#<- in case something should go here that I'm forgetting.

[ratcandy]

A Very Rough Analysis of Bug Beauty Standards in Hallownest

thank you @arty-cakes u've enabled me to have thought processes and now we're in a hell of our own making

Bear with me. Ok. This started because of discussion over Zote's horns. I'm gonna be combining both in-game dialogue and some irl bug things to come up with some vague understanding for how, potentially, bug beauty may be perceived in Hallownest. Because there is quite a FEW possibilities here, and I wanna dissect what I can.

And of course in my humble opinion there are no real, true Standards. Bugs are only full of love and there is no real concept of "ugliness." Because I said so. ...And, I mean, this would actually have some ground, because Hallownest is a conglomerate of a LOT of different bug species!! Truly, for there to be any one consensus wouldn't make a lot of sense, because everyone's going to have different standards Per Species.

(I implore everyone here to look up stalk-eyed flies (<LINK GOES TO PICTURE OF A BUG). To some bugs out there, that is, in fact, the pinnacle of sexy. So the idea of true beauty could REALLY, REALLY VARY.)

But hey. I'm having fun. So take my hand. Let's analyze nothing for no reason. this is a very long post. THERE IS ALSO ONE (1) PICTURE OF IRL BUG IN HERE; ITSE BEETLES. Be aware!

So, first of all.

These are sexy. This is considered sexy by bug standards. Or at the very least by Bretta and Godseeker's standards respectively. The words used to describe GPZ are "gorgeous" and "beautiful" while, as everyone knows, Flukemarm is "alluring."

So what this tells me right off the bat is that bugs seem to value Big and Round. The larger the body mass, the more attractive that bug is. Godseeker even refers to her real-world form, which looks like this,

with this dialogue:

"...And this? Our form swells? Large? Nay. Immense. Majestic. Hibernation, so long forced upon Us, yet the shell that results is strong... So strong! Thine gaze is adoring. Ye must think Us Godly. Amusing, foolish. But thou art faced with enormity and beauty, true..."

"Linger and gaze. Linger and gaze on Our magnificent shell. Our overpowering beauty!"

So like. I've at least a little reason to believe that Big and Large = Conventionally Attractive in some manner when it comes to these bugs.

To be fair, the Godseeker isn't from Hallownest. So her opinions on this matter might not align with everyone else's. But Bretta, who we have no reason to believe isn't a Hallownest native, does envision a sexyman Zote to be just as Big and Large.

Oh, and, of course:

This big guy is literally Called a "gorgeous husk." We could assume it's the golden shine that allows this one to be Gorgeous, OR we could assume it's the roundness. I, for one, think it's the Roundness.

HOWEVER, there is some possible contradictions to his idea. For one, the Gluttonous husk,

Is referred to as having a "grotesque shape" by the Hunter. Now, the grotesque-ness may be due to overconsumption (as is mentioned in the same entry), thus causing a bloated, unnatural shape that we can't totally see due to the artstyle/lack of reference. But it is worth Mentioning.

Also, of course, Salubra seems to think Ghost is quite a Fine Specimen, despite Ghost being far from Large or as Round:

"You're even more the attractive bug, clad in all those wonderful, sparkling things. I may have nothing more to give, but you must come back and visit from time to time. Such a dashing figure frequenting my store. I bet the whole village is jealous. Mmm hmm!"

"...Dear dear, I really must hold it together, must appear calm, but this creature... is just divine..."

"It's rare enough that someone enters my store, but even rarer to meet one so striking! Those impressive horns! That fierce weapon. The air of mystery! Ooooh. It's enough to make me swoon."

It's VERY possible a lot of Salubra's thoughts on this matter are due to charms, though shdgKJSDHG. A lot of her thoughts are specifically connected to the charms, thinking Ghost looks dashing with those charms on, etc.

But interestingly, she does mention Ghost's horns as "impressive," which brings up a whole other slew of questions on what "average" would be for horns. And since this whole thing initially started as a discussion on Zote's horns, well. Now I'm just wondering!!

Because in Bretta's sexyman version of Zote, she doesn't give him symmetrical horns. Sure, in a meta way, you could argue that's just a way to make sure GPZ is recognizable as a version of Zote. BUT!!!! When I was talkin earlier, I was speculating an idea where symmetry could be conventionally attractive in some way, and asymmetry could be generally unappealing. So it's interesting that a potentially unattractive quality would be kept on the Sexyman version. I suppose if Zote told Bretta he lost his horn in some grand battle, or whatever, of COURSE she wouldn't get rid of his epic battle scar. But at the same time, if he DIDN'T say that, then she just chose to keep it..... perhaps assuming it was a scar herself, or perhaps Bretta just doesn't take symmetry into account as a Beauty Thing. I dunno! Many possibilities there.

And if Ghost's little baby horns are impressive, then... Good lird, what do we make of the Hollow Knight then, right? Or hell, even Hornet!

I'm not sure if we wanna use that as a True scale for Horn standard. Especially especially seeing as Ghost isn't even physically mature, as far as we're aware (the Hollow Knight is specifically mentioned as "fully grown Vessel" in the Hunter's Journal, so). After all, it is ALSO very possible that Salubra was just Saying things as a means to convince you to buy stuff.

So for now let's abandon Salubra's thoughts. Let's go elsewhere.

In IRL bug talk, horns are generally a means for mate selection and/or competition with rivals. Usually these two things go hand-in-hand (competition is For Mates, I mean. or other resources).

after all, how are you gonna toss a guy off a tree if you don't got horn.

So it's not out of the question to think that horns on the Hallownest bugs would have some sort of Meaning. Especially since we see a LOT of bugs with varying horn sizes/shapes. And if we want to say every face we see is actually a mask, then that's even more telling! Because then horns are specifically being added to masks for one reason or another.

So that makes me Really wonder.

like this is obnoxious. what do you need all that horn for. Those don't even look practical for battling with. Granted, the shape of the Pale King's "crown" looks VERY similar to the mouth of the Wyrm corpse, so it's possible he just Kept that shape as his crown rather than intend for it to be horns.

But STILL. How do you think the bugs of Hallownest felt about this thing? Like that's so many horns. If he's meant to look like a "common bug," how to those Common Bugs feel about all those horns. Like sir that's excessive. We don't have all those. The most any one common bug has is three, iirc. So like. Huh.

Or would More Horn = more attractive? I'm uncertain. PK might not be all that conventionally attractive anyway. Given the lack of Large and Round going on. He is, in fact, small and pointy. So who's to say.

Anyway. Drop the horn talk for now. I want to go back to Bretta.

Bretta forms crushes on Ghost and Zote. But I don't think she's attracted their actual honest-to-Wyrm appearances. She creates idealized versions of her crushes and seems to only tangentially connect them to the real person, given... well. GPZ looks like that, and Zote does NOT look like that.

In her thoughts, she considers Zote "beautiful." In the first diary entry, she calls Ghost "beautiful." But she also writes Ghost as "standing tall," while Ghost is anything but tall, and. Yes. Again. GPZ. And in her last set of thoughts about Zote, she seems to only then see him as "smaller, tattered and stained." At some point, she seems to stop seeing a real Figure, and only sees an idolized, fake version of that Figure.

So I don't think she sees either Ghost or Zote as physically attractive on their own. More the idea of what they "could" be.

Does that all make sense? God I sure hope so. I have another Bretta thing to mention, though.

In one of the Zoteling Hunter's Journal entries, aka a snippet from Bretta's zote fanfiction, we've got this:

""That lowly map-maker's wife? Hah! My Queen, how could you compare yourself to her? In the face of your intoxicating beauty, all other females are merely dust!" The Grey Prince trembled with anger and indignation... and love."

So. That tells us Bretta sees Iselda as conventionally attractive in some way. Or, at the very least, feels a need to compare herself to Iselda to the point of writing about it in her fanfiction. So let's look at Iselda.

The only thing we can say for certain about Iselda that follows with anything we've spat out so far is that Iselda, while not Large in a GPZ way, is very TALL. To the point where Elderbug has a whole thing of dialogue talking about how tall Iselda is:

"She's a tall bug, the wife. I told them to take a larger house, especially given they're all empty, but they liked the look of that one. The way she has to bend just to get through the door...I wouldn't put up with it myself."

So we do have the Large-in-a-Way thing going. And for all we know, since she used to be a warrior, she could also have SICK muscles. She could pick me up and throw me, I think. And round... I mean. Her, um. Well her abdomen, I suppose, is . Rather round. But she's otherwise not Round in the sense that Flukemarm is round, or the Gorgeous Husk is Round.

So who knows!!! Perhaps it's just the Largeness/Height that contributes to attractiveness as opposed to fat. But I choose to believe fat is a positive factor anyway. Because I can, so there.

IT'S TIME TO TALK ABOUT SMELLS.

ok, technically, I could end that there. Because I can't find TOO Much more dialogue talking about the Beauty of Bugkind. I've checked around, but... MMm. Not too much, really!

BUT. While not, perhaps, part of a bug's seen appearance... There does seem to also be a little variation on Smell opinions. Which could definitely add to conventional attractiveness, especially since irl bugs are CHOCK FULL of sexy smelly pheromones. looking at you bombykol ....

And by that I mean. Responses to the Defender's Crest.

Leg Eater thinks it's a "tasty" smell and will give you a discount for it. Tuk recognizes the smell as that of a "friend," and well also give you a discount for it (in that case, it's more likely she just recognizes it as Ogrim's smell as opposed to anything Attractive about it, lmao, but STILL). Of course, Ogrim thinks it's a "just" smell.

Elderbug and Lemm are the only ones I can think of that have blatantly negative responses (Elderbug says something about the air smelling horrid while Lemm. Um: "Urgh! What do you think you're doing, coming into my nice little shop stinking like that?! These relics have been through enough. They don't need you spreading your stench all over them! Crawl back to the Waterways or wherever you came from!").

The White Lady obviously also associates it with Ogrim, saying it brings "joyous memories."

SO you're probably thinking. Hey Clam, this is a strange side-tangent to go on. There's not too much about the Defender's Crest smell that really works with your theory. Two characters dislike it, and two others only like it because they associate it with Ogrim. So, what gives?

divine's dialogue:

"Ahhhh, that smell! So strong, so virile..."

do you know. What virile means?

i'm sorry . I do not think Team Cherry meant it this way. But GOD HELP ME if it isn't REALLY FUNNy,

OKAY. Okay. I think... I think I'm done for now. There isn't a hell of a lot more I can find within game to go off of. and when it comes to irl bugs, well. Again, it varies pretty heavily by species!! So much is possible here. Refer to stalk eyed flies again. Sometimes, to a bug, having super long eye stalks is what's hot. Other times, all it's about is if you can throw a guy off a tree.

Or you're a giant water bug and being a good dad is sexy. I'm not joking. It's called sexy dad hypothesis. And well. I'm not here to shame the dads of Hallownest, but...

So. Yes!!!! OKay. I said words. I wrote this all in one very quick sitting and now I'm wandering away. I have things to do that I am presently not doing because I'm analyzing bug beauty standards.

#clamtalk #hollow knight #analysis #I don't know what all to tag this with. #it is what it is! #VERY long ramble #<-haven't used that tag in ages #ask to tag #<- in case something should go here that I'm forgetting. #ok. wanders away into the aether

[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

[fcthots]

Can I request 27. "I'm going to carry you, okay?" with an angsty dash of 5. "You don't have anything to be sorry for." please?

You shouldn't have been out.

You should have never left your apartment, especially not in the middle of the night, especially when Jason didn't know you left, but you just wanted to go on a short walk, but one wrong turn turned your short walk into a very long one.

You could hear a few things: the beating of your heart, the sound of your feet hitting the ground as you ran, the sound of their feet running after you, shouting from behind you.

"Get your ass back here or I swear to God, we're gonna fucking kill you!"

Fuck. You just had to go on a walk to clear your head. You just had to get lost. You just had to forget your phone. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You were running so hard you could barely breathe. You were faster than them, but not by much, and you couldn't keep it up. You were terrified, shaking, slightly crying. You tried screaming, but no one came. You were lost, alone, scared, and being chased. You wished more than anything that you never left your apartment. You wished you just called Jason to calm down, but you didn’t want to bother him. Regret. Regret. Regret.

You've basically run in one big circle, trying to get anywhere near your apartment, but you were so lost. That street sign, though was familiar, but more than that you had passed it before; something else.

Oh.

Oh no.

You knew the name on that street sign because Jason was telling you about it earlier

...in reference to a trafficking case.

Your heart sank. Their footfalls match the erratic beating of your heart. You were tired. You couldn't keep this up forever and they knew the territory. It seemed you were at every disadvantage.

You turned a corner. You had this one chance to lose them. You use all of your remaining energy to run into the gap between the closed down corner store and apartment complex,

and promptly trip on the uneven concrete. Yeah, you pulled something.

And with your absolutely stellar luck, you picked the one alley that was a dead end.

"Fucking finally. Nowhere to run now. I think we should take our time with this one. She made us waste all that time chasing her, what's a little more?"

You open your mouth to beg for your life, but the words won't come out. You try to get up but you collapse again. You use your good leg to move yourself against the wall.

The three men laugh as they slowly approach you, taunting you. They smile and joke at the tears you didn’t notice were falling. You try to think of any possible escape route, but come up empty. One pulls out a gun and you try not to look at it.

"You really thought you could just run away, huh?"

"You can scream as loud as you want. No one is coming."

The third man laughs. "Don't say that. The screaming is fucking annoying."

They get closer to you and you feel the sweat trickle from your hairline.

Everyone's heads turn when there's a loud thud outside the alley.

You aren't exactly focused on it, but it makes them temporarily stop, so you're thankful for it.

"Marcus, go check it out."

"Fuck you. Why do I have to it?"

"Be louder, why don’t you? Quit being a bitch and go."

'Marcus' leaves with a string of curses. The attention is turned back to you again, with impatient smiles and twisted laughter, but not for long.

They make it about two more steps before Marcus yells and there's a crunch and thud.

The two men stop dead in their tracks. Communicating as if with eye contact, one nods, and the other begins to walk slowly along the wall of the alley with his gun raised until he turns the corner. While the first man tries to split his attention between you and his friend, his friend screams.

The last man turns towards you. He rushes forward in an attempt to grab your arm, presumably to drag you, but he never gets that chance.

There is a loud thunk to the back of the man's head before he's on the floor. You look up and see a red helmet.

You don’t think you've ever been happier to see that shiny red.

"Hey, it's ok. It's just me. I wasn't gonna let anything happen to you, I promise. You're safe now."

You try to say his name as he rushes over to you but it comes out as more of a pathetic and terrified whimper.

"Are you hurt?"

You nod your head and watch him freeze.

"Where?"

You drag your leg out from underneath you. He sighs in relief. His shoulders hunch forward, his forehead knocking against yours. He lands a helmet kiss there.

"C'mon. Let's get you home. I'm going to carry you, okay?"

Before you could even think about attempting to reply, he has you scooped up in his arms. He takes a deep breath in and out and locks eyes with you.

"You ok?"

"no fatal injuries"

He hums in acknowledgement. The walk is quiet. Too quiet. You don’t remember most of the walk. The adrenaline wearing off was making you tired, but Jason's silence concerned you. You shouldn't have gone out alone, it was dumb, but you couldn't handle a fight with Jason right now. That's probably why he was being quiet, he mad at you, but knows you don’t wanna fight. He was being so sweet, but to be honest all you wanted was comfort. You can't take him being distant right now.

Fuck it. You can't take it anymore.

"I'm sorry."

He stops on the outside of you apartment complex's elevator, moving two look at you.

You open your mouth to speak again but he cuts you off. "You don't have anything to be sorry for."

"Aren't you mad?"

"I could never be mad at you."

"But you're being all silent."

"I thought you'd want space. Do you not?"

"...no... I want comfort..."

"Alright. And I'm not mad at you. Never mad at you. That wasn't your fault, ok? I was brooding just now because I was scared at the thought of losing you. I love you. So much."

"I love you too."

#life got fucked in the past week #take this thing that I ran out of steam on half way through #i apologize #saph’s love letters #jason todd #jason todd x reader #saph’s thots #red hood #jason todd imagine #red hood x reader #jason todd x you #anon #jason todd angst #red hood imagine #red hood x you #jason todd x reader angst #red hood angst #red hood x reader angst #angst #tw: sa threat #hurt/comfort

[princeoftheeternalbog]

Would op boys catch you if you fell? Lets find out next time on dragonball- no sorry it just reminded me of that narrator ANYWAYS.

I only did boys because i didnt have much inspi for Nami and Robin so i decided to wait until i do cos I don't wanna half arse stuff.

So anyways I feel like I saw someone do this idea already but it might've been just one character like a law x reader? I'm not sure but I would love to tag them so if you know please tell me ! I will also try to make sure mine is different :p.

Luffy

Depends. Like if he's fighting or eating then probably not but if he thinks you might get hurt then he will 100% attempt to catch you. Key word being attempt. Poor boy probably makes the fall 10x worse, like if you trip on one step you're suddenly falling down the entire flight of stairs with a weight on top of you. He will apologise though so at least there's that.

Zoro

He always catches you. Or prevents the fall in the first place. He tells himself it's so you're not unnecessarily out of commission for a fight but really he's a huge softie. Though he always catches you really ungracefully, llike there’s no princess carrying here, he's holding you upside down by the ankle with one hand fr. He scolds you every time too like- "Why do you never watch where you're going" or "Tie your shoes next time idiot", which you should hear as "I can't stand watching you get hurt". Cutie:(

Sanji

Oh you know he does. He lives for romance and what's more romantic than saving your beloved from certain doom (tripping on a rock). Oh he also does it in the most dramatic way possible, he'd rather throw himself to the ground underneath you then let you hit the floor, he's doing twirls, picking you up with one arm, occasionally will throw you in the air first so he can rearrange what he's holding. Menace tbh, like he's just obsessed with teasing you in any way possible.

Usopp

Another one who tries his best…tries🙁. He's always so dramatic about it too, he literally screams your name like you're in a horror movie and everyone is always like "WHAT'S WRONG?!" and Usopps just "Oh they tripped on a step". He either injures one of you in his attempt to catch you OR you both end up in the most compromising positions just as someone walks past . He goes so red trying to explain the situation while also trying to check if youre okay😭.

Franky

Oh every time and it’s smooth as hell every single time. Says super cheesy lines every time like “OWWWW GUESS YOU FELL FOR ME BABE”, and he gets sparkly eyed every time, he loves romance as a genre and finds it superrrrrrrr(😚) cute when something happens that matches a trope he's read. If he didn't catch you he'd probably panic and constantly apologise but just give him a kiss and he'll forget about it soon enough.

Brook

Catches you every time, really gently and really romantically. Instead of just full on catching you, he'll purposefully slow your momentum to minimise injuries in case his attempt at grabbing you fails because then you'd both fall and he'd rather not. Like if you trip into him then he'll pull you both into a delicate spin type of dancing and you're like huh??? He thinks its a really cute trait to be honest but it also makes him really worried about your safety so he likes to keep one hand on you at all times.

Jinbei

Catches you as often as he can, like he won't sprint across the ship to stop you from falling but as long as you're in his reach you will never hit the ground. And he always catches you really gently like you barely feel the impact so sometimes you won't even notice you've tripped until later when you see the scuff on your shoe or something. He really likes holding your hand to make sure you ‘keep your balance’.

Law

He doesn't want to look soft so he tries to force himself not to catch you for just harmless falls...yeah no that doesn't work. As soon as he sees you losing balance you hear that ever familiar room, shambles and then you're in his arms. If it's later in your relationship then he's a menace, he will use this to tease you, like "Oh. Looks like an angel fell into my arms" with this stupid ass smug smirk. He's just really obsessed with you.

Kidd

Catches you most of the time unless it's gonna be really funny. Also he catches you super awkwardly, like he's so obsessed with you but he never knows where to put his hands because hes not used to giving affection so it's like just in the most ungraceful ways. You are literally being held up by his arm around your thigh or something and you're like what the fuck and he's just stood there 🧍🏻‍♀️.

Killer

Prevents the tripping and catches you if necessary. But if you're too clumsy then he just starts getting huffy and hauls you up into his arms so there's no risk of you falling whatsover...and then you bang your head against the ceiling- He probably feels so bad if you get hurt because of him to be honest, he tries so hard to make you happy yk. Anyways at some point he just starts adding cushion to all the potentially harmful areas on the ship so even if you do fall it doesn't hurt.

#one piece x reader #x reader #luffy x reader #zoro x reader #sanji x reader #usopp x reader #brook x reader #franky x reader #jinbe x reader #jinbei x reader #jimbei x reader #trafalgar law x reader #eustass kid x reader #killer x reader #op fics #op headcannons #monster trio x reader #supernova trio x reader

[veryberryjelly]

coping mechanisms

spencer reid x fem!reader ( platonic or romantic x )

prompt : one leaning their head onto the other's shoulder suddenly and they just freeze

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

i made a playlist specifically for this concept which you should definitely check out -> here <-

the jet was quiet aside from the peaceful rumbling of the plane's engine lulling everyone to sleep.

emily and derek were both fast asleep propped up in the chairs in the centre of the plane.

jj was sat next to the brunette skimming over case files while hotch and rossi were having a quiet discussion at the other end of the plane.

which left you and spencer sat next to eachother, with an earphone in each of your ears while some music played through them.

after cases the plane tended to get quiet and you could never stand it, so very early on in your bau career, you had made a playlist specifically for the plane ride back to virginia.

nothing too loud or happy as you weren't always in the best mood, everything soft and calming and just comforting.

after a particularly rough case a few years ago, everyone on the jet had been on edge and just quite melancholy since you left the police station.

and sat across from you, spencer looked the most out of it.

he's features looked sunken from the days without sleep poured over this case, yet his eyes were wide open. unable to fall asleep.

while he usually read on the plane, his book was discarded next to him on the couch.

you couldnt look at it anymore.

so you pushed yourself up from your place on the opposite couch and sat yourself next to him.

you offered him an earbud silently, not wanting to disturb anyone else on the plane.

when he hesitated, you explained.

" sitting here reliving it isn't going to help anything. it helps stop my mind wandering if i'm listening to something. " you said quietly, your other earbud still in your hand for him to take.

" thanks " was the soft response from him as he took it and settled it in his ear.

I can't forget that night, You said I looked like Suzi Quatro

In the morning light, faded to oblivion.

And I said, "That's alright, at least we feel alive"

At least we feel alive

There's nothing you can do

I know that I want this

No one likes to lose

Know that I got this.

the sultry tones of suki waterhouse banished almost all the thoughts of the last few days from his mind and instead he was focused on the sounds flowing through your earbud.

since then, it had become almost a tradition on the jet home.

one earbud each and a couch shared between you.

sometimes the two of you would talk while it played, other times you'd both be reading or even filling out paperwork.

but always on the plane home, you would listen to music together.

to the point where you would always just gravitate towards eachother on the jet as everyone made their way in. and everyone knew, not to block any way for the two of you to sit together.

everyone had their coping mechanisms for after cases, and they couldnt deny either of you yours.

especially considering it was such a healthy one.

this case had been a rough one though. you hadn't been able to save the unsub or his last victim and being right infront of him when he died just made it a lot more real.

his blood stained your shirt, and your skin.

it was spencer who helped you wash it off when you were a bit too dazed to move.

you sat closer than usual on the jet, the outside of your legs pressed against each others as the jet flew over a state you couldn't pinpoint.

after not sleeping for three days, you couldn't physically keep your eyes open. your eyes fell shut as the sound of the cranberries flooded your ear.

your head dropped onto the nearest surface, which happened to be spencer's shoulder to your left.

while you could feel your mind slipping off into unconsciousness, you felt the surface you had rested your head on almost flinch.

you lifted your head up, prying your eyes open as you realised what you had done.

" sorry, i haven't slept the last couple days. didn't mean to use you as a pillow " you apologised, lifting your hand to wipe under your eyes, attempting to wake yourself up a bit so it didn't happen again.

" no no, it's okay. just startled me " he replied. while his tone was still quiet, his voice was quiet.

" you're not usually so jumpy " you observed.

" didnt sleep too well either. " he admitted

" why don't you get some sleep ? it's gonna be a while until we get back to quantico "

he pondered it for a few minutes before ultimately shaking his head and muttering a quiet ' i'm good '

you knew why he didnt want to sleep. it was the same reason you didnt sleep after a particularly tough case for spencer.

to make sure he was okay. protect him.

" you can sleep, spence. i'm fine " you punctuated your point by dropping your hand down onto his thigh in a light pat.

" i will if you will "

with that promise, you settled your head down against his shoulder again, his head taking moments to rest ontop of yours.

the comforting words of delores o'riordan comforting the two of you as you drifted off into a comfortable and safe slumber.

You know I'm such a fool for you

You got me wrapped around your finger

Do you have to let it linger?

#·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 #·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐟𝐢𝐜 #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds evolution #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds gone wrong #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds incorrect #cm punk #cm incorrect quotes #cm drama #cm cast #cm fanfiction #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #derek morgan #mgg x y/n #mgg x reader #mgg fanfiction #mgg pics #mgg imagine #matthew gray gubler #mgg

[harunayuuka2060]

Luke: ...

Child MC: *looking at him with sad, pleading eyes*

Luke: What is it?

Child MC: Help me buy something for Rapha.

Luke: *frowns* What do you not understand? He might've probably abandoned you. How long has it been since you've last seen him?

Child MC: But Rapha always comes home no matter what.

Luke: *scoffs* You have been neglected and you're not realizing it.

Child MC: That's not true! Rapha always takes care of me!

Luke: Then where is he? If this Rapha truly cared for you, he wouldn't let a bunch of demons approach you.

Child MC: *confused* Demons?

Luke: ...

Luke: Forget it.

Child MC: ...

Child MC: Are you not really going to help me buy something for Rapha?

Luke: No. And will you stop asking me? I may have decided to stay here, but that's only because no adult is here to look after you.

Child MC: ...

Child MC: Does that mean you will stay here until Rapha comes back?

Luke: What? Have you just heard what I said?

Child MC: *nods* Thank you, mister! *smiles*

Luke: ...

Simeon: Raphael? It's been a while. How have you been?

Raphael: I'm doing fine. How about you, Simeon?

Simeon: Everything's been hectic. Oh, and for some reason, Luke hasn't come back yet from his visit to the human world.

Raphael: I see.

Simeon: ...

Simeon: Is there something wrong?

Raphael: Why do you ask?

Simeon: Well, you looked a bit restless.

Raphael: It must be your imagination. You should take some rest.

Simeon: *chuckles* Oh. I'll do that later. Anyway, I see that you have knitted a sweater. Are you planning to give it to someone?

Raphael: No, it's mine.

Simeon: Really? Isn't it a bit small then? You might want to check the measurement.

Raphael: Okay. I will do it when I have time. *takes his leave*

Simeon: ...

Simeon: *smiles* I'm sure whoever that child is, they will be happy to receive your present, Raphael.

Mammon: L-Luke... Wh-Why are you here?

Luke: I should be asking that.

Satan: We came to visit someone. I assume you already knew.

Luke: Of course. You're here to seek a replacement.

Belphie: *frowns* Replacement?

Luke: Why? Am I wrong? Would there be another reason why you're approaching the child?

Mammon: Hey! I know what you're trying to say here! But isn't it the same for you?!

Luke: Huh. You dare compare yourselves to me? I might need to remind you how you destroyed them!!!

Mammon, Satan, and Belphie: ...

Luke: I suggest that you stop visiting this child. For the sake of peace.

Mammon: WHAT'S WRONG WITH HIM?!! WE WERE JUST THERE TO VISIT!

Belphie: Throwing a tantrum wouldn't do anything, Mammon.

Satan: Are you saying that we need to follow Luke's suggestion?

Belphie: Of course not. But we have to lie low.

Lucifer: Lie low? Why? Did something happen?

Belphie: Ah, Lucifer. Well, the child we're visiting, Luke found them and now he's guarding them.

Lucifer: You fool... Didn't I instruct you to be careful with your movements?

Mammon: Huh?! Why is it our fault?! I'm sure he had detected you and Lord Diavolo visiting the human world before us!

Lucifer: Hmm. In that case, we need to stop the visits for now.

Lucifer: And wait until Luke has to return to Celestial Realm.

Luke: ...

Child MC: *fell asleep next to him*

Luke: *puts a blanket over their shoulders*

Child MC: Luke?

Luke: Yes. That is my name.

Child MC: Like... Bringer of light?

Luke: ...

Luke: Yes.

Luke: But I don't think it fits me.

Child MC: Why not? *smiles* I think Mister's name is perfect!

Luke: ...

MC: When I have a son of my own, I would name him Luke too.

Luke: Eh? But why?

MC: *smiles* Because I want him to be as bright as you.

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me mc #obey me luke #obey me raphael #obey me simeon #obey me mammon #obey me satan #obey me lucifer #obey me belphie

[lawqual1ty]

Heart drawings (Trafalgar Law x GN!Reader)

Pov: After finishing your duties you end up hanging out with Law during his work but end up getting bored which results in you adding a little something to your captain's skin.

Warning: too much fluff (go get some insulin), reader has (implied) ADHD symptoms

You had never been known to be a person that could sit still for long, whether it was moving your leg around or playing with something in your hand you had to always be doing something or else your brain would go insane, which got you to offer your helping hand in a lot of situations once you joined the Heart pirates.

However there would always be days, like today, that there was not much you could do even if you asked to, so you had to stick to reading or studying for the most part after you finished your daily duties.

You were in your room reading a few of the medicine books that your Captain , Trafalgar Law, had generously lent you for your free time, however well... You were struggling... And a lot.

"Wait... What was I reading...?" You grunted, this was the third time in a row you had read the words on the book only to forget seconds later what exactly you had read with great speed. You were getting irritated. You wanted to learn more about how to create different types of medicine so that you could help your crew but your brain was having a hard time concentrating, you rubbed the bridge of your nose with annoyance.

"I need a break..." You muttered as you softly closed the book, a light tap from the cover giving you the signal that you could head off.

You wandered around for a while looking for something to do, many of your crewmates were already hanging out with each other, chatting, drinking and some even helping out to clean the medical bay, you wanted to offer a helping hand in hopes of entertaining your inevitable boredom.

"hey, what are you guys doing?" You asked softly approaching Sachi and Bepo who were cleaning a few medical supplements, the latter turning to look at you.

"Oh, we were just cleaning and sharpening some of our usual tools in case we get an emergency" Bepo tilted his head slightly "Did you need anything Y/N?"

You smiled at the sweet gesture of Bepo, shaking your head slightly at his question "Nope, I was just wondering if you guys needed any help"

Bepo looked over at the different tools placed in display, seeming to think about your question a bit too much before turning to look at you with an apologetic look on his face "Not really... I'm so sorry"

He apologized as usual, his tone shifting to a more melancholic one making you chuckle nervously, you never enjoyed seeing him like this but he was just so sweet that you understood where this attitude of his came from, you shook your hands in front of you in a way of excusing yourself, almost as if the one that had to be apologizing should be you "No no it's okay, no need to apologize Bepo..." His eyes lit up with relief as you didn't seem mad at him for rejecting your help, it made you feel relieved yourself.

You sighed deeply with a soft smile "Anyway, good luck you too" Sachi smiled at you warmly as well as Bepo

"Thank you! We'll make sure that everything is right! Oh..." You were about to leave when Sachi's words seemed to try and stop you in your tracks "If you go see the captain tell him we are lacking some oxygen tanks".

Your eyes widened at his words, why did he think you were going to see the captain? Out of shock you just nodded with a soft but shy smile "Sure thing, I'll make sure to inform him once I see him" with those last words you waved at the duo and walked away.

A sigh escaped your lips as you kept walking, you didn't originally intend to see your Captain but now thanks to Sachi and Bepo you sort of had an excuse... Right? You made your way through the cold but oddly comforting halls of the Polar Tang, you had not been here for long but these halls had definitely grown on you... Maybe they weren't the best looking but the people around them made it feel like a home to you.

You finally arrived at the office door of your captain, you were a tad bit nervous to interrupt him but... You had a job to do so you might as well shake that nervousness off and knock, which you did.

"Come in..." A light husky voice invited you inside, you breathed softly.

"Please excuse me..." You muttered before placing your hand in the door handle and opened it, a light creak welcoming you inside to the sight of your captain with big eyebags under his eyes as he drowned in paperwork, he didn't even raise his eyesight to acknowledge you "Yes? What is it Y/N-ya?".

You took a deep breath before speaking.

"Sachi informed me that we are short of oxygen tanks"

"Oh right... Write it down on the paper list and we'll get some more on the next island..."

He didn't even budge, and honestly neither did you... You knew that after this interaction you wouldn't have much to do later which made you a bit sad... So you just stood there, staring at your captain for a bit. He seemed to notice it, after all an exasperated sigh escaped his lips, his grey eyes slowly rising to look at you with a piercing cold gaze "Anything else?" He spoke, cold and firmly, questioning why you were still there in the first place... That should have been the end of your interaction, informing him was the only reason you came in there after all, right? Then why didn't you respond...? Your mind started racing...

"Captain..." Before you were fully aware of your actions you took a step forward and spoke "Do you... Mind if I stay for a bit?"

You caught a glimpse of surprise in your Captain's eyes, those grey spheres seeming to warm up for a moment at your offer. But just as quickly as it appeared it went away only for his attention to shift back to his paperwork.

"I... I'm sorry..." You were quick to apologize, your voice wavering ever so slightly

"I didn't mean to--"

"Go on."

You froze "What...?"

"I said you can stay..."

His words snapped you back to reality, he was... Allowing you to stay, you had no space for words, you just nodded and moved a chair over next to his desk taking a seat politely next to him as he kept on working.

He didn't budge at all, if anything it seemed like his concentration increased thanks to your presence, the mere idea made you happy as you sat there next to him.

Unfortunately you started getting bored once more, as thrilling as it was watching your captain work through his paperwork with graze, not budging at all, it had gotten boring after a few minutes.

You started looking around finding yourself with a pen, you softly took it into your hands and started fiddling with it... Suddenly, an idea sparked in your brain. You took the cap off it and started scribbling in your hand, trying to see if the pen was smooth enough to draw on your soft skin, you smiled brightly once you confirmed your suspicions: it was a good pen and it drew a perfect black ray on your skin with ease.

Once you discovered this you started drawing on your hands, starting off with a skeletal hand to practice the location of different bones in the hand to less professional stuff like hearts and small animals. You were entertained by your own scribbles when all of a sudden you were interrupted by Law grunting and leaning backwards on his chair.

He had his left arm laid across the chair, his tattooed hand dangling in the air, while his right arm stroked his face with obvious frustration. You stared at him then back at the pen you were holding, slowly but steadily a smirk formed on your lips.

Without a warning you scooted closer to your Captain, he didn't even realize you were closer to him until he felt your hands take a hold of his left arm, he flinched but didn't move his arm at all... They say curiosity killed the cat ... And curiosity had definitely gotten to him as he looked at you take his arm with your hand and start passing the pen around his skin in delicate but firm traces.

"What are you doing?" He questioned with a furrowed expression

"Drawing" you spoke bluntly as you focused on the piece of art that you were doing in his arm "I got bored..."

Your response caught him off guard, his eyes wide as he stared at you for a bit. A small smile formed on his lips "I need to check your medical record..."

His soft tone was like a way of signaling you something...of what he really meant: he didn't mind you drawing on him... You looked over at him for a moment only to smile and return to your drawing, you didn't know much what you were doing you just followed your heart as you scribbled. Slowly but steadily the drawing took form into a star surrounded by wavy lines that formed what almost looked like a tattoo design, you even went out of your way to draw small hearts, a secret confession of your feelings to your Captain (not that he would notice... Right?) You leaned back with a satisfied smile as you looked at your work, you looked over at Law who seemed entranced into one of his books, he hadn't budged during your whole art process. Once you leaned back he hummed softly, his eyes never leaving his book at all "You done?" He asked politely, you nodded.

"Yeah I did!"

"Good... My arm was starting to fall asleep..."

You couldn't help but laugh at his snarky comment "At least you now got another cool tattoo"

He huffed with a slight smirk "Doubt it..." You acted offended at his words giving him a light push on his shoulder winning a soft laugh from him.

"You haven't even seen it!"

"I don't need to..."

"Oh come on... You have seen my drawings!"

A soft chuckle was the only response you got, it made you smile, although he acted as if he probably didn't like it you knew that he did... Or that's what you'd like to believe...

And trust me he did...

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

A few days after the drawing incident you were wandering around the Polar Tang heading to the kitchen to get something to eat as you were pretty hungry.

You waltzed around when a characteristic husky voice caught your attention in an instant, it came from the kitchen. Following the voice you peaked through the door finding your captain talking with Penguin about something you didn't quite catch, all you knew was that it was something serious judging by Law's and Penguin's expression.

You stood there for a bit waiting for the right moment to enter when all of a sudden you noticed a small detail on your Captain's left arm, your eyes widened and your cheeks flushed a light pink...

What did you see?

Well, you saw your drawing tattooed onto his arm... That was the only reasonable explanation as to why it still looked so bright and vivid, after all a few days had passed since you did it and unless Law had taken extreme care of it it should have already been at least a little bit vanished, just like the drawings you did on your own skin from that same day.

Penguin was walking away once he had finished speaking to Law, which was your signal to pounce.

You slowly made your way towards Law catching his attention once you were hovering behind him, he glanced at him over his shoulder "Y/N-ya...?"

His question was left in the air once you took his left arm rising it to your face, much to his surprise, you scanned the drawing carefully confirming your suspicions: he had indeed tattooed it onto his skin. You turned to look to a flustered Law with a bright smile.

"You actually tattooed my drawing?!" You asked in both surprise and excitement, Law covered his face with his hand, a blush creeping its way to his cheeks in an instant

"Shut up..."

You laughed.

Maybe you should draw on him more often when you get bored...

#trafalgar law #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece fanfiction #trafalgar law x y/n #trafalgar one piece #one piece fic #trafalgar law x reader #one piece fluff #one piece scenario #oneshot #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar d law x reader

[gatitties]

Beyond the sea

─Luffy x mermaid!reader

─Summary: Venturing outside the established limits made you meet what could be your soulmate, you are completely grateful for having disobeyed your father a little.

─Warnings: inspired by the movie ponyo.

SOOOO, this is a wonderful collab with @alicedash2, who had the idea, if you liked the topic you can check out her post too!! and Here is her Wattpad account in case you want content in portuguese! :p

Luffy took firm steps across the uneven terrain, a frown lingering on his face as he huffed angrily, Ace and Sabo didn't let him go up to the treehouse, so he decided to go to the beach to see the ships that came and went from Foosha Village port, he swung his arms until he finally reached a small cliff, he went down a clear path where the rocks were more worn until he reached the shore and kicked the water, still a little annoyed with his brothers.

His eyes scanned the sea, seeing how Shanks' ship was near the port, he smiled when thinking about the redhead, he waited impatiently for him to tell him more stories about his adventures, and he would also ask him again to be part of his crew.

"Huh?"

His gaze stopped at something floating near his, childish curiosity urged him to get closer, regardless of whether his clothes got wet, he cringed because of how cold the water was but he continued until the water reached up to his thighs, looking sideways, he found a stick floating next to him, he used it to poke the floating thing until it turned over, it was a fish.

"What a strange fish, it has human face… will it be edible?"

He continued poking until he saw how the fish's eyes opened, while his gaze shone, yours darkened as you noticed how he woke you up from your nap, sipping some salt water, you spit it right in Luffy's face with impeccable aim.

"Hey!"

You laughed internally as you saw his change of mood, using his stick to get away from you, you bit it preventing him from hitting you, he began to shake it up and down, making you dizzy as you were still chewing on the wood, Luffy ended up falling to the ground, the water level already on his chest, you swam in circles around him studying the human while he wiped the water off his face, he laughed as he watched you do some tricks in the water, forgetting his previous anger with his brothers, he spent the afternoon next to you on the shore.

You had ventured out of the depths of the sea, in a moment of confusion on the part of your father, you managed to escape to be able to see what was beyond the depths of the oceans, you had always been warned that you should not go up, but curiosity of a child is much stronger.

You really liked listening to what the human said about everything he did on the surface, and he seemed to be entertained by the way you swam and played with some crustaceans that were nearby, you didn't even realize that night was falling until Luffy sneezed because the cold settled on his body.

Neither of you seemed to want to separate now that you had begun to enjoy each other's company, so the boy quickly went to look for a bucket where he could carry you. You waited patiently on the shore until you saw him appear with a big smile and a green bucket, balancing it in his hands, he filled it with water and you jumped into it, a little uneasy at the reduction in space.

"I'm sure Ace and Sabo will be so jealous that I found you first, I'll rub it in their faces for not letting me go up to the treehouse! Oh, and you have to splash them when you see them, that will be fun."

You listened in silence as he ranted about his family, attentive to every anecdote and fact, you smiled when you saw his house in the distance, the wood on the walls was a little splintered, the interior didn't have the best decoration either and everyone seemed to have already started eating dinner without wait for Luffy.

"Why is everyone eating without me!? I'm going to starve because Ace will eat everything!"

"Stop complaining kiddo, we left a separate plate for you, what do you have there, boy?" Dandan leaned over to see you swimming in circles in the bucket "Did you bring fish for us to cook?"

"No way! She is not food!"

Ace raised his face from the plate on which he had crashed, Sabo sighed, passing a napkin over his brother's stained cheeks, both looked curiously at what Luffy had in his hands and approached.

"What is-?"

When both brought their faces closer to the bucket, a stream of water soaked them completely, Luffy laughed at their surprised expressions while you jumped, hitting his hand in a weird “high five” for the joke. They calmed down a bit after that as hunger won out for now, your mouth watering and delighting at the meat that ─somewhat reluctantly─ Luffy shared with you, although he probably stole some from Sabo to give to you.

You returned to the surface often after that day, your father became suspicious of your disappearances, but your mother was a little more permissive, over time, you developed powers that allowed you to transform, you could become a human or a combination of human and fish, with legs and arms but being parts of an amphibian, your relationship with Luffy became closer to the point that you did nothing if not together, you were rarely separated from the boy unless you were in the depths of the sea.

Your relationship with Ace and Sabo also grew closer, you enjoyed their company, you appreciated the things they taught you, Ace gave you some self-defense lessons while Sabo helped you understand some concepts and provided you with valuable information about the terrestrial world.

Normally you would rather watch them do their fighting tournaments, because you weren't that interested, plus they didn't like it either because you always won, even though you defended yourself by saying that using your mermaid magic wasn't cheating, you didn't care enough and you decided to observe in silence and write down each one's victories.

You competed with Ace on which of the two of you fainted more times a day, the use of your powers drained every ounce of your being, and Ace's narcolepsy was in competition, Sabo kept track of how many times you fell asleep during a day, while the blonde protects his brother's head from being hit, Luffy usually holds your body close to him when you start to rub your eyes drowsily.

Like this time, you were both on the same cliff as the first time you met, Luffy hugged you, your head rested against his shoulder while your eyes struggled not to close, the sunset was very beautiful, although at first you were just here to flee from his brothers for playing a joke on them, the moment seemed to be perfect to watch how the sky was stained with warm tones.

Luffy mumbled your name as he saw you closed your eyes, shaking a little, he said something you weren't aware of, giving a lazy yawn, you rubbed your eyes, opening them to look at him.

"Can you… can you repeat what you said?"

He chuckled as he saw your almost passed out form in his arms, nodding.

"I said I would be the king of the pirates and I asked you if you wanted to be part of my crew, I bet not all pirates have mermaids as companions! Shanks at least doesn't have one on board…"

As if Luffy's excitement had awakened your consciousness a little and gotten rid of the tiredness in your mind, you lifted your head from his shoulder like an owl, gave him your best smile, nodding effusively, you grabbed his hands with a new glow in your eyes, you had always heard the three brothers arguing about pirates, thinking that Luffy would include you in his plans delighted you.

"Of course! I will crush the sea creatures that try to break our ship, I will help you be the pirate king Luffy!"

Luffy laughed vigorously, tightening the grip he still had on your hands, both of you shaking them in some kind of weird greeting, like an agreed promise.

It was something you planned to accomplish, although you didn't expect that time would pass so quickly, with some setbacks and incidents that you preferred not to remember, you looked at the cliff with big eyes until an older version of Luffy snapped his fingers at you to snap you out of your daydream.

"Are you ready to go? Many adventures await us, I'm sure!"

You smiled softly at your companion's enthusiasm, nodding, you climbed onto the small boat with your own suitcase, rolling your eyes at the sight of Luffy's backpack only filled with food, you untied the knot that ran the ship aground in the harbor, raising the sail so that the wind will guide your first destination.

#op #one piece #luffy #x reader #reader inster #mermaid reader #luffy x reader #fem reader #luffy x mermaid reader #collaboration #one piece x reader #xreader #sfw #reader insert

[1-ker0sene-1]

i’m the era of disabled!reader, would you write something for reader who has epilepsy? 🥺 can’t find any fics in my chosen fandom with epileptic reader (or oc) and it makes me sad 🥺

{I hope you don't mind me pairing with Simon on this one ♥️ I hope you enjoy! And please if I get anything wrong lemme know! I'm more than willing to come back and edit!}

CW: improper seizure safety (not by you or Simon), epilepsy seizure description

In full honesty, Simon didn't know if he could do it in the beginning of your relationship. He didn't think he could handle your seizures.. Of course now- having been properly educated about it. He would absolutely scold himself for thinking that, you just need a little bit of help sometimes. You aren't a damn charity case and he hates when people treat you like it. You deserve to be comfortable and safe, not pitied and prodded at. Not only is he your partner and best friend, Simon has become your biggest advocate. Of support for your condition, but also your independence.

One of the first things you both sat down and talked about when getting serious, was seizure safety. Simon needed to know how to help, at least as much as he possibly could without hurting you. He also learned throughout this, that not all seizures are the same. Sometimes you're just.. Absent, with a flutter of your eyes or a quiet mumble as your gaze flickers to nowhere. You just seem lost for a couple minutes. Other times it's the seizures everyone thinks of, where you stiffen, twitch and seize, sometimes even falling to the floor. How can he help? He's a little stressed when learning that there's not much he can do but carefully maneuver you into a recovery position, put something under your head, and just be there for you.

Simon won't ever forget your scariest seizure, you two were just shopping. Simple. He left your side for forty-eight seconds. Exactly forty-eight, he remembers. He just went to grab something you forgot in a different aisle. Picking up a box of chicken stock for dinner, he hears the slam of your body hitting the floor. He remembers the feeling of his stomach twisting into knots, dropping the container and making a run back to your aisle when he hears someone call out.

It's not you calling, you're far into the seizing, a citizen found you before Simon did. Now it's not the bastards fault, this stranger didn't know how to help you, so in the panic the man was holding your shoulders down trying to still you. Simons hackles raise, words ripped from the masked mans throat instantly.

"Off her- NOW."

Simon didn't think, he just moved, his big meaty hand grabbed the man by the back of the neck and threw him away from you. He's honestly been nicer to enemy soldiers. He didn't even spare the stranger another glance, falling hard to his knees next to you.

" 'm right here baby.. Right here.."

He rips the balaclava off his head, definitely taking a tuff of hair from his scalp. Not that he would notice right now. Simon carefully lifted your head just to slip it under, the softer fabric better than the hard floor. Stroking your hair away from your face, he doesn't hold you down- but his hands are close to you, resting featherlight on your cheek.

"You're safe doll.. I'm right here.. it'll pass."

He murmurs to you, unsure if you're hearing, but either way he keeps talking you through. Now, his arms gently hook under your leg, being as gentle as he can- his hands position you to your recovery position and on your side. Fishing out his phone quickly, he's already got the timer going. Less than five minutes. Please be less than five minutes.

"I have you sweetheart.."

Simon is right by you, watching your every movement closely. He's shoved away any items, just you and him on the floor.

"Should we call an ambulance?"

A stranger asks, Simon shakes his head. Never taking his eyes off you. You just had to go through it. If it's not a long one you should recover alright.

"I have her. Just stay back and move on-"

He snaps, he's stressed, he knows they're just concerned but he doesn't want anyone fucking with you right now. Simons eyes light up as the seizing calms, under two minutes, you're coming back to him. He finally lets out the massive breath he's been holding in. His thumb caresses your cheek.

"You're alright.. there you are.. you're okay."

Simon curls himself closer to you, stroking your cheek as your eyes slowly start adjusting back. You're foggy, confused, he's holding you a little closer and whispering softly.

"it's Simon, love.. Your Simons right here. You're right here.. we're in the store baby."

Now that you were coming back from it, Simon slips himself behind you as he moves you to lay against his chest. It's a while before you're able to be moved, waiting until you're fully alert again, he's taking it slow carrying you back to the car and getting you home. The rest of the week is spent easing you through the recovery. Low lights, he knows your head is aching. Lots. Absolutely lots of sweet talking. His strong girl.. he calls you. Making sure you take your meds on time and get plenty of rest.

"I'm sorry Si.. I didn't mean to scare you.."

You mumble, in bed together. Simon is sat up against the headboard, holding you close on his lap. His hand strokes locks of your hair, shaking his head sternly.

"Don't be apologizin' for anything. Didn't do a damn thing wrong-"

His hand slips to hold your chin, making you lock eyes with him.

"Hear me? Nothin'. I got you.. I'll always have my girl."

#disabled reader #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod mw x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley headcanons #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #ghost imagine #cod ghost x you #cod ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost cod x reader

[wileys-russo]

Could you maybe write something about Leah and r being engaged and Leah can’t help but mention it to literally everyone and keeps calling r ‘Mrs Williamson' x

mrs williamson II l.williamson

hearing your alarm blare on your phone beside you made you groan, forgetting you'd set it to repeat everyday despite it being a weekend. clicking it off you blinked, your body now unfortunately wide awake much earlier than you planned to be.

you heard leah shift beside you, exhaling heavily clearly also having been awoken by your alarm but refusing to accept so. "good morning baby." you murmured, shuffling closer and placing a few soft kisses on the back of her shoulder blades.

"what time is it?" leah breathed out tiredly, face still smooshed into her pillow as she stretched with a gentle groan. "nine." you mumbled into her neck, peppering her skin with butterfly kisses. "too early!" leah moaned, hardly appreciating this was how her day off had started.

"m'sorry i forgot about the alarm my love." you apologized softly, moving to straddle the back of her thighs, your fiance whining as the duvet was pushed further down the bed.

"we could go and get a coffee? get breakfast? go see your grandma or your mum?" you suggested, now you were wide awake you were determined not to waste the rare day off you both shared.

"or we could stay in bed? cuddle? sleep?" leah rebuked, voice muffled by the pillow as you shoved her lightly. "you're already awake!" you laughed quietly, laying down on top of her and squeezing her cheeks as her head rolled to the side and one eye cracked open tiredly.

"and whose fault is that?" "mm apple? for not just knowing i never want alarms on of a weekend." "nice save babe." "seems like you should just accept it and get up baby."

"leah!" you laughed as the taller girl suddenly rolled onto her back, sending your body crashing back down onto the mattress as she was quick to straddle your hips.

"in that case-" she grinned down at you, eyes still a little puffy with sleep as you smiled at her slightly flushed cheeks. "good morning mrs williamson!" leah sang out, ducking down and kissing all over your face.

once she was done with that she grabbed your hand, kissing all over the back of your palm as she stared adoringly at the utter rock on your finger. "not quite mrs williamson yet my love." you teased, her excitement at your recent engagement nothing but infectious.

"excuse me mrs williamson, none of that negative energy here please." leah tutted, face breaking back out into a grin as you tugged on her hoodie, pulling her down into a proper kiss.

"shall we go and get started on our day then, mrs williamson?" "i wholeheartedly agree that we should do just that mrs williamson." "coffee mrs williamson?" "only if its accompanied with a full english mrs williamson." "god you know just the way to my heart mrs williamson."

~

"mrs and mrs williamson have arrived!" leah sang out as she let herself into her mums place, fingers interlocked with yours as you shook your head with a smile. "hello lovebirds." amanda chuckled, greeting the pair of you with a warm hug.

"still on a high from the engagement then?" the older woman laughed, leah disappearing to the kitchen to make you all a cup of tea, bella racing eagerly after her at her call.

"i don't know if she understands i'm not legally mrs williamson until we actually get married." you teased making amanda smile. "wedding planning going well then?" she asked with a cocked eyebrow as now you laughed.

"please! she can hardly decide what takeaway she wants on her cheat days let alone what type of flowers we want, what colour scheme for the invitations, and don't even get me started on the guest list-" you sighed with a shake of your head.

"if leah had her way we'd be married by ourselves tomorrow at the court house and she'd just be in her arsenal shorts and a baggy old hoodie." you grinned, leah returning with two brews for yourself and amanda, kissing your cheek as she placed one down in front of you.

"you make me sound so unromantic darling." "am i wrong?" "no i can actually book us in for one in the afternoon tomorrow mrs williamson, i'll wear my very finest hoodie?" "in your dreams, mrs williamson."

~

"well well well, if it isn't mrs williamson!" katie teased as you leant against the barrier, awaiting leah to come and say hi once she'd finished her post game lap and clap.

"the one and only!" you flashed your ring, the irishwoman grabbing your hand with a whistle. "you know you could just pawn this fuckin rock and run away, one last chance at freedom before you're stuck with her forever." katie grinned, letting out a yell as leah snuck up behind her and smacked the back of her head.

"mrs williamson would never, she loves me far too much mccabe." leah grinned, helping you over the barrier and hugging you tightly from behind, chin resting on your shoulder. "has my name just permanently changed to mrs williamson now?" you smiled, craning your head back to look up at your fiance.

"yes, forever and ever my love."

#leah williamson x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso #engwnt #leah williamson #woso blurbs

[roosterforme]

The Younger Kind Part 28 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley is leaving soon, and everything is changing for you. As your graduation approaches, he takes some matters into his own hands. He wants to share everything with you, and sometimes it's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. 

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, smut, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4700 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Sunday night ended up being family night, and Bradley was hoping it could become a regular occurrence. The three of you went to see a movie, and Noah sat in the middle. Or at least he started out there. About halfway through, Bradley scooped Noah up onto his lap and slid over one seat, wanting to be closer to you. 

So when the movie wrapped up and you had your fingers laced with his and your head resting on his shoulder, Bradley made it a point to say this should happen all the time. 

You kissed Noah's cheek and then his before you stood. "But you'll be deployed soon, Daddy."

He eyed you up and down as he stood with Noah's arms wrapped around his neck. "Trust me. I know how much I'll be missing out on when I'm gone. The two of you will be eating homemade food and taking nature hikes."

"And coloring," Noah supplied. 

"Can't forget about that," Bradley said, reaching for your hand. "Now let's get you home. One of you has daycare in the morning, and one of you has finals."

"I still wish you could come with me," you whispered, letting your cheek rest on his bicep on the way to the parking lot. "I'm sure I'd do much better if I got to sit on your lap and eat Skittles the whole time."

After Bradley buckled Noah into his carseat, he wrapped his hands around your hips and pulled your body to his. "No reason we can't keep having sexy Skittles time at home," he rasped. "There's something magical about you and me and the living room couch."

You whimpered as your hands came to rest on his chest. When you pressed your glossy lips together, Bradley wanted to take you right up against the Bronco again. But he knew everyone needed to call it an early night, which probably meant no sex. 

So he opened your door for you and helped you inside and then drove home. When you and he were in bed for the night, he kept his hands in innocent enough places as you studied a few more things on your phone. He quizzed you on a few topics, and when you started yawning, he insisted it was time to go to sleep.

"You'll do great, Princess," he whispered, gathering you up in front of his big body and spooning you. "I love you."

"Love you, Daddy," you sighed softly as you fell asleep. Truth be told, he was less worried about your day than he was his, because he knew you'd do great. Meanwhile Bradley was going to have to run across town during lunch to meet with Tracy. He already had a case of Red Bull in the back of the Bronco that you insisted he should take to her. And he had to follow through with everything related to Meredith, which were some loose ends he was anxious to get tied up. 

He usually slept great with your body tucked against his and his hand resting on your belly, but not tonight. Noah was old enough now that the deployments were going to get harder. And Bradley didn't know what he was going to do if you wouldn't move in with him. Or if you found a job outside of San Diego and moved away. You told him you applied to a world-renowned hospital in Arizona. What exactly was he supposed to do with that information? Demand that you stay here in California and continue to love the two of them forever?

His lips came to rest on your neck, and you whimpered in your sleep. This was the first time Bradley had ever felt this way. He supposed he'd loved Meredith. He'd been in love with another of his exes, too. But this was insane. And you were so young, Bradley could feel you holding back when he talked too much about the future. So he knew he was going to have to keep things exactly where they were for a few more months, at least until he got home. 

He must have dozed off eventually, because he woke to you kissing his forehead and whispering, "I'm heading to campus. Good luck with Tracy."

"Wait," he grunted, sitting up and reaching for you. He tugged on your hand until you were sprawled across him in bed giggling softly. Bradley cupped your neck with one hand and stroked your cheek with his thumb. "You'll do great today, Baby. You're incredible."

With a kiss to the tip of his nose, you were running out of his bedroom, and Bradley decided to just get up for the day as well. And when he went into the kitchen, he found a full breakfast spread for him and Noah on the table. Fruit, bagels, jelly and muffins. And a little note for him to read to Noah saying you had to leave too early to say good morning, but that you'd be back in time for dinner. 

"Fuck," Bradley groaned, holding the note in one hand and cradling his face in the other. He needed you here. They both did. It was startling that he could hardly remember what it was like before he met you. 

"Daddy?" Noah called from the hallway, and then Bradley got started on the morning routine. 

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

When Tracy's receptionist opened her office door for him, Bradley strolled in wearing his flight suit and carrying the case of cans of Red Bulls. Tracy looked up from her small conference table and started laughing. 

"You're a client," she informed him. "I shouldn't accept gifts from clients."

He shook his head. "Not from me. From my girlfriend."

"Ah," she said, reaching out to take it from him. "Then I accept. Have a seat."

Then Bradley was presented with a huge folder of things to read and sign. Tracy went through all of it with him and answered what seemed like a hundred questions, and after an hour, he'd worked his way to the end. "So what does that all mean exactly?"

She ran a purple highlighter over his name on the last sheet and said, "Means you are Noah's sole legal guardian. The only one who has rights to anything related to custody. As soon as you pay me and I file the paperwork, that is."

Bradley was reaching for his checkbook right away, but Tracy held up a hand. "Not yet. You asked me to look into appointing a temporary guardian for Noah? And what it would take to get a protective order?"

"Three protective orders," Bradley clarified. "All against Meredith."

Tracy sighed and leaned back in her seat. "You want to appoint your girlfriend as a temporary guardian? While you're deployed?"

"Yes."

"No problem. We can fill that paperwork out right now."

Bradley's heart soared in his chest. But only until Tracy said, "However... getting protective orders against Meredith for all three of you is going to be a little bit tricky."

"How?" Bradley demanded. "She attacked my family when they were at a playground! I can't be around to watch them all the time."

She shook her head. "I'm not talking about them. I'm talking about you. If you know you're leaving for deployment, you'll have to disclose that information to the clerk. And if you try to lie about it, then I won't be able to represent you any further."

"What does my deployment have to do with the fact that I know my girlfriend still thinks about slamming into the parking lot at Myers Park? I was picking asphalt out of her arm."

She shrugged like she knew he was right. "Exactly. But the only times you saw Meredith were when you invited her into your house and when she accidentally ran into you at the coffee shop."

"I doubt that was an accident," Bradley ground out through gritted teeth.

"Be that as it may," Tracy said, walking across the room for two water bottles, "when you combine that with the fact that you'll be out of the country, you may be denied."

Bradley sat quietly for a moment and sipped the water bottle he was given. "Well, can I file for the three of us anyway?"

"Sure. The filing fees will total around $1,300. And you can sign for Noah. She will have to sign and submit hers on her own behalf."

"Give me the papers," he said, and she stood to print them out. "And if you have the time, I'd like to ask you what exactly would be involved if I ever get married and decide I want someone to adopt Noah."

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

Bradley and Noah were already home when you got there, and you went running inside with your tote bag smacking your hip. "Bradley?" you shouted, sprinting into the kitchen and right into his arms. "I aced my anatomy exam," you whispered against his lips as you threw your arms around his neck.

He slipped his hands around your waist and held you as he kissed you. "I knew it," he said with a smile as you kissed him a little harder. Your fingers were in his hair and you were tasting his mouth with your body pressed again his hard chest and abs. And then you heard Noah scoot his chair across the floor, and he came over to investigate. 

With a soft grunt, Bradley let go of you. Then you knelt down and kissed the top of Noah's head. But when you looked back up at Bradley, his eyes were needy as he planted his hands on his hips. 

"I didn't even get to the best news yet," you told him as Noah hugged you. "I have two job interviews tomorrow. One in the morning and one in the afternoon."

Bradley pulled you to your feet, and Noah was sandwiched between you. "Where are the jobs?" he asked, his voice a little rough.

You licked your lips and smiled at him, but he looked apprehensive. "One is in a hospital and the other is private practice. I'm excited about both of them."

"Are they here?" he asked, his left hand gripping your waist a little tight. "In San Diego?"

"Yes," you replied. You turned down interviews with a few out of state jobs already. It was a no brainer at this point; you wouldn't be this happy anywhere else. "I want to stay in San Diego." 

After that, Bradley didn't leave your side for the rest of the night. He helped you make dinner, he helped you get Noah ready for bed, and then he helped you get organized for both of your interviews. And he kept kissing you as often as he could. "You're clingy tonight, Daddy," you said as he pulled you onto his lap on the couch. "Not that I mind, really."

His hands were up inside your shirt, his big palms flat on your waist. "You scared me with that Arizona bullshit the other day."

You snorted and kissed his cheek. "I applied for that one after I thought you and Helen were hooking up."

"Shhh." He shushed you and then kissed your lips. "Don't say that. You belong right here."

You licked his lips and wiggled yourself against him. "Right here? With your dick poking at me?"

He was trying not to laugh. You could tell. You always got a good laugh out of him, and this time he chuckled before he ground himself up against you. "Yes, Princess. Right here on my dick."

He let you tilt his head back against the couch so you could take control of kissing him. It was sloppy and hot, and he had your shirt and bra off in no time. He used his big hands to slow down the rolling of your hips as he dipped his lips down to tease your breasts. He wasn't rushing anything, just gently sucking and releasing you with soft moans and grunts. But you were going to lose it. Your fingers were tugging on his hair, and you thought you might cum with your jeans on. 

"You're so sensitive," he whispered, nibbling on the underside of your left breast. His tongue flicked over your nipple and you whined his name. "Gorgeous tits."

When you slipped down to the floor between his legs, intending to suck his dick here like that very first night, you only got your lips around his cock for a few seconds before he wrapped his hand around the front of your neck and stopped you. "What are you doing? I want your daddy dick."

"Fuck," Bradley growled. "You're gonna get it." He eased you back onto the floor and stripped your jeans off you and pulled his own pants down to his knees. "I said you belong on my dick. You didn't disagree." 

He kissed the valley between your breasts before rolling to your side. He looked cocky, laying next to the snag in the area rug with his arms folded behind his head. But he had every right to lay there with a smug expression, because his cock was huge, and he knew how to use it. 

"I don't disagree," you whispered, straddling him and slipping him inside where he stretched you until you were gasping and grabbing at his shirt. With the fabric balled up in both fists, you leaned down to kiss him and whisper, "You're huge, Daddy."

"Mmm," he hummed, kissing you back but making no move to touch you. "Show me what you got, Baby."

You were clenching just from his words alone, and when you started riding him, you teased your own clit with your middle finger. He had you doing all the work to get yourself off. Not that it was difficult with his cock inside you and his handsome face to look at. When you squeezed your breasts, it looked like he was going to reach for you, but instead he just let himself relax and watch. It shouldn't have surprised you that you got off twice on him like this, moaning and jerking your body along. You were sweating and shaking after the second time you came, and Bradley eventually reached up and stroked his fingers along your neck again. 

"Did you get enough?" he asked, and you nodded vigorously. "You ready for me to cum in that pussy?" 

"God, yes," you moaned, and he brought his hands to your hips and guided you in a smooth rolling motion that would have been enough for you to finish again if you weren't so wrung out. 

"I'll cum for you," he grunted. "Every fucking time." And then he was gritting his teeth, the veins in his neck and forehead so prominent against his skin. And he came with your raspy name on his lips. 

You snuggled against his chest, thoroughly exhausted but honestly having the best day. He rubbed your back gently and kissed the top of your head. "God, you're such a good girl," he whispered, and you let out the most embarrassing sound in response that just made him chuckle. 

"I'm ready for bed," you informed him a minute later as you let his soft cock slip out of you. 

When you met his eyes, he kissed you softly and said, "Can you do one thing for me first? In the kitchen?" 

So you pulled your underwear and shirt back on and shuffled into the kitchen with his hand on your hip. He nodded at the table, and you sank down, exhausted, into one of the chairs. 

"Would you mind filling this out?" he asked, handing you a pen and some paperwork. But you froze when you really looked at it.

"You want me to fill out a petition for an order of protection?" you asked, looking up at him. "Against Meredith? Did Tracy say this was a good idea?"

He kissed you so well, you decided to stop questioning everything. And when he said, "Yes, Princess. Please fill it out," he stood next to your chair as you started writing your name at the top. You filled everything out all the way to the bottom. You wrote a bit about Meredith at Myers Park which gave you chills. When you filled out your social security number, Bradley removed his hand from your back to type something up in his phone. But when you got to the end and saw that it would require over four hundred bucks to process this form, you pushed it aside. 

"You know, I don't think this is actually necessary." You set the pen down on top of it and added, "I think the most important thing is that you and Noah have some sort of protection in place like-"

Bradley silenced you with a lingering kiss that trailed off into a dozen tiny kisses before he pulled his lips away from yours. "It's necessary. I need to know that I did everything I could to keep you and Noah protected, okay? And I'll pay for it."

But you didn't want him to. You should be able to do things like that for yourself. And you would! In a few weeks you'd hopefully have a steady income. Things would be different then. You could buy new clothes, and it wouldn't be the end of the world if your car died. But right now, paying to have this form processed would be a stretch beyond what you could afford. And you were about to tell Bradley no and rip it up, but he was holding his phone screen in front of your face. 

"Pick a design," he said, placing the phone in your hand. "They have one with a princess crown I thought you might enjoy."

"What's this for?" you asked, completely puzzled while looking at the Mastercard website. "I don't need another credit card."

"I added you to my account," he said confidently. "Just pick a design so I can order your card and have it arrive before I deploy."

"What?" you gasped, handing the phone right back to him and standing up. "No, you don't have to do that. Don't add me."

"I already did, Baby. I just read your social security number off the form you filled out. Choosing a card design is the last step, and the page is going to time out in a minute. You want the one with the princess crown?"

"You shouldn't be paying for things for me," you protested. "I'll use my own credit card while you're away. I'll have a job!"

"No," he said, shaking his head and holding up his phone. "When I'm gone, you'll be one hundred percent responsible for Noah. I'm adding you as a temporary guardian for him. I'm paying for an order of protection for you. I'm paying for everything. You have thirty four seconds left to pick a card design, by the way."

You glanced at the screen and looked at the timer before meeting his eyes again. "I can use my own card, and you can pay me back later."

"Absolutely not. You're making my life easier. Just knowing that Noah is with you of all people serves a dual purpose. I know he'll be taken care of, and I know you won't be too lonely. Twelve seconds."

"But, Bradley-"

"Pick a card, or I'll leave Noah with Penny."

You glared at him and reached out to tap the purple credit card design with the gold crown on it. 

"Now was that really so hard?" he asked with a satisfied smile. 

"You're obnoxious." But you kissed his cheek, and then he followed you to the bathroom for a shower, reminding you that he put five hundred dollars cash behind the TV.

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

Your graduation was coming up on Friday night, and you'd been so busy all week, Bradley had barely seen you. You told him both of your interviews had gone well when you got home on Tuesday, but you hadn't shared much more beyond that. He got the sense that you were hoping for one or two job offers, but you didn't want to jinx anything. So he just asked you a few open ended questions as you snuggled on the couch with him. 

Then you told him he and Noah would have to eat leftovers for dinner on Wednesday, because you were going out with some people you knew from school. 

"Will Greyson be there?" he asked immediately, wrapping his hands around your waist. "Or those other fraternity idiots who deserve to feel my fists connect with their faces?"

You placed open mouthed kisses along his scarred neck in response before promising it was only a few girls going out together. "Just some ladies who will drool on themselves if I mention how sexy you are. But I appreciate your enthusiasm, Daddy."

"You want me to drop you off and pick you up? Just in case? And that way you can drink as much as you want?" He knew he sounded clingy. He felt fucking clingy. It must be the result of his upcoming deployment weighing so heavily on his mind, but he didn't really care. He wanted you with him all the damn time, and he wanted you to know it.

You responded by raking your fingers through his hair and sucking on his neck. "You're such a Daddy," you whined, dragging your lips along his skin and kissing his stubbled jaw. "You always want to take care of me, but I always want to take care of you."

And a minute later, you were sucking his dick like only you could. Soft, innocent eyes that just made him harder, and long lashes that brushed your cheeks when you gagged on him. After he came for you, he watched you swallow him down and then lay with your cheek on his bare thigh with your fingers softly brushing along his trimmed hair up to his abs. 

"You take care of me," he whispered after a few silent beats, earning him a smirk as your lips grazed his soft cock. "And not just like that. You make my house feel warm. You adore my kid." As he ran his knuckles softly along your cheek, he watched your eyes flutter closed. "I've never loved someone like this before."

"You haven't?" you asked softly as your warm breath teased his thigh. 

"No," he promised. "Nothing even close to this, Princess." 

So when Wednesday night came, and you went out, Bradley put Noah to bed after he whined about how he missed you. Then he settled on the couch alone and put a movie on. When the movie ended, and you still weren't back, he thought about texting you. Had he misunderstood about you going back to your forgotten rental for the night or something? The idea made him uncomfortable. You didn't belong there any longer. 

Bradley responded to some texts from Nat so his phone would already be in his hand if you tried to contact him. He was just deleting some old emails when he heard your car pull into the driveway, and then your key was in the door. 

"Hi," you whispered, rushing inside and gently closing the door before heading his way in your pretty dress. You were smiling as you climbed right on top of him where he was stretched out on the couch. 

"Hi," he replied before your lips met his. "Did you have fun?"

You grinned and braced your hands on the arm of the couch behind his head. "Yes, but I missed you. And I logged in to check my grades when they posted at six o'clock."

He let his hands rest on your back. "And? How did you do?"

"I had a 4.0 this semester, probably because you're the best study partner, Daddy."

He smiled up at you. "Or maybe you got perfect grades, because you're perfect. And Noah and I will be in the front row at your graduation on Friday. Can't wait to watch my perfect girlfriend in action."

"Are you really going to sit in the front row?" you asked with a kiss to his cheek.

"Yeah. I'll push my way up there. I'll knock over elderly people if I have to."

"Oh," you said with a snicker, "so you'll knock over people your own age for a better seat?"

Bradley smacked your ass while you laughed, and he hauled you to bed.

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

You wanted to tell Bradley your good news in person, but you didn't get a chance to see him before your commencement ceremony started. Where you were standing off to the side backstage, you could see the front row starting to fill up. When you saw someone's elderly grandmother hustling along with a walker, you had to bite back your laughter. Because a moment later, Bradley came rushing for one of the only remaining empty seats left up front with Noah in his arms. 

As soon as they were settled in, you pulled out your phone and texted him. 

Nice work. You didn't even have to trip that old lady to get a seat.

You watched him take his phone out of his pocket and smile as he entered his passcode. Then his shoulders shook with laughter as he eyed the woman and her walker where she sat right next to him. And then he started to look around the room, clearly trying to figure out where you were, but it was time for you to collect your diploma. 

Bradley Bradshaw: Nothing is going to keep us from watching our Princess. Noah is very excited.

You were excited, too. For so many reasons. When your name was called, and you walked across the stage to collect your diploma, you could hear Bradley's voice over the rest of the crowd in the auditorium. As you turned back toward your seat, you blew them a kiss. And you barely heard a word of the speeches, because you couldn't keep your eyes off them. 

And then it was all over, and you were no longer a student. Anxious to get to them so you could get home and talk to Bradley, you nearly tripped over the old lady's walker yourself. "Careful," Bradley said, laughing harder than you thought was necessary as he caught you. "Or you'll be the one who needs a walker."

You ignored him and kissed Noah's chubby cheek as he hugged you around your neck. He tried to say congratulations a few times, but then he just went back to hugging you instead. 

"I love you, sweet Noah. And I love you too, Daddy."

"Ready?" Bradley asked, taking Noah from your arms and leading the way out to the parking lot with his hand resting on your back. 

You followed them in your car, and when you pulled into the driveway, Bradley was scooping Noah out of his carseat. "He's out," he muttered as you opened the front door for them. 

You gasped. The house smelled like fresh flowers and something sweet. When you turned on the light, there were flowers everywhere. Noah had made a banner out of construction paper that was all taped together. And when you went into the kitchen, you found champagne, a stack of adult coloring books, and a small cake decorated with Skittles. It took Bradley a minute to get Noah in his bed, but when he strolled into the kitchen still wearing his sexy suit, you threw yourself at him. 

"Let's open the champagne," he muttered next to your ear. "And then we can eat some Skittles cake. And you can take me to bed and do whatever you want with me."

You giggled as he backed you up to the counter. "I have more good news."

It wasn't lost on you the way Bradley's lips parted in silence before his eyes dipped down to your belly. "Do you?"

You nodded and bit your lip. Maybe what you had to say wasn't actually that exciting at all, but you blurted out, "I got two job offers."

"Princess!" Bradley gasped, gathering you up into his arms. "Of course you did, Baby. Everyone wants a piece of you." He set you down on the counter and kissed you about a thousand times. He told you he was proud of you. He told you he would help you make a decision by next week. And then he fed you some Skittles cake, but you insisted on splitting it with him 50/50.

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

Daddy will be gone soon. I have a lot of asks about dirty/sweet/loving/rough goodbye sex with Daddy and Princess. So stay tuned for that. Hope you enjoy your fic, @beyondthesefourwalls And thank you @mak-32 !

PART 29

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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster fanfic #rooster x reader #rooster x you #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #rooster bradshaw fic #rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster x reader #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #roosterforme #the younger kind

[disfrutalakia]

Bagi and Richas talk about Jaiden (28/02/2024)

"B: Richinhas, we have one problem only... How many months has it been since that explosion on purgatory?

B: When you went to get your dad Cellbit, your aunt Baghera, what was the situation there in purgatory?

R: Explosion? 0_0 OOOHHH THAT ONE, YES

B: There on egg island

B: For me it was a purgatory, you know how it is

R: So, they were all fucked, mom kkkkkkkkkk

B: It's because, for many months now Empanada has been wating for one of her moms to come back from there

B: And I thought that she would at least come back with Cellbit and Baghera

R: Made me think I should have gone there sooner

R: OHH

R: Who? 0_0

B: Come here Richinhas

B: Did you maybe (points at a sign with Jaiden's name) saw this person there, when you went... you know?

B: Richinhas

R: Mom 0_0 hmmm

B: Oh Richinhas... Oh noo I made you sad too, come here son (open arms for a hug) Come here, come here (hugs)

B: Didn't want to make you sad, I... I just brought up this subject because it has been a very long time that Empanada has been waiting for her and I don't know if she survived

R: kkkkkkkk Not exactly sad, mom

B: I don't know if she survived son!

B: How will I tell this story to Empanada, she has been waiting for months

R: It's just

R: How do I explain kkkkkk

R: Hmmm also you made remembered me that I need to do something mom

R: Anyway, aunt Jaiden, you met her right mom?

B: I did met her, Richinhas, I did

B: I liked her wings, even though I thought she was too friendly with Cucurucho

B: That's why I thought it was weird for her to not come back with Cucurucho or something if she had gotten stuck there

R: I think if it was ON PURGATORY kkkkkk

R: Considering the state dad Cellbit was in, you maybe didn't get to met THE aunt Jaiden

B: No, I met her before all this, I met her before all the tragedy

B: I met her at the time she was friendly with Cucurucho and led a kind of normal life, she lived at that village, the girl village where Jaiden, Tina and Mouse lived, I think

R: And even I, only saw aunt Jaiden once

R: And I say that... let's say there were 2 aunt Jaidens

R: The aunt Jaiden that lost Bobby and the aunt Jaiden that left grief behind just a little bit

R: That aunt Jaiden, I only saw her once

R: And... I will miss her, you know mom? kkkkkkk

R: You know when the things that made you remember what was important for you, they look like they go away little by little

R: And you just forget

R: It's very scary

B: Ah, son

B: I know it's scary

B: The time passage everyday is scary

B: Getting older is scary

B: To see time pass and watch some people not coming back is scary

R: But aunt Jaiden won't come back

B: None of them right?

R: One of them I think died some time ago

R: And then, those 2 were left

R: But those 2 too... I guess they went away then

R: I won't do that, neither will Pom, or dad Cellbit, or aunt Baghera, but if you need to tell Empanada, promise me that all the dreams she had of one day being loved like Bobby by aunt Jaiden, keep them alive, alright? >:D kkkkkk

B: Oh go Richarlyson, everytime you break your mom by making me cry

R: Cause I have an impression that would be... I mean, that wouldn't be true kkkkkk but love is kind of unconditional

R: Like a friend would say, and well, pa Roier kkkkkk

B: Yeah

B: I'm aware their love is unconditional

R: Em will probably get very lost

R: No mom, not that 0_0

B: Oh okay! I was thinking of other side

R: But, pa Roier loves Pepito too right?

B: Of course, of course, I get what you meant

B: It's a thing I had to explain a lot to Empanada that just because Jaiden had an egg before, she wouldn't be capable of loving her

B: Because each person lives on a different place of our heart

R: Maybe she will never understand mom kkkkkk

B: I know

R: Everyday I see Pepito and I feel Pepito also thinks that sometimes, you know? But that's what pa Roier is there for, to smile and to assure Pepito that Pepito is important too

R: Then on Em's and aunt Jaiden's case... It looks like it was all a evil thing from the federation

R: But she is already gone 0_0 has been for a long time

B: Wow son, so young and you already deal with so many complex feelings so well

B: Better than me

R: Nahh

R: I don't talk, but I'm here to tell you mom 0_0

R: Above everything, just keep Em happy, ok? >:D kkkkkkkkk

B: Of course

R: Your love counts for 7 loves kkkkk

B: Hey and you, occupy the other half of my heart alright? You too

B: I take care of her and I take care of you too

B: I know you have a lot of dads but you have your mom too"

#qsmp #translation #qsmp bagi #qsmp richarlyson

[hannieoftheyear]

kim mingyu x fem reader

this is part 2 of my sexting au I posted last week! you can check out part 1 here

pwp, smut with fluff at the end, MDNI!

warnings: switch mingyu, fingering, cum eating, protected penetration, he has a big dick, size kink if you squint.

6k hehe

note: thank you so much for the support on the first part♡ I hope you like this and I'm sorry if there are any mistakes

Kim Mingyu: guys I told Seokminnie to come at 9😊 [15:36 pm]

Kim Mingyu: come to my place at 8 so we can arrange everything🙏

Kim Mingyu: and don’t forget to bring the stuff on the list😁

The new text from the group chat made exclusively for tonight’s surprise party lights up your screen, taking your attention away from the tv show you were watching.

You have the urge to ask why he decided the time on the same day, but you don’t. You have a feeling that things are still a little awkward, and you never talked much anyways so it would be weird.

These few days, even if you tried not to, the only thing occupying your mind was your little chat with Mingyu.

Can sexting change your view of a person? That sounds so stupid. You were never mean to him, on purpose at least, and you would always think twice before going somewhere if he was going too. But now, you find yourself a little excited at the idea of seeing him.

You have about four hours to get ready and half an hour to get to Mingyu’s place. There’s plenty of time, so you finish the episode of New Girl you were re-watching and begin to get ready.

You absolutely do not think about seeing Mingyu for the first time since your… conversation. Not during your shower, where you shave your whole body. Not while picking a cute outfit you don’t usually wear that flatters your body and shows off your boobs. And absolutely not while doing your make up, you just happen to choose a red lipstick that has been sitting collecting dust since you bought it. There’s nothing wrong with trying different things sometimes!

Looking in the mirror, you realize that maybe you went a little overboard, not enough so that your friends would think it’s on purpose, but it is definitely noticeable.

Whatever. You’ll welcome whatever attention you might get. There’s no time to change anyway, you have to leave now or you’ll be late, so you grab your purse and go out.

You were tasked to bring the cake, so you drop by the cake shop a few blocks from your home and take a taxi afterward. It was a simple two tiered pink cake that said “Happy Birthday," but looking at it, already seated on the cab, you can’t help feeling like you’re forgetting something.

Checking the list over and over again doesn’t help, it only says “cake" and your name beside it. You’re thinking about what could possibly be so obviously necessary that no one thought to write it down. And then you remember, CANDLES! Painfully, obviously and pretty needed for a birthday cake.

It’s too late to go back now because you’re already 2 minutes away.

It’s fine.

It’s completely fine.

You’re sure someone else might have thought about it and will bring some. Mingyu has to have candles around just in case the power goes out. Maybe in the box there’s a candle the cake shop puts just in case.

The taxi leaves you at 8 pm sharp at Mingyu’s building. You try to calm down during the elevator ride, and it’s not until you’re at the door, knocking, that you remember at whose house you’re at. And realize that it’s just a little bit too quiet inside.

Mingyu opens the door, knowing it’s you on the other side. You’re always the first one to arrive.

You know you should be more put together, but you’re left without words at the sight of him. His hair is pushed back, a little wet still. He was probably on the shower while you were on the way. His outfit is simple, black jeans and a white t-shirt, but it somehow looks amazing on him. You wonder how does someone make a plain white t-shirt look so good. It’s almost unfair to everyone else.

Too lost in thought, you don’t realize you have the same effect on him. He’s left breathless by the sight of you. He thinks you have never looked this beautiful.

A door opens at the end of the hallway, and the sound takes you both out of your trance. He’s the first one to speak.

“Hey sorry come on in.” Mingyu says with an embarrassed tone you almost don’t catch. He moves to the side to let you through and speaks up again. “You’re first like always.”

“Yeah they can’t be punctual at all." You’re standing awkwardly looking at the cake in your hands while he closes the door.

“Should I put this in the fridge?" Your eyes point to the cake Mingyu didn’t register before. “Sure let me -" He tries taking it from your hands, but you back away.

“I can do it.” It comes out drier than you want to, so you look him in the eyes and show him a little smile. Even if your “friendship” didn’t change drastically in a matter of days, you don’t want to still have a rocky relationship. That seems to make him relax. “There should be enough room.” You hear him say as you’re walking towards the kitchen.

You know his apartment like the palm of your hand by now. It seems like he’s the only one willing to have many people over at once, so the hangouts are always here.

He follows behind you and stands in the kitchen while you try to figure out the best way to store it without getting it damaged.

“Oh I should tell you I forgot the candles, I’m sorry I don’t know why I didn’t think about it but I remembered on the way here and it was too late, but I thought maybe you had some here but if not we can just ask the guys I’m sure some of them aren’t even on the way yet and-" You turn around after you place the cake on the fridge and you blurt out the apology, only to find Mingyu standing right behind you.

He's so close you can smell his cologne. The one he always uses that you secretly love and wish you could steal, but he doesn’t have to know that. His body so close to yours does not affect you. In any way.

“I bought them don’t worry.” You sigh, relieved that you didn’t ruin anything with your stupid mistake.

“Oh thank God" You start and look up to look at him in the eyes, “Thank you really, I was panicking on the elevator I thought I ruined the cake because-"

“You should be a rapper." Mingyu suddenly interrupts you.

“What?” You look at him, very confused by his statement, and he just laughs.

“You just said 50 words in like two seconds.” He adds in between laughs.

“Don’t laugh at me!” You punch him lightly on one arm, “I was actually worried!” You really try to sound mad, but his laugh is awfully contagious and brings you to laugh with him.

“I don’t think you spoke that many words to me in years." He suddenly says, still laughing, but your smile dies slowly, because you realize he’s right.

“Yeah well…” You’re looking at him directly in the eyes. His smile is still plastered on his face, a little faded but there nevertheless.

Your eyes move to the side, to not make eye contact with him as you say “Things change.”

The atmosphere changes as fast as a heartbeat. You’re suddenly very aware of your body so close to his. Mingyu’s gaze wander to your lips a second too long before it goes back to your eyes. Slowly, he begins closing in the space between your bodies. You step back but find yourself caged in between him and the counter.

His warmth embraces you when he places an arm on your side to cage you in more. He has to crouch to look you right in the eyes. “How?” You barely register his question, his closeness making you dizzy. “What?”

“What changed?” For sure he’s trying to take a reaction out of you, and you hate that he’s succeeding. But you can have your fun too.

“You know… when you make a guy cum in his pants your relationship changes.”

He doesn’t seem affected by your response, quite the opposite actually, he might be enjoying it judging by the smirk forming on his mouth.

“You know damn well I did not cum in my pants”

“Didn’t you? Huh… Guess I wasn’t that impressed because I would remember otherwise.” Impressed you were. And remember you do. But you like annoying him.

He sighs, acting shocked as he puts his right hand on his chest. “How could you?” You don’t resist it and start laughing at his silliness.

But his arms are back to caging you in a millisecond. “I’ll have to make you remember then.”

You can’t resist it when your eyes drop from his eyes to his lips, suddenly calling to you like he’s got you under a spell. He seems to notice because his smirk makes a reappearance.

So slow you barely even notice. His face comes closer by the second. It's so slow he’s for sure doing it on purpose.

“And how would you do that, may I ask?” Now it’s your turn to smirk as your eyes go up back to his eyes, defying him.

His face is so close now that you can feel his breath on you. Your lips are only separated from his by bare millimeters. You’re about to tilt your chin up to connect them when someone knocks on the front door.

Mingyu drops his head as he sighs and separates from you a few inches. Your hands find their way to his chest and push him back a little to draw his attention.

“You should probably get that.” His head goes back up at your words and gives you a disappointed look.

His gaze goes down to your lips. “I don’t want to.” You smile at his reaction, you don’t really want it either but more people are going to start showing up so you need to get going. The person outside knocks again and you push him one more time, a little harder this time so he gives you space to leave his arm prison.

“Go! I’ll start putting up decorations.”

He gives up and let’s his arms go from the counter, but you don’t move. You watch his form as he turns around and walks to the door.

You were always amazed at how tall he was, his broad shoulders and strong back that somehow ended in a tiny waist. Somehow what he was wearing today accentuated all of that.

The door opens, and you hear Mingyu welcoming whoever was outside.

The night goes as smoothly as it could have. When Seokmin arrives, everyone shouts happy birthday, and he looks genuinely surprised. But then you all find out he actually knew because Soonyoung accidentally told him yesterday. Wonderful evening.

After all the singing and shouting, someone you can’t see puts music and the drinks start rolling in. You had no idea there was that much alcohol at the party to make like 15 people drunk but you’re not complaining.

It's already 4am when you start feeling the effects of alcohol leave your body.

You’ve been sitting on the couch watching Wonwoo destroy everyone at Mario Kart. You don’t dare to try to play against him, so you just sat back to laugh.

Everyone eventually grows bored of the game. Some go back to their homes, but you and a few others stay to hang out.

Mingyu, on the other hand, started tidying up when people started leaving. He doesn’t mind people staying over, but he prefers cleaning now, so he doesn’t have to do it when he wakes up. He’s still listening to the conversation, though, throwing in a few comments here and there or laughing.

When he finally finishes it’s a little over 4:30 am. There’s no room on the couch and he doesn’t want to sit on the floor, so he stands against the wall facing the group.

You’re sprawled out on the couch, resting your legs on top of Vernon’s who’s sitting at the other end. The guys are debating about… something. You stopped understanding a while ago. You just laugh when someone says something funny.

It’s when Mingyu comments about something Wonwoo said that you notice he finished with whatever he was doing, standing there in his full glory. Your eyes can’t seem to move away from him, and you don’t resist it either. His hair is now messy, and he's sweating a little bit. He catches you staring and raises his eyebrows. You shrug in response.

The chatter becomes background noise as you two play a staring game. You don’t dare move your eyes off of him, and he doesn’t either. After a few minutes, you motion a “What?” With your mouth.

He grabs his phone without breaking eye contact, but ultimately does to unlock it and starts texting someone. You realize that someone is you when his gaze is back at you, and your phone vibrates in your back pocket.

No one is paying attention to you. The guys are still debating, maybe about something else now, so you grab your phone without getting noticed. The only person who notices is Vernon because you move your legs off of him, but he doesn’t even glance at you, just re positions himself.

Kim Mingyu: so how long are you staying? [4:33 am]

You look up at Mingyu with an incredulous look and he just motions for you to reply.

You: wow no emojis this time

Kim Mingyu: I’m being serious😔

When you look at him he’s actually making the same face as the emoji. Cute.

You: for how long am I welcomed? [4:34 am]

Kim Mingyu: you can stay however long you please

You: I was thinking I might leave when the guys leave

You: but they seem to have a lot of energy today

Kim Mingyu: I can tell them to leave [4:35 am]

You: you want me to leave that badly?

Kim Mingyu: I want you to stay.

Kim Mingyu: but I don’t want them to be here

You giggle at his response. That definitely draws attention to you because Seungkwan asks “Who’s got you giggling like that?”

“No one.” You rush to reply, and hope no one sees your eyes dart to Mingyu before adding “You don’t know him.”

The interest dies soon enough, but you know Seungkwan will ask you again later.

Your eyes find their way back to Mingyu’s to find him already looking at you, waiting for you to text him again. You raise your eyebrows before going back to your phone.

You: don’t be mean they’re your friends! [4:37 am]

Kim Mingyu: when I’m done with you you’ll thank me

You: done with me?🤔

Kim Mingyu: you’ll see…

Kim Mingyu: do you want to stay? [4:38 am]

You: only if you make me breakfast in the morning

You: I hear you’re a really good cook

He doesn’t reply, instead he starts subtly kicking everyone out, saying stuff like “hey guys it’s getting late" and “you’re all gonna be wrecked tomorrow".

Someone jokes “that’s him politely asking us to get the fuck out", and everyone laughs as they start picking up their stuff.

You also start grabbing your stuff and cleaning around you, although slower that everyone else.

It’s around 5 am when the last few start heading out the door. You get asked how you’re leaving. You lie and say you called an Uber, and you’ll just wait here for it.

You’re back on the couch as Mingyu closes the door after the last person leaves, awkwardly sitting while waiting for him.

Butterflies show up on your stomach when Mingyu appears on the hallway, walking straight to you with a smile on his face.

The atmosphere feels awkward as he sits beside you.  You want to say something, but your mind is blank. There’s really only one thing you can think about.

Mingyu opens his mouth to speak but you get up and sit on his lap, one leg on each side of his hips.

“So what’s with all that talk earlier?” Your hands position themselves on his shoulders almost like they’re meant to be there.

Mingyu’s shocked for a second before he focuses his eyes on your lips and licks his.

“C-Can we talk about what h-happened the other day first?” He mentally kicks himself for stuttering. But his words contradict his actions, his hands are around your waist keeping you in place, and his eyes don’t leave your lips, like he’s on a trance.

“What happened was…” You grab the side of his face and get close to his ear to whisper “You got horny because of me, and I helped you.” Slowly, you go back so you can see his blushed face. “Is that right?”

But blushing doesn’t prevent Mingyu from teasing you too. “Acting like you weren’t practically begging for me huh?” His hands slowly travel from your waist to your thighs.

“Says the one who actually begged to cum.” You try your luck and grind softly against his growing bulge and he squeezes your thighs, closing his eyes lightly.

“You liked it.”

“I did, yeah." Now your hands are on his very firm chest. Mingyu sighs as you grind on him again, a little harder this time. Your faces are so close you feel his breath fanning over you, and you can’t resist your eyes when they focus on his parted lips.

When he opens his eyes again there’s only one thing on his mind, the thing that has been plaguing him since you arrived so many hours ago.

“Can I kiss you?” Mingyu says softly, almost in a whisper.

“I thought you wanted to talk?” You grind on him, hard enough to feel his already hard bulge, and you feel how your panties get ruined by your arousal.

“You’re funny.”

“I get that a lot.” Mingyu’s hands go back to your waist to make you grind on him again, setting a pace that’s not fast but hard enough to create more friction between your cores.

Electricity flows between your bodies. You wrap your arms around Mingyu’s neck, your faces barely millimeters apart. His lips are still parted, just like yours, releasing little sighs that almost make your lips barely touch.

“Please.” He pleas in a whisper, and you swear a million butterflies explode in your stomach. You can’t resist it anymore. You can't resist him.

You connect your lips with his, and Mingyu reacts almost instinctively. He wraps his arms around your waist, almost as if to keep you from getting away. As if you ever could.

The feeling of his lips against yours is addictive. He’s kissing you like he wants to erase any trace of anyone who has ever kissed you, making your lips his, so needy and hungry for more.

He thrusts up, making you moan in his mouth, and takes the opportunity to meet his tongue with yours, deepening the kiss and making you more addicted to him. If that’s even possible.

Mingyu’s hands start roaming your body, traveling from your waist to your thighs, then up to your neck. Your skin burns everywhere he touches, and you want more. You want to feel him everywhere all at once.

Your hands play with the hem of his shirt. You lift it up just a little so you can touch his abs without fabric in the way. You feel him smile against your lips at your touch.

He breaks the kiss and you chase after his lips. When you open your eyes you find him smirking at you. His lips are swollen and he’s stained red all around because of your lipstick, you figure you look the same. “Eager are we?"

“Yes very in fact.” You grab the hem of his shirt again and push it up. “Take this off.”

He obliges, but not before laughing softly at your eagerness. You follow his moves and also remove your tiny top. You can’t move your eyes away from his bare chest, and your hands immediately touch him, but he stops you.

“This too.” His hands sneak behind your back to unclasp your bra.

As soon as the bra is off you push yourself against him and kiss him again. His hands are quickly on your tits, thumbs going in circles around your nipples.

“Ah! You’re making me crazy.” You manage to say almost in a moan.

The clothes in your lower bodies soon begin to annoy the both of you, the friction is no longer enough.

Reluctantly, you get up, now it’s his time to chase after your lips.

Mingyu understands immediately and also gets up. You remove your shorts while he gets rid of his jeans, and in no time, you're sitting on top of him again. Only your underwear in between you now.

You trace kisses down his neck, leaving marks so he has a reminder of you for a few days. His now fully hard dick presses against your clit just right. Your panties are so soaked they’re beginning to stain Mingyu’s boxers too.

He kisses you hard to quiet down both of your moans, as his hands sneaks down to your core and his fingers start stroking your pussy through your panties.

“You’re so wet already.”

“That’s because you’ve been teasing me for like 20 minutes.”

“Are you complaining?”

“No.” You roll your eyes playfully. “But if you don’t actually touch me in the next five seconds I’m going to lose my mind.”

He chuckles, and you think he’s about to kiss you again, but you’re starting to learn that Mingyu is a man full of surprises.

In a swift move, he turns your body around, your back now against his chest, and spreads your legs wide. One hand sneaks under your panties while the other plays with one of your boobs.

You quickly turn into a moaning mess as he starts circling around your clit and pinches your nipple. But it’s not enough. “Mingyuu.” It comes out more whiny than you’d like, but right now that’s the least of your worries.

“Tell me.” His finger slow down but also press harder. You squirm under him and he kisses your neck softly. “What do you want? Tell me.”

“I-I need your fingers.” Your words barely get out.

“But I am touching you” He feigns confusion. His fingers stroke from your hole to your clit, collecting your arousal and spreading it.

“Inside.” You grind on his fingers in hope of getting more friction, but he slips his hand away from you. You see his fingers glisten with arousal and feel a new wave gushing out of you. “Please.”

You don’t see, but rather feel Mingyu smile against your neck. “Whatever you want baby.”

His hand is back under your underwear in no time, playing with your hole and collecting your juices with his fingers. You grind against his hand as he slides two fingers in.

Not even your imagination could have prepared you. His thick fingers stretch you more than you ever could, and the slow but deep thrusts let you feel him in places your fingers could never reach. You can’t hold back the moans that comes out of you.

“Oh my God! Mingyu faster please!” You’re not ashamed to beg anymore.

His palm is creating friction on your clit while his other hand is still playing with your nipples, and he thrusts into you faster.

You pace your grinds to match his hand and you’re sure this is what heaven feels like. You feel the tightness in your stomach close to snapping.

“I’m so close!” You breathe out.

Mingyu slows down his thrusts and you’re about to complain when you feel him add a third finger. He’s stretching you deliciously, knuckles deep inside you. You can feel him everywhere.

“Cum on my fingers c’mon” He demands as he speeds up. His fingers reach the spongy spot inside you that makes you jelly and abuse it.

You’re cumming on his fingers faster than ever. Shaking on top of him as he thrusts his fingers in and out slowly, helping you ride out your orgasm.

When he finally pulls his fingers out of you, you’re still breathless. Mingyu surprises you again when he moves his slick covered fingers to his mouth and licks them clean.

You remove your panties once and for all and turn around. You feel his still hard cock under you and he winces at the friction.

“That was really hot.” You state, and his whole face turns red.

“I’m not done with you.” In one swift movement, you have your back against the couch and your head on the armrest. “I really wanna eat you out.”

And who are you to stop such a determined man? You grab his face and kiss him hard, tasting your arousal in him. “Okay.”

He starts a trail of kisses on your thigh, slowly going down until he reaches your cunt, but skips it and starts kissing your other leg. You whine in response as you grab his head and put it back on your core. You feel his breath on your bare cunt and shiver.

He looks at you in the eyes and barely licks your lower lips. You sigh at the little contact. “Stop teasing.”

His hands open up your legs and he flattens his tongue on your lips, licking in up and down motions and kissing your clit.

When he experimentally wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, you moan and instinctively close your thighs around his head, keeping him in place.

With his head now trapped in between your thighs, his tongue licks you from your clit and to your hole, tasting and savoring your arousal like it’s his last meal.

He toys with your clit and your hands find themselves in his hair again, pushing him more against your cunt. He moans when you pull at his hair, sending vibrations straight to your core and you feel a wave of arousal gushing out of you and to his mouth.

His tongue teases your hole, stroking the tip in and out lightly. You push his head into you again and his nose bumps into your clit, taking a moan out of you.

“Feels so good" You grind against his tongue as it keeps teasing your hole and his nose stimulates your clit.

Your orgasm hits you hard and fast and you’re cumming on Mingyu’s mouth in no time. He keeps his mouth on you, licking every last drop of arousal that gushes out. You have to pull at his hair to make him stop.

When he lifts his head up from you, his chin is shiny with arousal and he’s smiling.

You waste no time and make him sit on the couch again, “Now it’s tour turn."

You kneel on the floor as you remove his boxers. Even after seeing him on video and feeling him under you, you were not prepared to see how big Mingyu actually was.

His cock springs out against his stomach, angry red and already leaking pre cum.

It barely fits in your hand, and he sighs at your touch. You give a few experimental pumps but he stops you.

“I don’t have much longer. Do you have a condom?”

“You wanna be inside me that bad?”

“Yes.” He responds quickly. You chuckle as you grab your purse. You find the one you put while getting ready and open it.

He squirms under your hands as you put it on him. As soon as the condom is on, he grabs you and gets you on top of him again. You both sigh as your cores touch.

You grind on him, covering his cock with your juices and you both moan as he traces your neck with bites and kisses.

“Looks who’s teasing now.”

“It’s fun seeing you frustrated.” You stop your movements and he looks at you frowning. You can’t resist his sudden cuteness and give him a peck as you resume grinding on him. His tip grazes your clit and you shiver.

“You’re making me crazy.” He breathes out and you can’t help to chuckle.

“Can you cum like this?”

“I want to cum inside you.” His whiny response takes you by surprise.

His hands grab you by the waist and lift you up. With one hand you grab his cock and position it under your hole.

You steady yourself putting your hands on the back of the couch and slowly start going down.

If you thought his fingers reached places no one ever has before, then you’re sure his dick is creating more space for you to feel him. You can feel every vein dragging inside of you.

You suppress your moans by kissing him and he sighs in your mouth when you bottom out.

You’re so full you’re having trouble breathing. He keeps you still, giving you time to adjust. Even the tiniest move makes him twitch inside of you.

“You’re so fucking big Mingyu.”

“I told you I would make it fit.” He wraps his arms around your waist and brings you to him to kiss you. You moan, feeling him grind inside you, and he stills.

You start grinding on him slowly. You’re sighing on each other’s mouths, savoring every drag of his dick inside of you, feeling him reach deeper with every thrust.

Your hands travel to his chest and start playing with his nipples. He thrusts up when you pinch one nipple lightly, hitting exactly where you need it and making you moan louder, so you do it again.

“Yes like that Mingyu.” That encourages to start thrusting up harder and matching your pace.

One of his hands creeps down to your cunt and start playing with your sensitive clit, still wet from his spit, and the other plays with one of your nipples.

You start clenching around him, eliciting a moan out him.

“You’re so tight around me baby.” He says almost in a moan. “I'm so close."

His thumb is still playing with your swollen clit, making you squirm and clench so hard it’s hard to keep grinding on him. You collapse on his chest and he embraces you as he fastens his moves.

He's thrusting so deep and hard, you're sure he's marking you as his. Ruining you for any other man,  spelling his name in your insides so you're forever his.

Your bodies are so close together that your clit is rubbing against his abs, a friction you've never experienced but it makes the tightness on your stomach come so close to snapping you can almost taste it.

A few hard thrusts later you’re coming undone on top of him. But his thrusts don’t stop, chasing his high while you’re clenching around him, making him go crazy. You’re staring to feel the overstimulation when you feel him twitch inside you, and his thrusts come to a stop.

You stay like that, your head on his shoulder and his arms around your waist while you regulate your breaths. Your torsos pushed together allow you to feel the beating of his heart.

Mingyu relaxes his arms from around you and you release yourself from his embrace. You wrap your arms around his neck and look him in the eye.

“So what did you want to talk about?” He chuckles at your question.

“I’m still inside you and you want to talk?” His reply sends shivers down your spine and you unconsciously clench around him. He drops his head back in a sigh and his hands find their way to your hips.

“Are you staying over?” Mingyu looks at you with puppy dog eyes, and even if you wanted to, you couldn’t say no to him. You just nod as an answer and he smiles like you just gave him a million dollars.

He surges forward to kiss you and you both wince at the stimulation from the sudden movement. “I think we should get up.” You chuckle with his mouth still on yours.

He helps you get up and you instantly miss the fullness of having him inside.

While you grab your clothes from the floor, he disposes of the condom and goes to his bedroom. He comes back with one of his shirt to give to you. Your stomach give a little jump at the idea of sleeping with his t-shirt as he shows you where the bathroom is so you can clean up.

When you finish and go to Mingyu’s bedroom, he’s waiting for you already inside the covers, smile still plastered on his face. You sit on the bed and give him a peck, but he doesn’t let you go as he deepens the kiss and hugs you close to him.

“Mingyu the sun is about to come up we need to sleep.” You manage to say with his lips on yours and he smiles. You separate but neither of you make any moves to go to sleep. You lay facing each other, admiring each other’s features in silence, when he suddenly says.

“Can I confess something?” That definitely wakes you up.

“You’re not a murderer are you?” You joke and he shakes his head as he puts one string of your hair behind your ear.

“I know we didn’t really liked each other until a few days ago…" He says, now with a serious expression on his face, and you listen carefully. “and I’m not saying this just because you made me cum on the phone…” He continues very seriously but you can’t help to chuckle lightly. Mingyu removes his eyes from you a little embarrassed by what he’s about to say, “and I don’t know why you sent me that photo the other day and I might be embarrassing myself saying this but, I think I kinda like you and I don’t want this to be a one time thing.”

You stay in silence a few seconds, processing what Mingyu just said. He doesn’t dare to look at you.

“Can I confess something too?” Your question makes him look at you again, with those puppy eyes you’re learning you’re too soft for. “I sent that picture by accident the other day.” He looks worried, fearing that what you’re saying means you’re rejecting him, so you quickly continue, “but I don’t regret it.” You see a little smile appear on his lips. “I think we were very stupid not talking all these years, we could’ve save a lot of time if you just showed me your monster cock before!” You can’t help to joke to lighten the serious mood and he laughs with you.

You grab his face and give him a little peck. “I think I might like you too, but we need to see how it goes first.”

He smile grows impossibly wider at your words. “Let me take you on a date tomorrow.”

You chuckle at his eagerness, he’s too cute for his own good. “Ok let’s go out tomorrow.”

He hugs you and brings you closer to him again, taking his time sweetly kissing you while his hands sneak under his shirt to touch your skin.

In a swift motion Mingyu traps you under him again, your back on the mattress and he presses against you to let you feel his already growing bulge. “Oh my god you’re insatiable.” You say as you grind against him, earning a moan out of him. “Look who’s talking.”

note: thank you so much for the support on the first part♥︎ I'm sorry this ending is kind of abrupt

my asks are open if you want to talk

#mingyu smut #mingyu au #seventeen smut #seventeen au #svt smut #mingyu hard hours #svt hard hours #seventeen hard hours

[thelov3lybookworm]

I Didn't Ask For This (part twelve)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Summary: Marriage had always been something sacred to little Y/n, something dream like, where her husband would come and whisk her away to a fairyland. At least, that's what she had always thought.

All her dreams would be shattered.

But maybe she can salvage them?

•○●⛦●○•

Tw: none that I can think of, so let me know if I need to add anything.

A/n: you did not think I would forget about my baby, did you? Yes, I am in fact, not dead. And yes, I didn't write anything for this fic for a long time because I had no idea what to do 😌

Also, thank you for all the love that you gave this one. I am soo glad I was able to write something for you to love. 🥹❣️

This is the last part in this series. But if there is something you want to see in a possible epilogue, please send in an ask or comment.

Enjoy!

•○🌑○•

A loud knock on the door startled Y/n, who was trying not to get caught reading the very... not child friendly stuff Nesta had given her. Cauldron knew what else Nesta had in store for Y/n.

The knock was a little too loud to be Azriel, because most of the time Y/n didn't even realise someone had knocked when Azriel knocked. So it was definitely most probably Cassian, who was probably excited about something.

She got up to open the door, wondering if she should hide the book she was reading in case Cassian decided to barge in. For Cassian, it wouldn't be anything new.

She felt like it was the biggest shock in her life when she found Azriel standing outside the door, his hand poised to knock again as he grinned widely at her, panting.

Because, first of all, Azriel was a quiet person. Hell, even his wings made no sound when flying. If he knocked so loud, it was probably something huge. She didn't know if it was a good thing or not.

And second and more concerning thing was that Azriel was grinning. This was a man who would glare at people just for smiling in his direction.

Now she wondered if she really should have hidden the book.

"Azriel? Is everything alright?"

Impossibly, he somehow managed to grin wider. Once he had gained some semblance of control over his breathing, he spoke.

"Everything's fine. Perfect even."

Now Y/n was seriously concerned.

"Why are you grinning?"

"I need to show you something."

He offered her his hand, which she eyed suspiciously before taking. "What is it?"

"It wouldn't be fun if I told you about it." He pointed out, leading her to a nearby balcony.

That made sense.

He picked her up and began flying, the setting sun making the atmosphere beautiful. That was all Y/n tried to think about because if she didn't, she would continue to hound Azriel for answers, and he was too stubborn for his own good. He wouldn't tell her what it was, no matter what.

Soon, he was landing in front of a beautiful house, a beautiful lawn surrounding it. The area was quiet. There were similar looking houses nearby, a few shops. They were near the center of Velaris, but the pace was still quiet, tranquil even. Just like Azriel.

Y/n thought she knew what was going on, but still she asked. "Why are we here?"

Azriel grinned, a light blush dusting his cheeks. "I wanted to show you this place. Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful." She stretched out the word, searching his face.

"I brought that home. I thought now that we are... getting to know each other again and are comfortable, we might as well live somewhere far from Cassian and Nesta. Figured you might be just as tired of them as I am. Of course, I'm not saying you should live with me if you don't want to, but one day... maybe?" He looked at her when he finished rambling, his eyes hopeful.

She smiled. "I would love to live with you Azriel. So, when are we going to move in?"

Azriel's face lit up like a child who had recieved a gift on solstice. "As soon as possible. If you're okay with it." He paused for a moment, thinking. "Do you want to take a look inside?"

"Sure."

Azriel led her inside the mostly empty but clean house, a little jump in his steps. Y/n smiled and shook her head as he walked in front of her, opening all the doors and cupboards, a small grin on his blushing face.

•○🌑○•

Azriel was cooking, having forced Y/n to sit and watch. Since there weren't many things in the house except for a couch, bed and a few cupboards, Azriel had flown back to the house of wind to get items for their dinner.

She had offered to cook, but he had refused. And since then, Y/n could tell he was trying really hard to impress her with his cooking skills.

They kept talking throughout, his focus equally divided.

Right now, he was seemingly about to flip the food in the pan, and he turned to her.

"Watch this." But then he realised she was already watching, and he faltered.

Unfortunately, he had already begun to move the pan. And because he wasn't paying attentiont to the pan, the food items in the pan scattered all around the kitchen, and Y/n hid her smile behind a hand.

Cauldron, Azriel was adorable.

He stared at the mess, his shoulders slumping. Y/n hopped down from the counter she was siting on and moved closer to him. "Go. Sit. I'll make us something."

Azriel shook his head. "No."

Y/n cocked her head. "Why not? I cooked all the time by myself before."

"I'll get something from a restaurant."

Her brows furrowed. "But why?"

"Because I want to treat you better than you have been treated before." He mumbled under his breath, barely audible. Maybe he was trying to not let her hear, but she did.

Her heart swelled, as if it tripped fell down the stairs and now had to rest in bed for its whole life.

"You are treating me good." She smiled at him when he looked at her with wide eyes. He blushed furiously when she placed a tender kiss on his cheek.

"What– what would you like to eat?"

Y/n sighed. "Anything. I don't really have something in mind."

Azriel nodded. "I'll be back soon."

And with that, he bounded off towards the door, leaving his shadows behind to clean up the mess he had made.

•○🌑○•

Y/n watched as her husband moved his hand animatedly, his face filled with excitement.

The two of them sat on the couch, knees touching. Y/n wondered if in a few moments she'd be on his lap.

It had started out with her on the couch and him on the armchair near the fire, having finished their dinner sitting on the kitchen counter top because there was no table or chairs. After that, they had moved to hear the fireplace.

They had sat in silence, contemplating what to talk about when she found Azriel grinning.

When she asked him about it, he told her about how his shadows loved to be nosy and knew almost everyone's secret. How they had been telling him about the secret of the little boy passing by the house. It was that he had stolen a cookie without his mother's knowledge, and how he prayed to the cauldron that she never found out.

Since then, he had begun telling her of all the juicy secrets he gathered over the years, his shadows occasionally chiming in to add to the information. He had slowly begun shifting towards her as he spoke.

It wasn't long before he settled on the opposite end of the couch, a huge smile on his face as he told her of one of his favourite secrets that he found out, his body seemingly moving of its own accord.

Throughout the night after that, he had shifted closer anytime he got a little more excited, her scooting closer when she got more and more intrested in the story he was telling.

He finally stopped speaking, taking a deep breath, his cheeks flushed and a wide grinon his face.

Y/n sighed. "Well... that was a journey."

"I have better stories than that." He smirked smugly when her eyes widened in disbelief.

"Liar. I don't believe you. Even Nesta's books have less dramatic plot lines."

He grinned, shaking his head. "Speaking of Nesta's books... did you enjoy the book that you were you reading today?"

Y/n immediately tensed. "What do you mean?"

He gave her a sly smirk. "I'm the spymaster of the night court, Y/n, and I've been married to you for almost six months now. Do you really think I don't know what conspires between you and Nesta when me and Cassian aren't looking?"

A blush climbed up Y/n's neck. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure. Let me help you with that–" And then, as if the damn book had been next to him this whole time, he pulled it out of between his shadows and flipped open to where she had been reading when he interrupted her that morning. She knew that because she found the candy wrapper she placed in between the pages to mark the her progress.

She gasped, but he was already beginning to read. "Where were you? I think it was here? He grinned up at her from between her thighs..." He paused for a moment, reading, before he clicked his tongue. "You are really interested in this?"

He was busy reading, and so he didn't see her reaching out to snatch the book until she had a firm grasp on the book. He looked at her in surprise, but she began tugging. Of course, he didn't let her pull it too far before he himself started tugging at it.

"Let go Azriel."

He gave a harsh tug, and Y/n was no match for his strength. She lurched forward, her hand landing on his shoulder. Her face was mere inches from his and he grinned up at her.

"Really? You like this–" He shook the book near her face. "–this thing so much? Honestly, you could choose better."

Her whole face flushed as she tried to keep herself from glancing at his lips. "Don't be mean. It's rude to judge people."

"Hard not to when you read childish things like these." She scowled at him, and he leaned closer to her as he whispered, "Honestly, I could show you better things. The male here is like a newborn child compared to me."

Y/n blinked in shock, his closeness doing nothing to help her slow brain. He huffed a laugh at her reaction, and the air on her face finally pulled her from her daze. She began to pull back, trying to retreat back into her original position, but he caught hold of the hand on his shoulder, his expression serious.

Azriel's eyes trailed down to her mouth, and his tongue flicked out to lick his lips. He glanced up at her eyes, his eyes swimming with question.

Y/n knew it would be pointless and stupid to pretend she didn't want what he was offering. She could not keep lying to herself when this was all she wanted since the two of them began spending more time together.

So she simply leaned back in, her eyes fluttering shut when his breath caressed her features again.

•○●⛦●○•

Azriel didn't need anymore confirmation.

He was tired of waiting, and now that she was so close, it was too hard not to sink his teeth into her. Into those beautiful lips, that beautiful body.

So he surged up, and caught his lips with hers.

In that moment, it felt like he had found peace. Something he had been searching his whole life for. Like he had found the home he never had.

Not the house he was currently in, but home in her.

And when she gasped, he realised there were multiple reasons responsible for that feeling.

First obviously being that he loved her.

Second, she loved him.

And how did he know?

He felt it coming at him in waves.

Through the newly found golden string connecting their souls.

I love you. The emotions he felt from her seemed to tell him.

I love you more. The emotions he sent back to her.

And there, on that couch in their new house, tangled in each other's arms...

Azriel and Y/n were finally home.

•○🌑○•

Taglist: @bubybubsters @maxxieluvs @bubbbllee @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @waytoomanyteenagefeels @tell-me-a-poem @the-lake-is-calling @spaxxxi @japanese-wonderland-blog @valeridarkness @moonlwghts @deadratio @esposadomd @harrystylesfan2686 @missusbarnes-rogers @whatthefuckshappeningrn @hyacinthoideshispanica @historygeekqueen @lizziesfirstwife @nastynesta @aroseinvelaris @nightless @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kodokunarisu-blog @selillusion @eos-princess @moonfawnx @a-court-of-milkandhoney @emilyo-218 @wannabewolf @ailyr92 @chronically-online-cheese @myheartfollower @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival @marina468 @menaosama @starryhiraeth @hereticdance @mali22 @valencia-rou @azrielsstarlight @marvelouslovely-barnes @luvmoo @starlight-hope @a-frog-with-a-laptop @fall-myriad @alt-ghost @elleofdragons @ruleroftides @5moremin @stargirl1714 @bunnymallowo @ivy-34 @aria-chikage @kalulakunundrum

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #shadowsinger x reader #Acotar fanfic #rhysand #mating bond #a court of thorns and roses #azriel fluff #acotar fandom #acotar series #Shadowsinger #spymaster #fluff #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #sarah j maas #acotar headcanon #acotar smut #Acotar writing #acotar fluff #acotar x reader #reader insert #forced marriage #tw forced marriage

[gojoidyll]

puzzle piece ch. 1

yandere ! aventurine x female ! reader

summary | all it takes is putting all the pieces together in order to go back to how you once were. though, it won't do you any good if someone is deliberately destroying the pieces before you can find them.

warnings | memory loss, paranoia, grammatical errors, etc.

puzzle piece masterlist

"Lost?"

You looked over at the person who spoke, lips pursed together as you shook your head. "No, I'm not..." which was a lie. You were, in fact, lost. Though, being lost was an understatement. You couldn’t remember anything, if you were being honest. Your name, where you are, where you came from, if you were with someone... all of it was just a blur right now. And it wasn’t helping that your surroundings looked so off. Lamps, chairs, and other items floated freely in the air. Not to mention that you always felt like you were about to wake but couldn’t quite do so.

"You sure? Because where I’m standing, friend, you do."

'Friend?' You finally looked over at him, your eyes scanning him up and down. His blonde hair and multi-colored eyes were the first things of his appearance that stood out to you.

"I’m sorry, do we... know each other?"

"Forgetting me already? We met this morning when you and the rest of the Astral Express crew got to Penacony and ran into some trouble at the front desk."

“Astral Express? Penacony?” The more the man said, the more confused you got. Nothing was making sense and your memories were not coming back to you no matter how much you tried. You looked him in the eyes then, but despite your confusion and your silent cry for help in understanding anything he was saying, he merely smiled.

"Something wrong?"

You wanted to answer him truthfully. Tell him that you couldn’t remember, that this place was apparently called Penacony, that you don’t know what an Astral Express is, and that you have never seen him before. But... something deep inside of you was telling you not to tell him a single thing. A deep part of yourself was telling you to lie.

"I-" You didn’t know what to do. Briefly looking around, you saw that no one was coming to talk to you like this man did. Which probably meant that no one else here knew who you were either.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t remember anything that you just mentioned. I don’t know the Astral Express or Penacony... and I don’t remember you either.”

Ultimately, you decided to tell the truth despite the alarm bells going off in your head. You were lost, had no memory of where or who you were, and you may or may not have friends that are also in this place. So, you decided to take a chance even if that chance is with this guy with a smile that could cut through any lie. And, little did you know, when you finished telling your truthful answer, his smile grew wider if only by a slight margin.

“You don’t remember? Well, that’s a shame. Weird too. I never heard of anyone losing their memory in the dreamscape.”

“The what scape?” The man chuckled, “you don’t even know that you’re dreaming? How tragic.”

You frowned, “I’m dreaming? That doesn’t make any sense. If I’m dreaming, then how are you here? You seem too real to be someone that I dreamed up.”

The man merely shrugged, “it’ll take too long to explain. For now, just accept that Penacony is a land of dreams where people go to escape reality. And everyone here shares the same dream.”

“So, you are a real person,” you tried to affirm.

“As real as you, I can promise that.” You sighed, “fine so I lost my memory then? How is that possible?”

“That, I am not too sure of. A case like yours has never happened before, but... since people can apparently die here, well, maybe losing one’s memory isn’t so far-fetched either.”

“Wait, what was that about dying here?”

The man waved his hand in a dismissive manner, “nothing you should concern yourself with. Trust me, even if you ask around about what I just said. No one will know. The Family, of course, is just trying to cover it in order to not cause a riot.”

“The Family? My family or yours?”

He smiled that same calculating smile of his, “it’s not that type of family... just see them as... an organization.”

You nodded along. Truth be told, this was starting to be too much for you. Trying to process all the new information being lightly tossed to you was starting to make your head hurt. You slightly wondered if you would even be able to remember this new info then the memories you have previously lost.

The man, taking notice of your worried expression, decided to leave it at that, “for now, let’s get you out of this dream so you can properly rest, and then tomorrow we can start looking into this little problem of yours together.”

“Right, thanks…”

“I’m Aventurine, and you’re y/n, just in case you were wondering.”

#hsr #honkai star rail #honkai star rail aventurine #hsr aventurine #yandere aventurine x you #yandere aventurine x reader #yandere aventurine x y/n #yandere aventurine #aventurine x y/n #aventurine x you #aventurine x reader #aventurine

[antimony-medusa]

Gonna be honest with you though if someone outright says “don’t ship my character with other people” or something to that extent regarding smut or whatever I don’t think there should be any ambiguity

I get your point about the nature of fanfic being inherently encroaching upon people’s images so that levity should be extended to otherwise uncommon avenues but I really believe hardline boundaries should be respected, end of, no discussion. If I see people violating creators’ boundaries for their characters Or themselves (and these can be intertwined, it’s not up to the audience to pick apart their boundaries, cuz I’ve seen people try to do that) I’m not going to judge them fairly and I feel like neither should you.

Lines can be crossed and intimacy (not even necessarily romantic!) is a very different monster than the other avenues of storytelling because of how it involves real life relationships seeping into character relationships. Its’s uncommon for people to be like “I wrote A’s character being tortured because I feel like A is tortured in real life” but they Can and Often do that with ship work. So I don’t know, I feel like you’re not affording this the right nuance.

Alright, so, this is another post I'm gonna slap with a discourse and long post warning right away, buckle in.

Yeah, I hear what you're saying, and this is not an uncommon opinion to have! It's still the opinion of twitter/x so far as I know, and I think it's probably the opinion of the bulk of dsmp fans here, as well. I know my posts get notes once they start circulating in hermitblr, but I don't kid myself that I have the majority view. I am posting to explain my views expressly because I know a lot of people don't agree with me!

And in this case we do have a difference of opinion. There's two sort of points as I see it in your posts— we have hardline boundaries about shipping/nsfw from some people, and everyone in the fandom should be abiding by those no exceptions or be thrown out of the fandom; and we have shipping boundaries but not boundaries for other things because shipping is uniquely boundary-crossing and terrible and invasive, in contrast to anything else we can do in fandom.

Taking the second part first, I just don't think that's true. Let's not forget, boundaries discourse started with SMPLive and SMPronpa, and it was not the shipping that caused the discussion, it was the death games. The first real fandom reckoning we had with the notion of boundaries as mcyt fandom was over gore and murder and portraying people in violent ways. Shipping was barely a blip on the radar. The way the discourse has developed now, shipping is framed as the absolute worst thing anyone could ever do with your public image, and everything else is fine, but that is not the case for everyone. Recently the Pirates SMP creators were asked repeatedly for their boundaries (bothered on twitter, really) until they gave them and thus we saw people being fine with shipping but not wanting family dynamic, or being against both shipping and gore, or being fine with shipping but not wanting to be gender bent or trans headcanoned, etc. Not everyone feels the same way about the same things, despite the us-american cultural viewpoint that romance and sexualization is uniquely bad but gore and torture is fine, that everything else is fine.

Like, if we're looking at DSMP, I think there are a lot of creators who would feel just as strongly if not stronger about fics in which their character died of a terminal illness than they would about a fic in which they kiss someone, for understandable reasons. But I see those tropes in the tags regularly!

I think if we are honest with ourselves, if we are going to hardline boundaries about things that are uniquely invasive or bad to do to a creator's character with the view that we are putting all of this up for the creator's approval, we need to accept that this excludes us from writing anything where a character is abusive or is tortured or dies of a terminal illness or is psychologically broken or is age regressed or is neurodivergent or is queer if the cc is straight or trans if the cc is cis or cis if the cc is trans or straight if they're gay— the list of things that would be weird to do in the face of the real guy is really long. And it has most of our favourite tropes on it!

I love writing autistic philza. It would be really fuckin' weird to go up to Philza and tell him about how I write his character as whumped and autistic. Come on now. (But that's within boundaries, so that's— fine? I really don't think it's fine!)

Which is why my stance is that we should be thinking critically about these things, and keeping the fandom seperate from the creators. Some of these things are just not for the creators. They're fine but they shouldn't go on twitter. Y'know?

The idea that shipping draws uniquely on the real person and leads to invasive behaviour but nothing else does— that nobody does "I wrote A being tortured because I think A is tortured in real life"— Look. I have been in the fandom a long time. I remember how all the abused tommy narratives fed right into people assuming his family in real life were abusive— and talking about this on twitter! Where he and his family could see! People did this with WIlbur and Techno too!

I remember people reading about trans tommy and then truthing that the creator either was transmasc or was going to come out as transfemme any day now, publically, on twitter and in his chat. I have seen people she/her tubbo to his face on twitter, with fancams. I have been in chat when people who have clearly assigned Phil "dad" start asking WILDLY invasive things in TTS. If you think that shipping is the only fandom behaviour that can lead to people drawing directly from the streamers for their work and treating the creators weirdly about it, you simply have not been paying attention.

The way the fandom insists on treating benchtrio as children despite the fact that they're almost twenty and viciously attacking their friends for treating them as adults and chiding tommy and tubbo and ranboo for inappropriate behaviour. The list goes ON.

So. The recieved DSMP wisdom is that we should TTS the streamers to check if it's okay if we write a fic in which they die of cancer. We should DM them on instagram to ask if it's okay if we write them as a gender or sexual identity they don't share. We should show up in their twitter mentions to ask if it's okay if we write them as a physically abusive parent.

No????????

My view on that is that it is frankly bizzare it is that we have decided that "asking creators for detailed instructions regarding porn or gore" (especially in TTS! When they're fucking at WORK and can't step away! Stop doing this to the hermits!) is normal and fine and responsible but "post your shit in appropriate places and leave the creators out of it" will make you a monster.

Once again, the experience of someone coming up and saying "i think of you as age regressed" and someone saying "i found this fic where you're age regressed" and someone saying "can I write a fic where you're age regressed" is not that different. In all cases you know that the person has been thinking about it and putting it out there, and in all cases you didnt seek out this information, it was brought to you. In all cases it's weird. Just do not bring this information up to them!

If you just think about it for a while, you see that there is an entire host of things that would be weird to force into the view of a creator, especially when you consider that half the time we got these clips from TTS information when we have no idea if the person answering knew the context of what they were being asked, if they were specifically aware of the creator/cc divide that the fandom works with, or if they felt pressured into it. Oh yeah, let's take a TTS clip from Tubbo when it was 2 in the morning for him and he was deep in a minecraft mod when someone asked him about alters and delusions and he was like "oh you mean like— when they can't help it? I guess that's fine." That definately counts as freely given, reversible, informed, enthusiastic and specific consent to show him anything we want at all times forever. That's never going to make him uncomfortable.

Think a little here.

So I think there's a lot of the fandom that we should not be putting up for the approval of the creators, and if we don't have a firm answer on if they would like potential edge cases, we should probably be thinking about it and keeping it away from them (and I would err on the side of caution), we should NOT be showing up in the TTS to ask them about narratives in which they're institutionalized, or making them a GOP conservative in fiction, or if Wilbur was canon about seeing them as a bottom, or whatever bizzare thing someone is cooking up now. Honestly if you think to yourself "I don't know if the creator would like seeing this", I would be much more comfortable if the two choices we were picking between there were "simply don't write it" or "write it but keep it away from them", and "harass the creator for an answer on this subject and only write it if they say yes" never entered the equation at all.

And to return to your first point, if we already have a class of fiction that we are keeping away from the creators because basic intellectual curiosity would show that it would be weird to show someone, I don't think it's the end of the world to go "okay, creator doesn't like NSFW, so we also keep the NSFW away from them, keep this shit off twitter, block them if you create it, don't show it to them" and then we archive lock it and continue on our little weirdo on the internet ways.

Now, I don't expect to convince you of this, the phrasing of your post does not indicate that you're open to discussion on this topic. That's fine. Nobody has to agree with me. But I grew up conservative christian, and I have already had people try and get me to throw people out of the community for their perceived sins where I was like "well, I really don't think this is that bad", and I'm really resistant to being forced to do that again. I don't think it's a healthy way to run a fandom, to be shunning people for what they're doing in fiction. Harassing creators in chat? Sure, I will block them from my events as untrustworthy. That's hurting someone in the real world. Writing something that I don't vibe with privately on the archive for an audience of 50 people? That is not doing harm to real people. As long as they're not showing it to the creators, I don't count that as offensive.

How's that for nuance.

#discourse #fandom meta #dsmp shipping #qsmp shipping #anon #ask #long post