't had any bad intentions, not really. she was just curious as to what you wrote about, what you were keeping so hidden from your dear, beloved best friend. and when she started, she couldn't stop. she soon realised that the lovely words scrawled across the page weren't about how the sunlight peeked through the clouds or how the rain fell into the puddles collected on the ground. the words were about her.

soon enough, she'd made herself believe that if the words were about her, surely, she should be allowed to read it, it was only right.

she waited until the batrhoom door closed before she reached over to the side of the bed. she knew it was wrong, so wrong, it was an invasion of privacy and she knew you'd probably burst into tears if you'd seen it. but you know what they say, curiosity kills the cat.

she placed the book on the bed, attempting to pick up where she left off.

i just can't help but like her!! what does any of this meannnn??? you don't touch someone like that as a friend, you don't call your 'friends' names like that, it's not normal!! i'm reading into this. i always fucking do this, i read into it and then bam! that's it! i'm gonna loose her to this stupid crush. it's not a crush, i think i'm in love with her. no, i can't be. it's a silly crush and it'll be gone in a day. EVEN THOUGH IT'S BEEN YEARS!! i hate myself and the only option is to throw myself off of a fucking cli―

"els, i think i left my―" she'd never shut something so fast in her entire life. ellie's wide eyes shot up, looking at you standing in the front of the bathroom doorway. "w-what are you doing?" you'd barely registered what'd happened, your eyes already burning.

"shit." there really was no way of defending herself. you'd caught her red handed with the book sitting on the bed. "darling, i didn't―"

"you read it." you deadpanned, feeling the tears begin to well up in your eyes. "you read it, you promised me you wouldn't read it!"

but ellie was already standing from the bed, discarding the book completely. "i know, angel, i know, i'm sorry i jus―"

she was attempting to race to the other side of the room, get to you and presumably comfort you. she couldn't stand the tears in your eyes. "do you know?" that you've been helplessly in love with her the past four years and running? her silence gave a response but not one that you were particularly happy with. "do you know?"

her voice was a meak whisper. "yeah, baby, i know."

humiliation, embarrassment, shame,

all you could feel.

you'd been helplessly and hopelessly in love with ellie for as long as time yet never have you truly worried about it getting back to her. dina knew but she'd never squeal, neither would jesse if he knew what was good for him.

that little pink book didn't just know briefly of this 'fleeting crush' it knew everything, every minor detail. ellie consumed the pages, every pen stroke had her name on it. you were sure that the book knew more about this crush than you could ever grasp.

"hey, hey, don't cry." she was up in your face, hands attempting to hold your face, soothing you gently. "hey, i'm sorry, i'm sorry." she kept repeating everything but nothing could stop the way your lip wobbled and your eyes filled to the brim, the dam breaking as a fat tear rolled down your cheek. "okay, just―"

ellie was panicking. she knew how you could get, once you started crying it was damn near impossible to get you to stop. the way your lip trembled served as a constant reminder that she had been the one to put you in this situation, she had made you cry.

before you could even thin, there was a big black book being shoved in your hands. you didn't think to look down, mind to foggy and far away but ellie was already opening it up for you. "angel, look, see?" finally, you pulled your eyes away from the little pink book on your bed, eyes trailing down to the sketchbook. ellie briefly flickered through the pages, your brows pinched together. were they... drawings of you? "i do it too, see?" had anyone ever put their heart on the line merely to get you to stop crying? no. then again, nobody else had ever been quite like ellie williams.

you sniffled, glancing at one of the pictures. it looked so real, as if you were looking at yourself right now, eyes shut and lips sort of smashed against the pillow. "am i sleeping?" you sniffled, mouth sort of dry.

ellie found herself a dark crimson. "well―yeah." she only now realised what she'd done. she just wanted you to stop crying, she didn't think of what she was doing to herself, outing herself like that. then again, it was only right as she'd outed you before.

you swallowed thickly, wiping the tears away with your sleeve. "'s really stalkerish, els." you mumbled and she couldn't help but grin at you.

"i'm really sorry." her voice low enough to have you glancing up at her, straining your ears. "i shouldn't have read it."

you nodded your head. "you shouldn't have." but you couldn't help but feel a little weight lift off your chest. she knew now, at least you'd no longer have to hide it.

once again it left you wondering where you stood.

ellie could see the way your eyes went sort of foggy, blocking her out. she wondered what you were thinking now. "y/n?"

finally, you pulled your eyes away from the ground, looking at her perfect green eyes.

"i love you too."

main masterlist/ellie's masterlist

#queer #ellie williams angst #ellie #williams #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams smut #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams oneshot #lesbian #the last of us #tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie williams the last of us #the last of us hbo #the last of us x reader #ellie williams drabble #ellie drabble #ellie tlou #ellie williams tlou #tlou x reader #tlou x y/n #ellie williams x y/n #tlou fluff #tlou angst #tlou imagine #tlou oneshot #gay #lgbtq

[piastree]

Take a Chance with Me | OP81

oscar piastri x reader (fc: huh yunjin)

— Part 1

Next Part

Summary : Y/n's mistakenly takes someone's drink at a party. Despite the initial embarrassment, they engage in light chit-chat and discover a sense of familiarity. Oscar introduces himself, and they exchange greetings, marking the beginning of a new chapter in their story.

Notes: hiii! this is my first writing, if there are any grammatical errors or some other mistakes i wanna apologize in advance. I hope you like it and have fun while reading this<3 lemme know if you like it thankyouuuu

Y/n chuckled when she remembered how embrassed it was when she took the wrong glass and sipped it like nothing was wrong. But she could feel the confused look from someone beside her. "I'm thinking you might have grabbed mine by mistake." She glanced to her side, wondering if the words she had just heard were indeed meant for her.

"Huh?" She finally turned to fully face that man. He chuckled at her puzzled expression, but eventually, with a raised eyebrow, he pointed to the glass she was holding. "Oh my goodness! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to take your drink." Her eyes widened in shock, and her heart raced as embarrassment flooded over her. He held back his laughter. "No worries. I can take another one," as he said, he cracked a grin like a friendly cat. His eyes squinted playfully, giving off a vibe that was both laid-back and amused. "Let me grab you another one." "No need for that, I-" Ignoring him, she sauntered away to fetch a new drink, intending to replace the one she had mistakenly taken from him earlier. It didn't take long for y/n to return. Once she returned, they engaged in light chit-chat, chatting about who invited them to the party. It wasn't until later that she realized the guy she'd been talking to looked kind of familiar. "So, which friend brought you here tonight?" she asked. "Oh, just through some mates, racing circles and all. What about you?" "Just here with a friend. By the way, you seem oddly familiar. Have we met before?" "I get that a lot. Maybe you've seen me on the street or something."

She just laughed, shrugged it off, and took another sip of her drink. At the same time, he shot her a cheeky smile, sneaking a few glances while she checked out the scene around her. After a bit, he decided to break the ice, "I'm Oscar, by the way."

"I'm y/n. Nice to meet you, Oscar."

With a cheerful smile, they exchanged a warm handshake. It marked the beginning of a new chapter in their story.

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, landonorris, mclaren and 365,288 others

oscarpiastri Wowee… that was a cool weekend 🧡

view all 3,637 comments

user just calm down bro, it's your first season💀

user our starboy!! so proud🧡🧡

user what an incredible talent boyyy!

yourusername such a fake rookie

oscarpiastri i like to keep things low-key🤭

yourusername can't wait for another surprise then

user lmaooo

user your pace and overtakes are 1000/10 🔥👏🏻

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, yourbff and 1,288 others

yourusername camera crumbs

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yourbff MYY GIRLLLL<3

user cutiesssss

oscarpiastri those flowers have nothing compared to u

yourusername lol you're making the flowers jealous, i'll let the garden know it needs an upgrade😂

user what oscar is doing here????

user did i miss something??

user OSCAR?!!?????? FLIRTING TO A GIRL???

yourusername chill guys he likes to joke around😂😂

user new wag alert!!

yourusername added a story

bring it home, boy!

yourbff uhhh i can smell something fishy yourusername care to elaborate, sherlock?

user wow??? what is this now??

landonorris where is the cheer for me??? i thought we were friends yourusername lol we are! yourusername goodluck lando! i'd love to see both of you on the podium<3

yourusername

tagged: oscarpiastri, landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, yourbff and 14,555 others

yourusername P2 and P3, boys!! Enjoy your moments. What a day to remember 🧡

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user CUTEE OUTFIT Y/N!!

user and now lando also here? who's she

user wow oscar put earmuffs on her??

user at this point i won't believe if they're just friends

landonorris oh now i'm your friend?? cool thanks

oscarpiastri stop overacting💀

yourusername should i post a whole photo dedication for you?😉

landonorris i'm not looking for trouble

user what is that mean landooo?? bcoz someone must be jealous?😂

user look at how oscar defending her lol

oscarpiastri you owe me a drawing of a four-leaf clover on my helmet

yourusername stay tuned for some top-notch artistry<3

user oscar indirectly said that y/n was his lucky charm!!

"Can't you stay for one more night?" Oscar asked. He walks over to y/n who is arranging her luggage a little hurriedly.

Y/n smiled before saying, "work can't wait. But I promise I'll come another day."

"Okay, i'll counting the days until you return."

She laughs, then stands up and pulls Oscar into her arms. "You're doing a good job. Keep going!"

"I'll miss you." He hugs her tighter, as if he's not willing to let her go.

"Me too."

They fall into a moment of silence, soaking in each other's warmth before having to go back to being apart for a period of time they don't know how long.

She never expect the party that night to lead her into a complicated situation, where she has to love someone who is out of her reach. Remembering how stupid she was that night for not recognizing Oscar right away when his face looked so familiar, and how Oscar didn't say anything until she finally realized.

"Oh! I have something for you."

She opens her bag and takes something out. A bracelet with a four-leaf clover. "I don't have the skill to draw, and I wouldn't risk making your helmet look ugly."

Oscar takes the bracelet and immediately puts it on. "I can't agree more. But it's more than enough," he replies mischievously while laughing. He is so happy to see the bracelet now neatly wrapped around his wrist. "Thank you."

"Your lucky charm when I'm not around."

yourusername

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, yourbff and 16,581 others

yourusername life lately😴

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user syntax error babe my brain stopped working when i saw u 

user i just can’t get enough of this hair omg

user me too! so gorgeous😭

yourbff red y/n is too legendary

comment liked by oscarpiastri

yourusername is this genuinely a compliment or a subtle jab?

yourbff lmaoo babe😭

oscarpiastri wish u were here

yourusername me too</3

user oh you are not with oscar rn :(

user man is so clingy what should i DO

user was it a chat with oscar?? bcoz YES SHE IS ON FIREEE

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, lewishamilton, charles_leclerc and 221,681 others

oscarpiastri A second reason to smile 😁🏆

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mclaren what a weekend!

user this man’s gonna be world champion one day🙌

comment liked by yourusername

user i refuse to believe you’re a rookie man

yourusername me too

user y/n camping on oscar's comment section

yourusername my driver of the day!❤️

oscarpiastri ❤️

user what's with the red heart???

user is it the soft launch? OMGGG

yourusername also congrats to lando!! proud of both of you🔥👏

landonorris thankyou, y/n! btw come to the race, someone is missing you

user man is so wHIPPED

yourusername p.s hope oscar recovered well after lying on the floor

comment liked by oscarpiastri

yourusername added a story

someone is smiling ear to ear @/oscarpiastri

yourbff lmaooo he looks so happy yourbff he's completely in love with you yourusername grateful is an understatement<3

landonorris his eyes speak love lol yourusername shut upp lando landonorris glad both of you finally opened up about your feelings yourusername thankyou 2 u❤️

user his emotions are written all over his face

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, logansargent, landonorris and 540,188 others

oscarpiastri thanks for mistakenly grabbing my drink. Grateful for every twist of fate that brought you into my life🍻❤️

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user spill the tea we want to know more about the storyy!!

user my oscar and yn cutie<3

user hope for your happiness, oscar and y/n!❤️

landonorris how long did it take you, mate?

yourusername felt like forever

oscarpiastri you have no idea

yourusername but it was worth the wait

user awww y/n🥺

oscarpiastri ❤️

yourusername thankyou for never telling me you are oscar piastri the mclaren driver of formula 1😒

user NOOOO SHE MUST BE SO CLUELESS

logansargent he is the worst

oscarpiastri u know i didn't mean to keep it a secret, babe

user THEY ARE SO CUTEEEE

yourusername

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yourusername love you always, Oz! May the four-leaf clovers always on us🍀❤️

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oscarpiastri love you too, always🍀❤️

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thankyou for reading! don't hesitate to give me a feedback❤️

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri au #f1 fic #f1 fluff #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri fluff #f1 smau #f1 imagine #f1 x reader

[neoplatinum]

Hello, author. I just think it's so interesting how you write Sana, especially in that rich mafia family one, can you make more headcanons about her? Maybe she being obsessed with reader, kinda yandere.

right so, i've never written headcanons for my characters i guess but here we go. also, here's the link to the series: til' death do us part: the series

heiress!sana headcanons

sfw:

sana's OBSESSED with reader, everything they do. she needs to know about how their day went at the end of it. likes to sit at her vanity and just listen to reader ramble on about work.

sana's also very stubborn about certain things, she can't stand hearing about reader's assistant even though she would never force them to fire shoko.

sana's the happiest when reader's attention is on her, when reader only has her occupying their mind (no work, no family, just sana) she's a little selfish like that.

she enjoys quality time with reader, whether that's little moments while getting ready for the day, eating breakfast together. it just makes her happy that reader's around.

sana's a bit possessive too, with her littering reader's dress shirts in lipsticks marks, she thinks everyone should know that reader is taken, if it were up to her, she'd have reader tattoo her name on their body.

she needs to have things of hers around reader, a special chair in reader's office just for her to sit in, photos of their family on reader's desk facing every client. just a way to show that she exists in every part of reader's life.

one time reader nearly lost their ring and she lost her shit, swearing up and down she was getting a replacement right away, no way reader's walking around without it.

sana has unwavering loyalty towards reader, so whenever it is questioned she will rain hellfire on reader until reader knows that she is THE minatozaki sana

sana's a heiress so she can and will buy anything that she thinks reader should have to make their life better: cars, clothes, jewelry, new outfits.

she likes making sure everyone knows reader is hers, and only hers. she won't hesitate to shove her ring in people's face if they get too flirty.

sometimes that includes being overly affectionate with reader just to mess with momo and mina. both girls rolling their eyes at the sight.

nsfw:

she loves making reader lose control, the more riled up the hotter the sex in her opinion.

this can include flirtatious touches, whispers in reader's ear, dropping panties into reader's pockets, leaving little polaroids for reader.

ever since reader started training with momo and mina she's been obsessed with reader's muscles, she likes seeing them being used to please her.

most times its bottom sana, but if she's really jealous she likes to be in control, to leave imprints and her marks all reader's body.

i think top sana likes bondage and degradation, ways to show her control over reader.

when her and reader first started sleeping together, she made sure to desecrate every room in the house.

sana does not understand the normal workday, so most days she sends photos of her outfits, typically when she knows that reader is busy at work.

especially photos of her in lingerie sets and one of reader's shirts, she knows that last part gets reader the most.

sana loves blindfolds, the idea that she won't know where reader will touch her next excites her, she especially likes to taunt reader when she's blindfolded.

sana's one to tease all the time just to push reader's button, but doesn't enjoyed being teased back, almost peeved off almost.

sana's obsessed with quickies, no matter where they are. bathrooms, in the car, in reader's office. it doesn't matter where as long as she knows reader's as into it as she is.

sana expects to be held and cuddled after sex, always, even if it's in a bathroom. she feels the most satisfied when reader showers her in affection afterwards. little kisses and hugs go a long way for sana.

#sana #twice #twice sana #sana twice #sana minatozaki #minatozaki sana #sana x reader #sana x you #kpop imagines #twice x reader #twice x you #kpop headcanons #sana headcanons #neoplatinum

[ashwhowrites]

STOP YOUR REQUESTS R OPEN AGAIN YAYAYYY!!!

ima put you one idea cuz i love it idk why ,

steddie x reader

she’s accused of cheating and they both believe it , shes obviously really mad and they hear jason talking abt how it was a bet and they have to apologize and fix it , fluffy at the end 💗💗💗💗💗

Angst to fluff :)

I wrote half of this whole thing and didn't include that it was a bet....my bad

Part 2

Never proofread

~~~

Steve Harrington wasn't the best at relationships, he tended to give his partner his whole heart and soul. And he struggled with being on his own. He was too dependent on feeling loved and wanted. He knew he was hard to love, and he accepted that. All he had to do was find someone willing to put in their time, maybe if they understood him, they'd know why he was hard to love.

Eddie Munson also wasn't the best at relationships. He didn't know how to communicate, once he felt unwanted, he'd shut down and disappear. He was independent, he was fine on his own. He doesn't need to count on someone to love him, that gets him nowhere.

Y/N wasn't bad at relationships. She didn't find Steve hard to love, loving Steve was one of the easiest things in the world. She loved that Steve gave her his all, that she's seen every part of his heart and soul. She wanted to be there for Steve every single hour, she knew his past and wanted him to feel he was worthy.

And she understood Eddie didn't know how to handle being loved. Steve was an affectionate partner, and Eddie only wanted to be touched in private. Eddie struggled to communicate when he was upset. He shuts down and hides away.

Y/N balanced out their relationship. Steve and Eddie were a bit too different, they needed her. She kept the relationship together. She demanded communication when Steve and Eddie got frustrated with each other. Steve craved touch, and Eddie doesn't. She'd provide Steve's need for touch and that allowed Eddie to have his personal space.

The three were perfect for each other. She loved both her boyfriends, she didn't love one more than the other. She treated them both how they wanted to be loved. And they love her. Steve was always holding her hand, and Eddie held her at night. She felt loved by both of them. She never felt left out and didn't feel as if she competed with either of them.

Many people didn't understand their relationship. How can three people be together? People expect their relationship to be filled with jealousy and insecurity.....people like Jason Carver.

Jason Carver had a thing for Y/N for years, she was smart and fit in with the popular crowd. With King Steve Harrington on her arm, she stood out. Once Steve graduated, Jason hoped the two would drift apart. But Jason watched as she drifted closer to the Eddie Munson kid. Now the Hawkins freak was on her arm, and she stood out again.

Jason didn't like the fact she bounced off of Steve and landed on Eddie, how did she pick Eddie when Jason was right there? He's way more like Steve than Eddie was. And once Jason learned she was dating both of them......he had a small idea that maybe she was always wanting more. One guy wasn't enough, why would two be enough?

~~

Steve loved both his partners, Y/N gave warmth and comfort, and Eddie gave support and protection. Steve went from never feeling good enough, and not knowing what it's like to fall in love. Now, he fell in love with two incredible people, and they both loved him back.

At least, that's what he thought.

Eddie adored both his partners, Y/N and Steve, both, kept him grounded, and kept him motivated. Eddie wasn't a lovey-dovey boyfriend, but he knew his partners meant the world to him. He's learning what it feels like to be someone's first choice, learning how it feels to be loved unconditionally.

At least, that's what he thought.

~~

Steve didn't attend high school anymore, he worked with Robin as his two partners worked through their senior year. Steve hated being away from both of them and was slightly jealous they got additional hours together. His mind always thought of what rings Eddie wore today, and how Y/N styled her hair. And sometimes, he thought of things that weren't too innocent. Like if Eddie and Y/N sneak off into the janitor's closet, panting into each other, Eddie's thick cock pounding into her tight cunt. Steve left work every night with his jeans tight and his cock throbbing. Arriving at his small apartment, both his partners were already home and waiting for him.

Y/N was with her boyfriends every second of every day, barely ever alone. That's why, she wasn't worried when rumors started to fly around that she was making out with Jason after a basketball game. She knew her boyfriends wouldn't believe something so stupid.

At least, that's what she thought.

~~

Eddie heard the rumor first. Immediately felt his stomach turn and his body go ice cold. He couldn't feel any blood traveling in his veins, and he barely thought he had a pulse. He didn't mean to hear it, just passing to his next class. Ears listening to the second his girlfriend's name was announced down the hall. Her name came out of a random cheerleader's mouth.

"did you hear about Jason and Y/N? Chrissy found them going at it under the bleachers after his last game."

Eddie shut down immediately. His hands are already grabbing the bricks to build his wall back up. His sneakers will be worn out for how far away he was going to run from this. She cheated, and not just on him, on Steve too. At that point, Eddie didn't care about his heart shattering, his anger was building. How did Y/N have the nerve to betray Steve like that? Steve has been open about not feeling good enough, and she proved him right.

Eddie pitied himself, but the need to help Steve was more important.

~~

Steve was filled with anxiety the second Eddie's van pulled into the parking lot. It was the middle of the day, he was supposed to be at school. And he arrived alone.

"Baby? What's going on?" Steve rushed out the front door, racing to Eddie's van.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I'm so sorry." Eddie mumbled he wasn't the one who needed to apologize but he felt awful. He couldn't look into Steve's warm brown eyes and break his heart.

She fucked up, she should be the one to watch Steve fall apart.

~~

Steve was confused. Eddie showed up to his work, freaking out, begging Steve to get in his van. Driving them to Steve's apartment. Every time Steve brought Y/N's name up, Eddie flinched and his eyes glazed over. Steve grew worried, he's assuming the two got into a fight at school. But Steve knew they'd be okay. The love their relationship had, would overcome everything.

"Can we talk about it now?" Steve questioned, a hand landing on Eddie's knee. Steve was aware of Eddie's communication issues and was always prepared to be patient.

"she's going to tell you." Eddie sneered out, arms crossed over his chest. His heart raced from Steve's touch. He didn't want to allow himself to be upset, one of them had to be strong. Steve's heart needed protection, needed protection from her. And Eddie would never let anyone break Steve's heart.

Speak of the devil, and she will appear. Her worried face met Eddie's hard stare and Steve's anxious smile.

"where the hell did you go?" Y/N rushed out, throwing her backpack on the floor and racing to stand in front of Eddie.

"tell him" Eddie choked out, his jaw tight as he held back his anger. He could barely look at her. Just another person to leave him behind. Someone else didn't love him. And that familiar feeling of being unwanted was settling in.

"tell him what? What's going on?" She questioned, her eyes switching to Steve's. But Steve looked just as confused, maybe even more.

"no idea. This is all him." Steve answered her curious look. His hand still resting on Eddie's knee. His free hand reached for her but Eddie's harsh tone made Steve freeze.

"don't touch her"

Steve and Y/N were taken aback by his tone. They've seen Eddie pissed, but never at one of them.

"Eddie? What the hell is going on?" Y/N asked

"Jason Carver" Eddie answered, standing up and looking down at her. Eyes glaring into hers.

"what about him?" Steve asked from behind, Eddie talked a lot about Jason Carver. A bully that tried to make Eddie's life hell.

"did he say something?" Y/N herself grew angry. Y/N hated the way Jason treated Eddie and she never backed down from protecting Eddie.

"he couldn't say much, apparently his tongue was a little too busy going down your throat!" Eddie spat out, his forehead wrinkled as he clenched his eyebrows together.

Steve felt the dread fill up his body, from his toes to his head. His heart was pounding, his palms were sweaty, and he felt like he was choking.

"um, what?" Steve choked out, trying his best to swallow his spit, his throat felt like it hadn't received water in weeks. Dry and cracked.

"excuse me?" Y/N whimpered out, her head confused but her heart dropped seeing the betrayed look on Steve's face, her sweet boy hiding behind Eddie's broad frame.

"the whole school is talking about it. Jason and Y/N getting caught groping each other under the bleachers." Eddie explained. Trying to ignore the pain in his chest as he heard his own words. Standing tall so his boyfriend could shrink behind him. His heavy hand, filled with rings, reached behind to hold Steve's. Steve held Eddie's hand as hard as he could.

"Who said that?" Y/N gasped out

"that's all you have to say? Try a fucking apology" Eddie snapped

"I didn't! I would never! I'm not going to apologize, I didn't cheat on you!" Y/N panicked, never did she believe her boyfriends would believe she was unfaithful.

"yeah, that's what they all say. How could you do this to us? Ruined this whole relationship for what? A quick hookup with a fucking prick?" Steve could feel the anger rolling off of Eddie's body, his back tense and jaw clenching.

"Eds, let's calm down" Steve tried

"NO! SHE'S NOT DOING THIS TO YOU! SHE CHEATED AND IT'S OVER" Eddie screamed, head turning to look at Steve.

"Eddie, please believe me. Nothing happened. It's a rumor." She tried to explain. Her hands reach forward to grab Eddie's free hand. The way he flinched broke her heart.

"leave, now. It's over. Between us, and between you and Steve. We both know he doesn't deserve this. You are no different than Nancy. " Eddie spoke as softly as he could. Not wanting to upset Steve even more.

Steve and Y/N flinched at the low blow. Eddie knew that wasn't true, she was nowhere near as selfish as Nancy. But he wanted her to hurt, he wanted the upper hand.

"Steve, please. I wouldn't do what Nancy did, to either of you. Please let's just talk" Y/N whimpered, her eyes pleading to him. She understood Eddie was too far gone. His anger has already won, Steve was her only shot to clear the air.

"you are not talking to him." Eddie stepped in, blocking Steve from her eyes.

"I can talk to our fucking boyfriend Eddie. He can speak for himself" she argued. She was innocent, and if Eddie didn't want to hear her out, that was not her problem.

"he's my boyfriend. He doesn't want anything to do with you, the same way I don't want anything to do with you." Eddie kept throwing blow after blow.

"Steve is a grown man, if he wants me to leave, I wanna hear him say it" she argued back.

Eddie rolled his eyes, stepping aside to let Steve crawl out from Eddie's shadow. The anxious boy gripped Eddie's hand, and looked at his girlfriend....ex-girlfriend?

But all he saw was Nancy. A girl that made him feel worthless, left him alone, betrayed him, and didn't love him. All Steve had was Eddie.

Steve picked Eddie.

"please leave" Steve choked out, a drop of his shoulders. Eddie stood smug with a knowing look in his eyes. Steve picked him.

"Steve" Y/N sighed sadly, giving him another look. Her eyes are filled with tears. Steve was turning on her too?

"you asked and he said to leave" Eddie barked out

Y/N accepted the defeat. They wanted her gone, they turned on her before she even had the chance to explain and that's not on her.

"Okay, I'll go. Thanks for hearing me out before you decided I was just like Nancy" Y/N smiled bitterly, most of her attitude aimed toward Eddie

But Steve picked Eddie and that hurt.

Her back was to them as she opened the door, yanking her backpack off the floor.

"and Y/N?" Steve's quiet voice traveled through the apartment

She held her breath as she turned around, seeing his red eyes and teeth eating away at his lips.

"leave the key?" He added

She nodded sadly, digging in her pocket and slamming the key on the table.

Eddie and Steve watched her leave.

Eddie refused to cry until Steve went to bed that night. He fucking loved her and he hated how she made him feel.

~~

It was strange to wake up and go to school alone. Y/N was used to Steve covering her face with kisses and Eddie's knee in her back. But she slept alone and woke up alone.

She knew school was going to drag on, and she wasn't ready to face Eddie. She wondered if he would even show up. It was Friday, chances are he'd skip and have the weekend. Maybe come back on Monday.

Her heart was heavy as she thought about her boys waking up together, cuddling and kissing. Maybe Eddie was so fast to throw her out because he just wanted Steve. Maybe it was a plan, make up a rumor and the two could be together without her.

Turns out she isn't what balanced them out. She was just an added piece.

~~

Steve was in misery. He felt torn. His two partners were pissed at each other and he was a kicked puppy in the middle. A part of him didn't believe she would cheat, but a part of him was insecure. Nancy messed him up and he couldn't deny that.

But he also knew Eddie was quick to get angry and then focus only on that anger. He gets clouded and doesn't think clearly. Steve spent the night with Eddie, he could hear him crying but didn't want to acknowledge it. Knowing Eddie would hate to be seen crying.

Steve planned to talk to Y/N and hear her out. The girl he loves wouldn't cheat, their girl wouldn't cheat.

~~

Eddie woke up and already decided to see her was not an option. And seeing Jason was not in the cards either. Cuddling into Steve's warm chest sounded a whole lot better.

"I think we should call her" Steve's tired voice filled the silence. Eddie groaned at the mention of her.

"no Steve. It's over" Eddie grumbled, shoving his face in Steve's neck.

"Eddie stop that, she's our fucking girlfriend" Steve snapped, sitting up as he looked down at Eddie's tired face.

"she cheated Steve" Eddie stated in a bored tone.

"you went based on a rumor! No actual proof. If you are so fine with throwing our relationship away without giving her a fair chance to explain, then maybe you don't love her the way I do" Steve explained, yanking the covers off as he stood up. Walking to his closet to find clothes

"you didn't seem to doubt me last night" Eddie threw in his face

"oh fuck you, Eddie. I was caught between the two of you. I didn't know what to do" Steve explained

"And yet, you asked her to walk out. She would have stayed if you asked. You can't just blame me" Eddie shrugged

Steve knew he was right. He let her walk out, no, he told her to walk out. He didn't let her explain, the same way Eddie didn't let her. He was just as guilty as Eddie. Eddie felt that one partner turned on him. Steve can't help but wonder how she felt having both her partners turn on her without a single thought.

~~

Eddie couldn't believe Steve, but Eddie knew they both had a soft spot for her. Even sleeping through the night was hard without her, how was Eddie supposed to make it through the day?

Even though he didn't want to admit it, Eddie grew used to leaning on someone. He hated that. He never wanted to get used to someone, or feel dependent on someone, but here he was. His heart was only beating for two people, and now he has to learn to make it beat for one.

Eddie was scared of what he'd feel once the anger faded, once his eyes focused on the real picture. People don't leave Eddie, he makes it impossible for them to stay. And he chased her out of his life, and selfishly he chased her out of Steve's as well.

~~

Just as she thought, Eddie was nowhere to be found. Neither boy tried to call her, and she wasn't surprised by that. She knew the truth and if they didn't want to believe her, fuck the both of them. They can suck each other's dicks and have a total blast without her. She's more than just an added piece.

She went on with her school day, head held high, and shrugged off any looks that lingered on her. She didn't even know it was a rumor and she doesn't know how many people have heard it. Or how many people may have believed it?

She wasn't going to let a rumour get the best of her......

Until Jason Carver opened his mouth.

~~

Steve's walkie-talkie was blaring over and over. The sound mixes with Eddie's walkie-talkie. Dustin's panicked voice rang through Eddie's and Mike's excited tone rang through Steve's.

"MUNSON, WHERE ARE YOU? YOUR GIRLFRIEND HAS JASON ON THE FLOOR"

"FIGHT! YOUR GIRL IS IN A FIGHT!".

~~

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @slightlyvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @manyfandomsfanvergent @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @manyfandomsfanvergent

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson request #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson angst x reader #eddie munson fluff x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrignton #steve harrington x reader #steve stranger things #steve harrington #steddie x fem!reader #steddie x reader #steddie x female reader #steddie angst #steve harrington angst x reader #steve harrington fluff x reader #steve harrington angst