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honestsycrets · 9 months

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mío | baby-fever!miguel o'hara x wifey!reader

❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x wifey!reader, starved prequel

❛ type | oneshot, explicit

❛ summary | after watching mayday, miguel develops a bad case of baby fever, longing for a family of his own.

❛ tags | explicit, miguel has baby fever, babysitting, talk of family planning and contraception, f!reader, breeding, pregnancy kink, much fluff, some angst, starved!reader, miguel being frustrated and cute, clean that kitchen, one stereotype of latina women, Spanish is not translated, best friend!peter, self edited.

❛ request fulfilled | could you possibly write an imagine in which Miguel and his wife take care of mayday? + multiple requests for more starved reader/miguel.

❛ sy's notes | written to fulfill some requests. i do have another daddy miguel blurb to fulfill, but my future works should be nice and angsty.

Peter has it out for him.

It’s the only logical reason why he’d do this shit to him.

Miguel stood in his dark room in a pair of scratchy jeans, dragging a belt loop to loop when he heard the door to his room draw open. A resonant schwap, schwap, schwap.

“Mi reina?” Miguel cocked his eyebrow up, extending his claws.

“¿Sí?” you called back from the bathroom, the distant scent of his favorite perfume wafting into the air. Miguel threw a look to the bathroom, reaching for the bedroom door. It burst open before he could open it.

“Hi, Miguel! Where’s your wife?”

Peter dragged his feet into the room, whirling around with a sloppily put-together backpack that leaked diapers onto the floor. An exasperated breath left his lips, dripping in the way he looked at Peter.

Unfortunately, his little wife liked Peter a bit too much for his taste.

“I should have known.” Miguel ran his hand through his hair, strands of mocha brown flyaways wisping along his tawny forehead. “Why are you here?”

His normally disheveled appearance was a little more disheveled. It wasn’t his appearance that bothered him but how it reached his eyes. Shocked, confused, tired. Peter pat his deltoid, awkward laughter choking in his throat. It bubbled on the edge of an overwhelmed sob.

“Well, you see, your wife said she’d watch Mayday because I have a date, and I haven’t had a date in a really, really long time. Like, a really long time—”

“Is Peter here?”

His head snapped to your bathroom where you came out, threading a golden hoop earring. You probably already knew the fight that was heading your way-- but for your part, you couldn’t be bothered to care any less.

“Got it, you need this date.” Miguel cut Peter off, standing behind you with his massive arms crossed. “¿Por qué no me dijiste?”

“¡Mi nena! Muévete Miguel,” you giggled, shoving your way past Miguel to Peter’s child carrier, sneaking your hands underneath her little armpits and whirling her around. She cackled, a glittering warmth to her mischievous eyes. You came to a stop, settling Mayday against your chest, nuzzling your foreheads together in some secret pact that the two of you shared.

Oh no, no, no, no. Not this. It hits him at once.

The sight of his wife— beautiful and cuddly with a very young baby in her arms. The only sight more beautiful was at the altar on his wedding day, your shy smile behind a sheer veil. It had been a long time, too long, since he had someone to call him father. He can still picture her glimmering eyes, the way she looked at him in nothing short of admiration, looking past the things that he’d done to see him and only him. Glimpsing at Mayday, remembering Gabriella’s soft, small face, it took him a moment to snap free.

He's so fucked.

“You would have said no, amado mío.”

You’re a natural at this, scooting by both men to set Mayday on the bed. Your tiny fingers spiraled out from her belly to change her diaper. Peter jittered uncomfortably, looking as though he wanted to jump in himself. You cleaned her, replacing the dirty diaper with a clean one. “We’re going to a market with Tío Miguel--”

“Don’t bring me into this.”

“Are you sure it's okay? I’ll be back at five, it's just a few hours, really--”

“¡Vete! A ratty house robe and a dirty spider suit aren’t sexy. Look at mi Miggy,” now you’re just buttering him up. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, inspecting the ground. “Wear something nice.”

They’re sexy to her, he might have murmured. Not on a date, you bopped him. Mayday’s bright eyes tracked the space between you and Peter before you broke away to wash your hands. Peter’s clammy hands cupped Mayday’s sweet face, littering at least a dozen sickly daddy kisses over her tiny face. But Miguel what if--

“Adiós, Peter!” You returned to force Peter out of your room. Miguel peered at Mayday whose head snapped to the side, cheek against her fiery hair as the door clicked shut. He braced himself for the shrill that would inevitably come with her realization that her daddy was gone. She whined, grabbing her toes and tipping nearly off the side of the bed. Miguel begrudgingly hovered at her feet, blocking her from rolling off the bed. He could do this, he told himself, he could resist those giant baby eyes staring up at him.

He didn't need a baby, he didn't.

He blames Peter for having such a good baby.

She doesn’t ask for much other than requiring chest-to-chest contact with Miguel. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hold her, he finds himself aggravated by how much he likes to be around her. In a market full of things to look at food trinkets such as necklaces, body scrubs, and empanadas, it’s all her. Miguel props her up with an arm just under her bum, her tiny finger peeking curiously into his fangs. He snapped his teeth playfully at her, a nip, nip, nip, missing playfully every time. It rips ping a toothy grin across her face.

“No biting Miguelito,” you called out, sliding your fingers in a teasing ring around his muscled back to chest. You leaned up on your tippy toes, placing a small little kiss on his lips. You ran off to go get her a pineapple whip after her tiny fist yanked your hair over and over again. You relented, staring at what she was cooing at. Sweets-- obviously, sweets. All the little ones loved sweets.

“She likes it.”

“Ya sé,” you said, “But we don’t need anyone noticing you’ve grown fangs.”

“Tch,” he clicks his teeth in protest. She does too, throwing you a mean look for interrupting her fun. You plucked up a bit of the whip on your spoon, cutting through her displeasure through the power of sugar.

"There's a lot of people here, Miggy, let's go to the park." You point toward the park, pointing away from the mounds of fresh produce and locally sourced goods toward a healthy patch of green grass. Miguel is glad-- he’s sick of being stared at for his huge frame. Despite the ring on his finger, people still seem to try their luck. He couldn't be more disinterested.

You lay a picnic blanket as Miguel holds Mayday's treat. Mayday sprawls across his chest, trying to take just one more bite-- then another-- Miguel looks down, chin level, eyebrow raised. She offers a bit on her tiny index finger to Miguel. A peace offering. “She’s not going to wait.”

“Give her to me.” You kicked off your sandals on the edge of the blanket, dropping your things on another corner. You pluck Mayday from Miguel’s arms and set her down on the blanket in a way that is too easy. As though you wouldn’t have much of a learning curve in becoming a mother. No, no— you never mentioned anything about kids. Did you even want kids? He couldn't bring his heart to ask, to hope again.

“I didn’t know you were so experienced with kids.”

“Mami had six,” you noted, plopping down with the whip by Mayday’s side. She sat with a small slant, reaching out toward the sweet treat again with those chunky, adorable hands. You brought her into your lap, at last relenting. “When you’re the oldest, you have to learn a little something to help out. Can you imagine-- being pregnant six times? Ay no.”

“How many times do you want to be pregnant?” he blurts out. Usually timed and precise, the question causes him to pinch his brow as he sits beside you. “Si quieres,”

Your other hand comes on top of his and shifts it away from his face.

“As many as will make you happy.”

Shock. He chews on that response, his eyes glued to Mayday lapping at the last spoon of sweets you are willing to give her. She falls into a fit of complaints, a conniving look at the sweets, just as you lift her onto your shoulder.

"I never thought about it."

"No more, your papa won't forgive me if I bring you home all sugared up," you tsked your tongue at her. You patted along her back in small, tight circles until her angry huffs faded away. He reaches for the baby bag, slipping free a soft yellow blanket with white spiders strewn across the front. Miguel slides the blanket on top of Mayday’s small body, her groggy eyes sliding closed.

The more he watches you with Mayday, holding her so close, swaying as you held her, the deeper this ache burrowed in his chest. You would look beautiful all swollen with his child. Never mind Mayday or Peter, he can nearly see it, feel it under his fingers, the feeling of your taut belly under his skin, or the kick of tiny feet against his palm.

“We’ll see, Miggy.”

We’ll see-- the answer seems too noncommittal, too distant to be a satisfactory answer. With Mayday sound asleep, you settle her between your plush thighs. She expelled bursts of energy that milked her energy dry.

A little old woman passed by, her cane pierced soft grass as she moved closer with a bag of tomatoes and green beans. Her face, aged by time, pulls into a wide smile. He doesn't like her smile.

“You two are doing a great job. How old is she?”

You blink, looking up into the woman’s cool blue eyes, her dark hair peppered with thick grey and white strands. You tuck Mayday in her soft blanket, sparing the woman a kind smile that Miguel doesn’t quite have the patience for.

“Oh, oh. Thank you-- um, a couple of months,” you recount, perhaps thinking of Peter’s anxious pacing or his delighted shouts about becoming a father.

“Adopting is a great option. Back in the day, my husband was a bodybuilder too. Had a low sperm count don’t you know. Steroids shrink things. Oh, but these days you can do all sorts of things like IV--”

A what-- Miguel’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull at the suggestion. Was this old bitch’s suggestion that he couldn’t do it-- couldn’t get you pregnant? He could easily do that. If he wanted you pregnant, you would be shocking pregnant. He’d be damned if some old woman put it in your mind that he couldn’t.

“We’re babysitting for a friend,” he blurts out. “I have--” had, “a daughter.”

“Oh, do you? I’m sorry. I thought-- well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, have a good day."

She’s saying that, but it comes out slanted. You don’t bother correcting Miguel, not on this. Rather, your hand inched toward his, picking up on the energy that was pluming from his body in waves. Irritation-- annoyance-- the little old lady hobbles off. You’re in your mind well enough to bid her goodbye. But you know better than to say anything more, slumping your cheek on Miguel’s firm chest. It makes the ache of Gabriella's memory a little more bearable.

Low sperm count his ass.

It bothers him long after Mayday is gone. Peter, for his part, looks refreshed. He supposes that’s what happens with a full day of opportunity to empty your balls after weeks of no relief. It bothers him long after you come back from the kitchen, his favorite dark red slip plastered to your perfect body. It would look beautiful, full of his children— he just knows it.

“I may have hijacked the kitchen a little bit,” you teased, the waft of warm chicken and brewed spices filled his nose. He had no appetite. “But I made you some pollo guisado.”

“Hm,” he grunts into a pillow. “Later.”

Beside the bed, he has a bowl of brightly colored condoms. With your sensitivity to birth control, it is the best option available. It wasn’t, however, something he was ever happy about. He should be able to feel your body. Not once had he felt your body pure and unadulterated, warm and perfect for him. He was your husband. He wanted that moment— to fill you up just once, watch his cum dribble out of your cunt. It would be perfect. You set the food away, bowl and spoon clinking together.

“Miguel.”

Forget your warm body. This room is too quiet. It is almost stifling in its silence. Mayday’s sweet huffs, the memory of Gabriella’s laughter. A proper home full of a child's giggles. He’s going crazy-- he has to be-- this isn’t normal. This isn’t Miguel.

“Mi vida, don’t pout,” you reach out, rolling your fingers through his long brown hair. Your fingers tease along his scalp, turning around his ear. Your fingers tickle his lobe, your voice cemented in a concern that he wanted nothing more but to fix if it were anything other than this. “Miggy. Miggy, what is wrong? You look sad.”

“I’m not sad,” he says with a whine on his pillow. How silly he must look with his broad arms wound around the body pillow, squeezing its fluff for life. If he said the words well enough, you might believe them.

“I know you are,” you nudge the pillow loose. He takes you instead, the air thickening with the closeness. You fed off the tension, sliding your leg over the sheet that covers his naked hip. “Tell me why.”

He turns his hands over your thighs, traveling past your hips to ghost along your belly.

“Sí, Miggy?”

“I need…” he trailed off, finding the words nearly impossible to admit. They grow into a ball and cement in his throat, present but stubborn. Rather than break the words free, he swallows a bolus of desire and frustration. “It’s nothing. Let it go.”

The issue was— you loved him enough to let it do so.

Miguel doesn’t want to press the issue. He knows you. All you want is Miguel’s happiness. Sometimes, he worries it is at the price of your own. The distance he places between you and him is intolerable. It bothers him every time he finds you babysitting Mayday.

Today, while Peter goes on a small date, you and Mayday make his favorite empanadas. She’s covered in a dusting of flour from head to toe. Peter would have fun with that.

“Miggy you’re back?” you called as Mayday’s chubby hands shot out, nearly plopping off the counter if not for Miguel’s quick reflexes, setting her back in place.

“Empanadas?” he settles the words in a small kiss to your lips. You glance at him over your shoulder.

“It's... it's Gabi's birthday, isn't it?"

You’re too good for him. Despite the day coming and going, no one else notices his grief today. Not even Peter who came in alongside him, reading the room, and snatching up Mayday off the countertop. He’s babbling something, a thank you, see you later— you kiss Mayday with only the sweetness a mother could know.

“Peter! Mayday made these for you,” you reach out to a box of uncooked empanadas. “Take them home!”

Her first empanadas— the delight is palpable. Peter may have snapped a photo, or ten, of his little flour girl on the way out, empanadas in hand. Then there’s silence. Miguel returns the nearly forgotten bundle of empanada dough and filling to the fridge in the space of unspoken tension. Miguel dips down to your neck, caramelized perfume warm on your neck. His lips trace the warm pulse of your neck.

“Mami,” his voice mesmeric, warm like the filling you used to make him happy when no one else could. Your doting attention, even in the face of real issues like work and babies, was always on him.

"Sí, mi vida?"

His hands coast around your waist, using his strength to gently turn you around. It isn’t important right now. What is important is how he lifts you up onto the floury surface, purring his need into your slight ear. “I want a baby.”

“¿Qué?”

“Una niña,” Miguel leans his fingers along your collarbone.

“Oh, Miggy.” You puff the words. They come out almost wounded. You know him so well, the vulnerability of the words causing him to look down. Your warm palms cradle his cheeks, forcing him to look into your eyes. “You miss being a father, don't you?”

You’re not stupid. Neither is he. He thought he could wait— watch Mayday grow up and not feel this sundering longing. As though he could stomach never feeling a child in his arms again. The ghosts of the past that came with Mayday’s longing haunt him day by day.

You devour his insecurity, winding your legs around his waist and forcing him forward. He stumbles into your embrace, as though he were not a man who could decimate villains and spiders alike. When he was here, in your arms, he barely felt like the weapon of a man that he is.

“Miguel. Speak to me.”

“You’re right,” he can’t lie— can’t hide the longing that comes with the thought of his own child on his chest. Not Mayday, no matter how many times she cuddled up to his chest. At the end of the day, she would never be his. You drew your lip into your mouth, nipping it fat and red, a bob in your head. His heart beats faster, strumming as though it would break free from his chest. Whatever it is you’re thinking he’s not sure. Only that it’s been so long.

“I just want to make you happy, will this make you happy?” you nearly whisper, knowing that there’s no one but him to hear the words. It’s what he wants for you, too. As he stands there, coursing his fingers along your thighs and hiking your dress up your hips, he can’t help but feel the foggy discomfort of forcing you into parenthood before you were ready.

“It will.”

As well as it could. It would never erase Gabriella-- and, in the vulnerability of begging his wife for another child, came the guilt. Not only the guilt of failing to be a proper father or to protect her but moving on without her in his life to a beautiful family she would have loved. The feelings surge in his chest, a well of uncomfortable emotions in his eyes, threatening to fall.

“Miguel,” you’re whispering, your fingers cutting across his sharp cheekbones. You cup his face, drawing your lips together in a commanding kiss. You never liked being ignored or forgotten. He’s not sure how he could now, with your tongue flicking between his lips, begging him to come back with a sugary sweet whine. “Stay with me, Miguel.”

“I am,” he says, gripping either side of the counter by your hips. He feels your eyes on him, soft and careful, pressuring him to meet your gaze. He searches for an inkling of an answer in your gaze. "¿Qué piensas?"

“We can try,” you bite your lip, sliding it free between your teeth. “If you don’t have a low sperm count,” you tease. “Maybe it’ll take.”

“¡Por dios!” He throws a curse to the side as if he believed in such a being, throwing a look back at you. “You don’t actually believe that vieja.”

“Ay Miggy, of course not.” His lips work into a budding smile. You leaned up against his stubbly jaw, setting soft kisses there. Your lipstick stains his neck, dragging down to his prominent adam’s apple. He looks down at you with heady eyes, tracing the way you suckled a mark on his throat. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like them a little more when others noticed them, little marks of possession. Miguel’s fingers come up to the straps of your dress, easing them over and down your slight shoulders. You pull back, words forming puff against his neck.

“Not right here,” you inhale a soft breath. “Someone could come in.”

Miguel eases his finger over the small bud of your breast, rolling his thumb along the silken skin, His hand comes up, encompassing your neck and shoving you back into the cabinets. It isn’t comfortable, not by far. He works the nub to its peak before turning his attention to the other. His mouth covers your breast, fangs grazing your nub as he suckled and tugged gently. Miggy, you pull him back up, stripped of your touch. Your hand slide across Miguel’s chest, tracing the taut muscles of his chest.

“Who would come in?”

“Peter,” you answer.

It’s always Peter. He supposes that you wouldn’t want your friend to see you here, cunt stuffed with Miguel on the very same counter you earlier made him empanadas on. Miguel snatched the dress that fell along your hips laxly, utilizing it to yank you off the counter. You fell forward into Miguel, a heavy wall of muscle, your lips failing to form anything of use. You looked at him, cheeks flush and eyes doting, he’s the only one you see.

“The balcony, then.”

“Dianche, Miguel! Do you want all of Nueva York to see me?”

“Maybe.”

No, but see Miguel breeding you? Undoubtedly yes.

He couldn’t simply choose the bed, that would be too easy. Miguel set a kiss on your forehead, soft and scratchy with his stubble. You return it by dragging him down for another kiss, a wave of warmth coming over him as you force your hips back onto him, rolling your hips against his, teasing him. Miguel doesn’t appreciate the tease and gently pushes on your hips, motioning you to face the counter.

“Bend over.”

"Can't we go to my room?" you complain but comply all the same. Miguel’s palm ghosts your spine, dragging his fingers smoothly over the middle of your back and past the dress that gathered around your hips, He strips you of the little cover the dress gave, eager to have you bare and rid of the thin clothing that served as a veil from prying eyes. Miguel can cover you from the prying eyes of others if necessary. Not that he cared if others saw him fucking-- he’s all the more eager to have you all to himself, here and now.

“No panties,” he notes, his warm hands on your inner thighs. “It’s almost like you knew.”

“I might have,” you return, spreading your legs obediently for him. He palms your vulva, your hips shifting down over his hand. Sticky and wet, he wonders if his need to breed you has rubbed off on you too. His fingers shift, sliding over your soft hole. “Apúrate Miguel, you’re so slow.”

“Can’t you be be good for once.”

You were always bossy. He likes it, most the time, being led around by what his pretty little wife wants. Today he wants to take his time, curving his broad fingers into your glistening cunt. Your wetness drips over his knuckles, fingers teasing the velvety soft walls he has never felt without a condom. A pleasured cry wracks in your chest, turning your head over your shoulder to watch Miguel’s fingers stretching you out. No matter how much your walls gave under his fingers, you would still ache when he penetrated you. It was the favourite part, the rich pull of his dick into your hole, bottoming out as best he could in your stomach. He soothes your complaints by grazing his other hand against your perky clitoral hood, finding the soft nub there for relief. You settle your arms on the floured surface.

“I never-- ah-- am,” you threw back.

Miguel slipped his fingers free, cupping your cunt with his palm for a teasing slap. You want to be good-- it’s just so hard, your cunt pulsing in the abswnce of his touch. He drags his sodden fingers to your lips, glazing them in taste of your lubricant. You suckle your tongue around his thick digits, savoring your own taste, his soft grunt of approval spurring you on. You feel like such a good girl with his fingers crooked in your mouth.

“Are you ready?” Miguel stands fully upright, dragging your hips to his. He’s hard as the counter you were pathetically clinging onto. His hipbones ground into your plush ass, dick pulsing in his immediate ache to feel your cunt. He backs up, fiddling with something at the waist. You don’t need to ask to know that it was his big cock grinding between your cheeks, smearing fluid over your slit.

“No condom?”

“No condom,” he affirms. You bow your head, nodding gently over the countertop. The head of his cock drove into your wetness, pushing past bundles of nerves. It’s impossibly different without the bag over his dick. It’s been so long. His world blinks out, savoring the feeling like he was an inexperienced teenager again.

“Carajo, you’re so good,” he finds himself cursing, leaning over your back.

“Now he says I’m good."

“Shh,” Miguel clips with a mean nip at your nape, lining it with soft kisses, encouraging you on to take him. Warm and wet, Miguel can only describe the slide into your cunt as untethered delight. Released from the bondage of his usual condom, he’s a mess against your soaked cunt, gripping you for a semblance of stability.

I just want to make you happy. For all your needy complaints and little quips, he knows you do. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here, with your hands cupped on top of his, squeezing for more closeness. Miguel laces your fingers together in a needy weave, drawing back to stroke his cock right back into your wet body. You lead one of his hands between your legs, urging him on to stroke your clit. Your walls clamp down on him, teasing out bursts of pleasure with how deeply he was buried. Miguel’s lips part into a whine of his name, skin slapping against skin. He sets a kiss in the crook of your neck, breath nearly unbearable.

“Mami,” he gasps, the word coming out between his unstable thrusts. Your eyes shut hard, sparks of pleasure winding and building in your core. “Give me a baby.”

“Sí papi,” you heave, “I”m trying to.”

Miguel knows what you like-- and you like him desperate. His voice so low and rich that you gush around his swollen length, falling apart below him. He catches your body from dropping in an instant, his thighs shaking as he works you through the fibers of gentle pleasure. Hot pressure builds low in his stomach.

“Qué bella eres. I’m going to finish, fill you and knock you up,” he whispers, drawing himself free and admiring the hazy space of pleasure and reality. Miguel turns you back to face him. You think you may complain-- you didn’t cum, or something of the sort. He shifts you to sit on the counter, spreading your vulva for inspection. Miguel spat on your cunt, rolling his fingers over the swollen folds to spread you apart. He slipped into the space between your shaking legs. You felt him thrust into your body hard and sharp. Your hands reached out, dragging Miguel’s shoulders forward, clinging onto his body.

It comes all at once, Miguel’s stuttering thrust forward, a deep groan filling the kitchen, his hand clasped onto your thigh so hard you know he’ll bruise it. You catch his moan in a kiss he doesn’t reciprocate, buried so deep in your body that all he can think to do is to force you to take all of it. He shakes himself free of the web of pleasure that he’s enveloped in, looking at you past the thin rivulets of sweat you wiped away with your loving thumbs.

“I think there are better positions for baby making,” you lean in, kissing him gently. He returns the kiss this time, eyes light of the strain and stress of the last few days. “Like… not this.”

Miguel pulls back, his soft cock slipping free from your warm entrance. Miguel watches as his seed dribbles from your hole, grunting in acknowledgement. He swipes your mixed fluids and rolls it between his fingers.

“I’m open to suggestions.”

He loves his wife. More than anything. What he doesn’t love is how Peter seems to know that you’re trying for a baby.

The thing about having a woman from his same cultura was this: you loved to talk with your best friend. Who, just so happened to be Peter. He doesn’t even have to say anything, just staring at him with a quirk on his lip and a terrible glitter in his eye after he’s resolved another meeting.

“Hey, Miguel.”

“Don’t start.”

He’s crowded with work at his desk-- he has no time for Mayday’s curious little eyes to glitter at him, Peter to be doing that shit he did when he wanted to be helpful. He offered his hands up, shrugging.

“I’m just saying! I’m a man, you’re a man,” he mumbles, inching a little closer and closer. “If you want a baby--”

“Let me guess. She told you.”

“Mayday could use a spider buddy,” he held Mayday up, out of her carrier. Miguel glanced down at her wild hair, exhaling air out of his nose with a little huff. “Sooner than later?”

“I’ve done it before,” Miguel throws back. “I know how to knock up my own wife, Peter. I don’t need help.”

Peter is offering help as if Miguel hadn’t tasted the changes in your body when he ate you out. Never mind that he saw you nauseated this morning, too sick to handle a call that Miguel promptly answered. He knew his seed had stuck-- you wouldn’t feel so miserable otherwise. It doesn’t matter, he’d answer them all if it meant another little one in his arms at the end of it all. Just so long as you and the baby were safe.

“Are you sure? I know--”

“I’m damn sure.” Miguel turned around, his head in his hand. “I’ve had enough of you. Why don’t you do something useful? Bring her something for her morning sickness.”

“Oh,” realization fell over Peter like a hammer, looking down to Mayday who looked right back up to her father. For all that Peter knew about his love life, he was shocked that you hadn’t told him how awful the smell of breakfast meat made you feel. His hand fell away, a film of pride slipping from his practiced features when Peter spoke. “But... She’s already pregnant?”

He leers. Peter scuttles away.

Privacy is important to Miguel. You knew the damn rule. No telling Peter about the inner workings of your bedroom. For that, you were going to fucking get it. You likely knew you were going to get it-- even if you were likely already pregnant.

He can’t wait.

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gojonanami · 5 months

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THE DOCTOR IS IN - SATORU GOJO

✴︎ summary: aka medical intern / doctor in training gojo. when you go to your annual check-up, you didn't think you'd be crushing on your doctor - or that he's conduct such an in-depth examination - in more than one way. ✴︎ contents: 18+, a lot of smut, implied cheating (but there's no cheating), improper use of a medical questioning and an exam room, improper use of a tongue depressor, panty sniffing, semi-exhibitionism (but not really), fingering (f!receiving), oral (f! receiving), semi-public sex, sex in an exam room ✴︎ wc: 2,573

It was just a checkup.

You sit, using your phone as you wait for the doctor, squirming on the uncomfortable exam paper drawn over the patient bed — so why were you so nervous?

And then there’s a knock at the door, and he walks in — but it’s not your usual doctor.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” the white haired man grins widely, and you’re taken aback by how good he looks dressed in his white coat — if he had been your doctor before, you never would have missed a single one of your appointments, “My name is Satoru Gojo, and I’m a medical student that’ll be helping out today,” he offers his hand, and you take it, shaking his hand.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” you smile, introducing yourself by name, and he sits on the chair in front of you. Without his white coat and stethoscope around his neck, he could have looked more like a model than a medical student. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had been offered gigs modeling for his medical school’s brochures — hell, you were regretting not going to medical school right now.

He’s right down to business, crossing his leg over the other, “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about you, what brings you here, and your personal and medical history?” he asks, clipboard and pen in hand, lips curling.

“Not at all, Doctor,”

“Call me Satoru,” he smiles, and you can’t help but smile back. And then he’s running through the usual list of questions — name, occupation, date of birth, smoking status, drugs, prescription list, and all the other questions medical providers need to ask patients, “and sexual history?”

You tilt your head, flushing, “Can you be more specific?”

And he’s leaning back, pen pausing in its scribbling, as he glances up to clarify, “Are you sexually active?”

You lick your dry lips, squirming under his gaze that suddenly feels heavier than before, “Yes, I am,” and he nods.

“Do you have a partner?”

You nod, “I have a boyfriend,”

His eyes rake over you discreetly, “Must be pretty handsome to date a woman like you,” he remarks, — did he always flirt with his patients? Because he certainly will have good patient retention at that rate.

“He’s also a little full of himself,” and you see a slight purse of his lips, as he raises an eyebrow, “but he’s very, very cute,”

“Oh is he? Good to know,” he sighs, pressing the top of the pen to his lips, drawing your eyes to his lips, “and how often do you engage in sexual activity?”

You have to pause before you answer — god, when were you going to move off this topic? “Pretty often, almost every day, usually,” you clear your throat, unable to meet his gaze, as he nods.

“And are you satisfied?”

And you raise an eyebrow, “is that relevant?”

“Oh, this is a physical, we like to be very thorough,” and you swallow thickly — well this was uncomfortable — but he only looked…almost amused, “Well?”

“Most of the time,” you shrug.

“Most of the time?” he repeats, placing his clipboard lower, clearly far too interested.

“My boyfriend has been pretty busy with work lately, it’s been pretty lonely,” your eyes finally finding his own, deep blues darkening a shade.

And his lips quirk, “Oh I see, I’m sorry to hear that, but I won’t be leaving you alone anytime soon,” he winks, and he’s rising to his feet, as he draws slower, “I think we can move onto the actual physical exam now,” and he’s pulling his stethoscope out as he draws near, kneeling instead of standing — because what else can you do beside a couch instead of a hospital bed — “I’m going to listen to your heartbeat,”

God, he smells good.

You try not to bite your lip at him — he was so pretty, up close even more so, his long snow white eyelashes fluttering and his perfect pink lips so kissable — but no, no, this was inappropriate. This was a doctor’s office.

And he’s putting the stethoscope in his ears, pressing the metal diaphragm to your chest, “Oh, your heart’s racing,” he murmurs, leaning in even closer, warm breath warming your skin, “wonder why that is — this may call for further examination,”

“Is this concerning?” and he’s tilting your chin up, far too close to your face.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, you’re in good hands,” he’s moving the stethoscope to your back, pressing the metal end to listen to your lungs, “please take deep breaths for me,” and you do, biting your lip, as he leans against you as he moves the diaphragm to four different points, his chest brushing against your shoulder, “I see,” he murmurs, “have you been experiencing any aches or pains anywhere?”

You swallow, “My throat has been hurting a little,” and he nods, grabbing a tongue depressor.

“Let me take a look, now stick out your tongue and say ‘ah,’” and you do as he says as he presses the tongue depressor down, “good girl,” he murmurs, making your cheeks warm at his words — fuck.

His eyes scan your mouth, pressing against your tongue harder, “I don’t see anything unusual,” as he pulls the depressor back, skimming your tongue teasingly, but still, his face is so close to yours, and he notices your breath catching, “but I may need to do a closer examination if you…consent,”

“If I consent?” You ask slowly, his lips a breath away, and his thumb drags down your lips, “Satoru—“

“Do you consent?” And he’s leaning even closer, noses brushing, and you only can manage a nod, “use your words, Princess,”

“Yes, please,” and he only smirks, as his lips brush yours — so soft and teasing, his fingers cup along your jaw. He tastes of sugar and warmth, his tongue teasing your lips, until they part, dragging over your tongue, the very same he had just examined. He draws easy moans from you, one after another, before he pulls away, a string of spit connecting your lips.

“I didn’t see any issues, but I am concerned about your throat,” and he’s kissing a burning trail down your jaw to the hollow of your throat, “feels a little swollen here—“ and his teeth grazes the soft skin there, “it may need a closer look,” and he’s licking and sucking, dragging his tongue over your sweet skin.

And you’re nearly panting at this point, as he smiles at you, pressing another kiss to your lips, and you raise an eyebrow, “was that you checking again?” And he laughs, lips curling, as his fingers slide to the small of your back.

“You can be too sure,” and he’s kissing you again, and he doesn’t miss the way your thighs press together, “think the problem may lie elsewhere,” and his hands drag down your sides before finding your thighs, and you gasp, as he parts them, your fingers pressing into your soft flesh, “feels very warm here, and almost irritated — it may be an infection,” he hums, as his thumbs toy with the waistband of your shorts, “I may need to get a closer look,”

“Satoru—” you whine, and pulling at your shorts now, and he’s looking up at you with lidded, lustful eyes.

“Would the patient like some help removing her clothes for the examination?” and you only can manage a nod, and he accepts it this time, pulling your shorts down, “don’t worry, I’m a medical professional, I know just what treatments are acceptable in cases such as these,” and your shorts pool around your ankles, before you’re kicking them off.

And his eyes linger on the damp, dark patch on your underwear, “oh? I see the problem,” you gasp as he presses his thumb against your puffy clit through the thin fabric, “it’s so swollen, so warm — I’m going to have to do a very thorough exam of this area,” and he’s snapping the fabric against your skin, making your squirm, “so sensitive,” he hums as he tugs down your underwear, sniffing your panties, before pocketing them, “a sample, I’ll keep it for further testing,” he winks, before he unbuttons his cuffs, rolling up the sleeves of his light blue button up.

His eyes darken as his eyes rake over your exposed cunt, “are you ready to begin?” And he waits for your nod, before his fingers part your messy folds, as his arms pin your thighs in place, “so wet, do you hear that, sweetheart?” And his finger sinks into your needy pussy, squelching, “practically swallowing me in,” he grunts, licking his lips, “gonna need to probe a little deeper,” and a second finger is joining the first, fucking you open in earnest, as he pulls another moan from your lips, “s’good for me, but still I can’t figure out what’s wrong, maybe I just need to inspect this area further,” his hands sliding your thighs over his shoulders, pressing a languid kiss to your inner thigh.

And then his lips brush against your clit, making you squirm, his tongue darting out to drag lazy circles around it. God, you were so close, “don’t be so loud, there are other patients who might hear you — they might wonder what kind of exam I’m doing,” and you’re holding back your cries, biting your bottom lip. as his fingers and tongue bully your insides, “so tight, think I need to loosen you up before the final test,”

“I’m, ngh, close—“ and his lips close over your clit, sucking hard, and that’s enough for you to fall over the edge. You’re moaning, walls twitching around his fingers, your thighs, as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, lapping up every bit of your release. Your cunt twitches as you come down from your pleasure high, as you look down at him with half lidded eyes, gaze deep and dark, laced with lust as you watch him lick your release from his lips and chin.

“Such a good baby, you did so good,” he’s pressing sweet kisses to your neck and face, until he’s letting you taste yourself on his lips, swallowing your moans eagerly, “haven’t even figured out what’s wrong and look at the state you’re in now,” he tsks, as he rubs the length of your cheek with his thumb, before kissing your jaw, “we still have more work to do,” as he eases your quivering legs off his shoulders.

And he’s undoing his belt, the clink of the buckle drawing your eyes to his thighs, as he tugs down his slacks and boxers, as it slaps against your stomach. Your lips part at the sight of him, thick and long — a white head of precum, dripping from the engorged tip.

Fuck, he’s huge, and he chuckles at your expression, “Like what you see, sweetheart?” As he drags his weeping erection along your sensitive pussy, “so messy, gonna have to see what’s going on inside, I have a feeling it’s very deep,” his fingers lift one of your legs over his shoulder, “are you ready?”

And you’re nodding, “please, I need—“ and he’s parting your folds, past that delicious ring of muscle, kissing the deepest part of you with his tip, as your lips part in a groan, “Toru—“

“That’s it, s’good for me,” he’s grunting, as he pulls out only to slam back in, “best little patient, aren’t you? With your perfect princess cunt, made just for me,”

“Figure out the — ngh — the problem yet?” You tease.

He only grins, as he gives a nasty thrust of his hips, wiping all sense from your head, “Filthy case of pretty Princess cunt — PPC — and it’s a particularly bad one,” he’s slowing down to stretch out the wet squelch of your cunt, “hear that? It’s the sound of your pussy latching onto me, practically strangling my cock,” and he’s picking up speed, as he lifts your other leg over his shoulder and — fuck how is he going deeper?

“Gonna come in for all your appointments and let me fuck you, right? Gonna fill you right, you have just what you need, the perfect medicine is this dick in this cunt, and the prescription is for every day, sweetheart,” he’s pistoning in and out of you, “pretty baby keeps pulling me back in, it may be incurable,” but he’s only fucking you harder, “but I’m going to try.”

The hospital bed is certainly ruined by now, from the creaks and groans it’s giving, it’s nearly as close to breaking as you are. Just a little deeper, a little more.

“Taking me so well, such a good girl,” his cock is twitching inside you, “fuck, s’good f’me, just for me,”

“Toru, ‘m close,” and his hips are stuttering, as he groans your name.

“Cum f’me, sweetheart,” and you do — your orgasm has you gripping him tight, as he continues to fuck you through it, rough thrusts that has you moaning far too loud, “close, gonna cum—where—“

“Inside, please,” and your eyes find his, lust blown out, as your hips grind against his, “I need my medicine,”

And he only groans in reply, sinking his cock as deep as he can before cumming, his warm seed filling you up, as his hips jerk against yours once, twice, before he’s easing your legs down, to lay on top of you.

Both of your heavy pants fill the room, as his face rests nestled in your chest, his lips pressing sweet kisses to the skin, “I am definitely not helping you sanitize this room, Toru,”

He pouts, “Oh c’mon it’s half of your mess, most of your mess — you were soaking me—“

“I did you a favor by coming to help you practice conducting an intake and diagnosing a patient, I’m not cleaning up this mess too,” you sigh, as he relents, leaning up to kiss your lips.

“Well you did cum a lot I’ll give you that,” and you push his face away, but he only drags his tongue up your fingers. You flush, “you’re the worst doctor,” you grumble.

“But I’m your favorite one, after all,” he grins, easing himself out, as you gasp, watching your mixed releases leak from your cunt, “I’m the only one who can give you your medicine.”

A few hours before….

“C’mon, baby, I need to practice,” your boyfriend curled his arms around you, burying his face in your neck, trying to pull your attention from the book your nose was buried in currently, “i need to practice,”

“I don’t think practicing is what’s on your mind right now, Toru,” you roll your eyes as he presses wet kisses up your neck, “you’re being distracting,”

“You distract me just by existing,” he pouts, and you roll your eyes, “at least if I practice with you, I can do something,” and you can’t say no to him, could you?

“Fine but why can’t we practice here?” And he’s shrugging, only grinning in reply.

“I can get more into the mindset of a doctor at the clinic,” he’s holding up the key he had sweet talked out of the security guard, “it’s a chance for me to get some practical experience. No one else will be around. Just you and me. Please?”

“…fine,” you sigh, as he kisses you again, “but you’ll behave?”

“Promise,” he grins — but you knew Satoru Gojo never behaved - especially when it came to you.

✴︎ a/n: my sister's practice asking me medical questions for an intake finally came in handy.

✴︎ taglist: @mwtsxri, @buttercupmuffins, @sinnerstardoll, @ziieanna12, @capitana18girl, @musababy, @miacakess, @secretmoneybearvoid, @sincerelyyrosemary, @dazailover1900, @maybe-a-bi-witch, @mnare, @kiyoomis-side, @complexivelovely, @imjustmememe, @pandaluvr, @affendy86, @scarlet-kazuha, @peachedtv, @spooky-nanners, @runmeoverkth, @nicobicobee, @kvroshit, @superluver, @paperairplanescanfly, @professorweezy, @i-literally-cant-with-this, @sachirobabe, @aothotties, @naughteehee, @ohphi, @roanryan16, @happyface002, @starrylibras, @sxatorugojoswife, @unamilanesa, @lycheeclare, @oreo-bozado, @yeehawslap, @hidanleftoe, @reaperxdeath

#sab [mlist]#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo fanfiction #satoru gojo smut #jjk smut #jjk x resder #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #satoru gojo x you #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru fanfiction

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13atoms · 1 month

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Handsome and a Genius (Spencer Reid x F!Bau!Reader)

Inspired by that one scene in x files where mulder stands like a himbo looking handsome and being the future of beauty. you know the one I mean

Summary: Spencer’s overactive brain draws more attention than it ought to on a case, and you see him in a new light. 3k words.

Contains: hostile witnesses, spencer being clueless (but an absolute babe), friends to lovers. (No offence to Florida im sure it’s very nice, reader is having a bad day, and I am far too British for that kind of heat)

The sticky Florida air had long since plastered your clothes to your skin, leaving you short of breath and with the unpleasant feeling of damp hair against your scalp. The whole team had groaned at the revelation their next case would be in the outskirts of Miami, and as soon as the plane door opened you understood why.

You were hot, and grumpy. The salty, swampy air made you feel disgusting as you approached witness after witness. There was a serial killer operating in and around mobile home parks in the area, with the two most recent murders taking place in Royal Biscayne Trailer Park, both over a week ago. While the rest the team spread out across the other crime scenes, you and your partner had been dispatched to this one.

It was a world away from Quantico: sun-bleached, dense, full of plastic and palms instead of concrete and maples. Nonetheless, the principles remained the same no matter where you were. Take everything in, speak to everyone, suspect everyone. Stepping in and out of trailers gave you very little relief from the heat, although respite from the sun pounding down on you was a welcome break.

Dr Spencer Reid stood a short distance away, shielding his eyes with his hand as he contemplated the sea of trailers around him. He’d stared around as you drove into the park, something faraway in his eyes as he memorised every detail from the safety of the SUV.

Now he stood close to you, heads inches apart as he whispered so that only you could hear. He faced one way, you the other, and you could focus on his words knowing that Spencer was watching your back.

“These things all come equipped with the same locks, at least each model does. If you recognise the trailer home, you know how to pick it. It’s fairly trivial, for someone with some basic industry knowledge.”

You hummed through pursed lips, surveying the small crowd who had gathered to gawk at a pair of FBI officers on their turf.

“And that would be true of all of the trailer parks… we know he’s got a common MO.”

“Exactly.”

“You reckon someone in the industry, then? A salesman? Maintenance guy?”

Spencer rolled his neck, stared up at the sky for a moment. His curls were long at the moment, damp at the name of his neck, a little frizzy in the humidity.

“Not necessarily.”

“It’s quite specific,” you agreed, “anyone operating as a common thief around here would have the knowledge too. We could be talking about a classic escalation – burglar to home invader to murderer?”

His eyes snapped from you to his phone.

“I’ve asked Garcia to check out any patterns in robberies, home invasions… the locks are hardly scratched. We know he wears gloves, cleans his tools. This guy knows what he’s doing.”

You nodded, surveying the street again. The sun was glinting off of white plastic, making you squint. You worried for Spencer, the heat and the light wouldn’t be doing his headaches any good.

“You want me to take that?” Spencer was saying, and you snapped your attention in the direction he was gestured.

There was middle-aged man a little way forward of the crowd, shoulders hunched, hands entwined. Nervous. He had the tan of someone who lived here year-round, not a big believer in suncream, with tanlines when he removed his hat and glasses to speak to you.

“I’ve got it,” you murmured, and Spencer nodded.

It was an unspoken part of your partnership, that Spencer liked when you started conversations with witnesses. You liked that he trusted you, trusted your skills, never questioned whether you’d done the right thing when you spoke to people.

Instead he remained a short distance away, climbing up the front steps of someone’s home for a higher vantage point to survey the place.

“Hello, sir. Can I help you?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you. You said you’re with the FBI?”

The man had a tip, and it was an interesting one. A rumour spread throughout the HOA about someone trying the locks at night, the sound of metal against the doorways, silhouettes against frosted glass. A few people even had security camera footage, though nothing identifiable. It was great. You gave him your card, told him to get the footage to you asap.

It must be terrifying, you realised, to hear that kind of noise in the night. To be so close to danger, after a neighbour had been killed. The local sheriff’s department seemed frustrated by the interest the case was garnering – frankly you were amazed the story wasn’t bigger. There was no small amount of comforting involved in the conversation you had with the witness, and soon enough a few more people stepped forwards from the crowd. All seemed middle-aged, likely transplants to the sunshine state, and equally shaken.

When everyone’s stories had finished, they stood in silence for a moment. You frowned, noticing their gazes slightly misaligned.

Spencer.

He was stood at your shoulder, sharp gaze flickering across each face of the gathered residents.

“This is my colleague, Dr Reid. A few of you have already met, I believe.”

“You know,” he began, “the socio-economic factors influencing the way we think about crime in mobile home communities are fascinating. Often trailer parks are stereotyped negatively in the media, and because they are generally cheaper to live in than traditional housing estates, and that can foster a sense of shame or isolation for residents. Transient populations can also make community policing and security difficult, and anomalies in the patterns of everyday life become more difficult for people to subconsciously spot.”

You held your breath, and tried not to look worried at the reaction of the small crowd. Instead, you focused on Spencer. He was speaking with his hands a lot today.

“But I think the assumptions we tend to make about trailer parks completely overlook the very nature of living so close to your neighbours. There is a sense of community in living so closely, as evidenced by the conversations we’ve been having today. I’m not sure whether the killer understands that, or is exploiting the former theory that places like this allow for more deviations from the way we implement traditional security in communities. An unsub might hold some sort of resentment towards trailer parks, or some specific resident in his past, or perhaps he’s simply exploiting how incredibly easy it is to simply walk up to a mobile home and slip the lock open with a humble mass-produced lock pick.”

He was greeted with a sea of blank faces, littered with the occasional frown. Finally he looked to you. You caught the furrow of his brow, the way his shoulders hunched into himself, the clutching of his elbows to his body.

Oh, Spencer.

“That’s really interesting!” you tried to say, but Spencer was already backing away.

“Anyway, I’ll, um, leave you to it.”

“Thank you, Dr Reid,” you called after him, as he fled, disappearing into the shade of a nearby trailer.

Your heart ached for him a bit, but you pushed that aside. Instead, you had a sea of potentially offended retirees to keep on side.

“God, what I’d give for a brain like that,” your witness laughed, his linen shirt straining under the movement.

You couldn’t help smiling, a little relieved the tension had broken.

“It’s not often someone has a face like that and a good head on their shoulders,” one of the older ladies piped up.

You found yourself looking over your shoulder at Spencer, his profile sharp as he looked down the road, deep in thought.

“He’s certainly a rare breed,” you agreed fondly.

A number of the crowd were following your gaze, and someone in you wanted to snap them out of it. Stop them from staring.

“He actually has an eidetic memory. Once he’s seen or heard something, he remembers it perfectly, forever. It’s incredible.”

“Oh, my goodness! I can hardly remember my own email password!”

“I wouldn’t mind if he hung around me and talked like that all day, even if I didn’t understand a word of it. Though perhaps he could use a haircut…”

There was a chorus of agreement and various coo-ing which seemed to occupy the entire scale from grandmotherly to entirely inappropriate. You couldn’t help staring at Spencer a moment longer, wondering if he was truly oblivious, or simply pretending to be.

A rare breed.

You were certain you’d never met anyone else like him. Certain you felt like a better version of yourself in his company. That you’d trust him with your life, that you searched every room you entered until you saw him. Watched the elevator doors each time they opened, all morning, until Spencer walked in.

You were certain you’d felt giddy the first time Spencer insisted the two of you would work together, alone.

“Imagine knowing that he’d remember everything, forever…” one of the women was saying, her eyebrows raised in a way you didn’t particularly enjoy.

You cleared your throat, and hooked one hand over the badge at your waist.

“Unless anyone has any further leads, we’d better be on our way…”

The group silenced, and watched you dutifully. You passed out a few more cards, reiterated how dedicated the team was to stopping this killer, and gave out a few promises that there would be a police presence after dark throughout the trailer park.

When the request for any further questions was met with more glances towards Spencer, you thanked your witness, and made a beeline for the car. After only a few seconds Spencer was beside you, jogging to catch up.

“All done?” he asked, and you smiled at the question.

“I think so.”

You started the engine and both waited with the doors open for the car to cool down. The department’s penchant for black SUVs was not helpful when the sun was so vicious. Feeling the heat themselves, the group of residents had dispersed into a few groups, wandering into one another’s homes to continue gossiping.

“God, I’m disgusting,” you lamented, “sorry for the sweat-smell. I might actually take a cold shower when we get to the hotel.”

Spencer was already waving you off, leaning into the car to mess with the AC. Through the open door you saw him groan at the heat, swiping a curl from his face.

“I’m afraid to raise my arms. It’s so humid, I’m not sure why anyone would retire here. High humidity aggravates a number of chronic conditions, especially respiratory ones, which are common in older people. Not to mention the skin cancer…”

“And it ruins your hair,” you teased.

Spencer faked a gasp, and reached for a damp, limp section of his hair.

“I mean, look at it!”

You laughed, and rolled your eyes at him, nothing but fondness settling warm and tight in your chest.

Surveying the road in front of you for one final time you saw a few curtain-twitchers, but no new faces. You climbed into the car, wincing at the heat. The seatbelt buckle was burning hot, and you swore as it burned your fingers.

“I always forget about that,” you grumbled, slamming the car door closed.

“You know, if you fasten your seatbelt after you get out, it stops the metal getting hot and burning you,” Reid offered, and you rolled your eyes at him again.

“Gosh, doesn’t it get exhausting being right about everything?”

Spencer went quiet, and all you heard was the click of his own belt. After a few moments the car was cool and bearable, and your lungs felt like they could finally move again. The sat-nav happily talked away, and you started stealing worried looks at your partner once you’d returned to properly-maintained roads.

“What you said out there was really good, do you mind if we go over it again once we get to the station? I think it’s worth exploring.”

“I shouldn’t have said it in front of them.”

He was right, but you didn’t have to heart to say anything. That was the thing which made your heart twinge about Spencer – he was so insecure, and yet so self-aware, it was the worst of both worlds. Being an expert in body language was a double-edged sword.

“I don’t think they minded. Did you hear those old ladies talking about your big brain?”

Spencer didn’t laugh. He turned himself towards the window, curled up with his hand beneath his jaw.

“They were very impressed. So was I, for what it’s worth. I think we’ll make some really good progress on this profile tonight.”

He hummed agreement. Watched a vista of blurred blue and green and white going past the window. The radio was turned down to a low hum, you could hardly hear it. Silence pierced its way through and sound of mumbled songs and road noise.

“Are you okay?” you asked finally.

“I’m okay.”

You sighed. Tapped the steering wheel. Sped a little to get through an intersection on amber.

“Spencer…”

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to ruin that for you I just… sometimes I think of things and it’s like I have to tell you.

“Spencer I’m not mad at you! Not at all! I think we’re both just tired, and too warm…”

He didn’t say anything.

“Honestly, I was worried you’d heard what those ladies were saying about you and gotten upset. It was inappropriate of them…”

“I didn’t hear anything. What did they say?”

Your gaze was focused on the road, but you met Spencer’s eye in the rear-view mirror as he watched your face.

“Just that you were a handsome young man. And that they wanted you to get a haircut, which I firmly disagree with…” you teased.

Spencer touched his hair self-consciously. He was still quite curled up, leaning away from you despite his interest in the conversation.

“That’s nice of them, I suppose.”

“‘Nice’ is an interesting way of putting it, but I’m glad you’re not upset about it.”

“When I was a kid, I read a book at the library about how to tell if you’re attractive. It was for women, all about makeup and stuff, but there was a section about what made guys hot. I could never figure it out, I just always thought I looked like an alien.”

The sudden change made you sit up straight, heart in your mouth as you rolled to a stop behind a queue of traffic.

“I think everyone feels like that sometimes. Being a teenager is really hard.”

“I… yeah. I suppose so.”

“I always felt so jealous of the people who walked around looking perfect every day, confident that they were not. It just never came naturally to me.”

“Really? I assumed you were one of those girls in school who I’d be too afraid to talk to.”

You scoffed, and for a moment were struck by how little you really knew about one another. The way Spencer looked at you, looked it everyone, it felt as though he had an x-ray into every tiny detail of your life. How could he know, though?

“Of course not,” you laughed nervously.

You weren’t sure if you’d prefer Spencer knew the truth, or kept believing whatever he’d made up ini his head. You weren’t sure what any of this conversation meant. Traffic was moving. The precinct was two turns away.

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

He was teasing you. Finally he leant back in his seat, shoulders square to it, legs stretched out in the passenger footwell.

“Either way, I’m glad you can talk to me now. I’d miss it if you didn’t.”

“You might be the only person on this planet with that opinion.”

You took a moment to glance across the car at him, and caught a flash of a smile. He was joking. You released tension from your shoulders you hadn’t realised you were holding.

“I’m sure that’s not true. You’re a handsome genius, just like Barbara said.”

“Her name was Barbara?” Reid laughed.

You shrugged, and took the final turn into the precinct parking lot.

“I’ve got no idea.”

Even with the SUV in park, the aircon no longer blasting away, neither of you moved. Not for a moment, at least. A moment of peace before the chaos all began again. Just the two of you. Wherever you were, with Spencer was your favourite place to be.

“You’re the same, you know. A genius. And handsome…”

You frowned.

“Pretty! Beautiful. You know what I mean.”

“Handsome?”

In truth, you didn’t care about the words. Not at all. Not when your heart was pounding at the realisation Spencer had his gaze fixed on your lips, his eyes soft and pupils blown wide.

“Beautiful,” Spencer repeated, “You know, in a lot of languages, handsome can be translated for men and women. The word itself doesn’t have a gender. Guapa, for example, in Spanish…”

You let him talk, on and on. You decided you wouldn’t kiss him yet, while your hair was matted in sweat and Spencer’s face was brushed with sunburn and embarrassment.

“Bella is more popular in South America, though, or bonita. My favourite is Japanese, though. Kirei. To be beautiful both inside and out…”

Only a few more moments passed before Morgan arrived and banged on the glass with a wide grin and a sweat-beaded brow, announcing a break in the case. You were sorry for the interruption.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #fluff #fic #13atoms #im so sorry if this is ooc

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praeluxius · 3 months

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Red Wine - Karina & Natty

Aespa Karina x Kiss of Life Natty x M Reader smut

thanks to @capslocked & @passingnotions & @friskyriskywhisky

Masterlist word count: 9,957 Kofi

A new girl every week.

Not like you mind it. As long as Karina is having a good time, then that's enough for you. She meets them all at work, and they're all equally pretty.

Of course they are—it's part of the job.

It's just how Karina is—she has always been a fountain of charisma and that's part of what drew you to her—some call it rizz. So, you know all too well how these girls feel when Karina cranks up that natural charm and it leads to her inevitably inviting them over on a Friday evening, an offer they can’t refuse.

A girl's night in. That's what she always calls it—truth or not.

It's a funny thing to call it, given that you're always there. Not that any of them ever complain. You're there. That's okay. You'll join in the chat or stay out of the way—it's all very casual. Most of the time, it’s just that—casual.

Most of the time.

"And then I told him: 'Look, this dress is Dior, and it's worth a year of your rent. So if you think, even for a second, that it's going to end up on your bedroom floor after you buy me a couple of glasses of bottom-shelf whiskey then you can Johnnie-Walk-the-fuck-on-out-of-here because there are a thousand more ways I can spend my night than wasting time on you.'"

The two girls break out into some sort of intoxicated, riotous laughter. The girl with the story? They call her Natty, and she is the latest of Karina's new friends to visit. This one sporting almond skin, eyes with an inky rich hue, thick lips and a smug look on her face that could melt the paint right off the wall, or the clothes off any man.

She has one leg crossed over the other, sitting at an angle towards Karina. The slight canting of her head, the way her black hair cascades over a bare shoulder, all of it conspires together in order to fully reveal her neck line where the loose t-shirt drapes from shoulder to shoulder.

"Yeah, like any dude's got enough bank to buy himself to a night with you." Karina laughs again before taking a drink from her wine.

You are trying to watch the TV, vaguely—your favourite team is on and it's a bit of a ritual for you.

You will never even know we're here. That's what Karina told you. Yet you’ve spent the better part of the last hour listening to them. We’ll be quiet.

As if that's ever true.

They've been reeling off anecdotes all the while, and if you've learned one thing about Natty, it's that she has a lot to say, and a lot if it comes down to either the pleasures, profits, or travails of her career. The stories just keep coming. And each and every one is punctuated by that same laugh from Natty. You have never heard anything quite like it before, and it's that which keeps drawing your attention back to their end of the couch. Much like her voice, it's high pitched, a little nasally and utterly adorable.

Karina laughs along as well; more than a few times a drink threatens to spill onto the carpet because one of them has laughed a little too hard or bumped into one another. Now that would be a disaster: red wine and a white carpet.

"So I got this really nice pink one. It's really pretty, a little sexy, but it's so comfy too." Natty is talking but you don't have a clue what about and Karina, turned away from you, is nodding her head, the ponytail on the back of her head shaking a little as a result.

You don't need to see Karina to know how she looks—as beautiful as ever. That same sharp jaw, high cheekbones and lips glistening pink, hued darker by her drink of choice. Those eyes. It’s always her eyes that captivate.

Her beauty and grace are two things she truly does share with Natty. All the women that come over are all part of the same constellation. Stars in their own right, but Karina is a supernova—or something equally poetic.

Karina says something, but the voice is soft and muffled and lost to you among the animated exchange.

"There's also this blue one. But I don't wear it nearly as much as the others, but it cuts real low. Nearly shows my, you know..."

That lowered voice draws your gaze right over to them both as Natty leans in towards the woman next to her. A gesture and the shape of her voice, the lilt of her accent, makes it sound as if she is being discreet even though you can clearly hear every single word.

"...you know." Natty then tugs a little at her own shirt.

The two giggle again as if they're not grown-ass women; two women who have admittedly drunk quite a lot.

"He loves this one I have, it's part of a set, and I picked it up in Paris last month,” Karina says. “Black and lacy. Super expensive, but it's so worth it."

"That pair would look good in anything," Natty lets out that same laugh again, if a little softer this time, as if the mood shifted a little. You felt this coming all along. If you're honest, sometimes as soon as Karina walks through the door with a girl on her arm, there’s a certain vibe that hangs in the air that tells you it’s one of those nights.

You're stealing glances at the two of them, and it's Natty who's looking towards you, over Karina's shoulder. Your eyes are caught in this awkward collision. Natty holds the stare, her smile shifting subtly from innocent to devilish.

She's a stunner. Even from the angle where you're catching glimpses at her, a glance out of the corner of your eye, there is something seductive and hypnotising.

"He's a really lucky guy." She says to Karina, keeping her eyes fixed on you.

That is usually the cue, one you're very familiar with. A flirty little comment, maybe an innuendo, something meant to test the waters—see where the land lies, the rocks you can stand on before stepping any further out into the surf. It's how so many of your Friday evenings play out. You are just that—an object of curiosity and interest to Karina's friends, and you have to credit the sales pitch she must deliver about you.

"You're damn right," Karina replies with a chuckle as she tilts back the remainder of her drink.

"Do you think he would like mine?"

"Of course, he would. But if you want, I can be the judge." Karina takes Natty's almost empty glass and sets both down on the table. Her expression and attitude—lips and body language—communicate her invitation far more eloquently.

Karina is reaching over and Natty's meeting her hands with her own at the hem of her shirt. A teasing lift and you can already envision what she's about to show. See, Natty's a dancer—you know that much, and a good one at that. That kind of talent comes with the blessing of a body that turns heads. Your girlfriend knew that well too when she had invited her back home.

"Go on then."

The shirt lifts off Natty's skin, with the help of Karina’s hands running up the side of her body, exposing a pierced belly button. You try, very valiantly, to pretend not to be watching, but you can't help it. Natty raises her arms and lets Karina pull off the shirt fully revealing her in her lace bralette. It's pink, it's pretty and a little sexy—just how she described it.

"They really are nice, wow," Karina leans in close and for a moment you think she's going to start kissing Natty right then and there.

Natty doesn't say a thing. She lets the next moment happen, and with their bodies so close you can feel the anticipation, there’s an agonising pause, but, just a moment later, Karina is running a hand up along her belly, cupping a hand over one of her breasts.

"Really nice," Karina repeats the compliment.

And you're all in now. Fuck the TV. You can't peel your eyes away from whatever the hell your girlfriend is about to do.

"Thank you," the girl purrs as she arches her body to push herself against Karina's hand.

A flirtatious hand and those slender fingers of hers begin to move delicately over the fabric. It's a good touch. You've experienced first-hand all the wonderful things Karina can do with it. She touches how she dances—passionate and precise.

"What do you think?" Karina's finally acknowledging you over her shoulder—your official invite to the fun.

"Gorgeous," you mumble, and Natty's smiling like a minx as Karina continues in a way that you should probably be offended. Your girlfriend runs her hands down to the girl's waist, round to the small of her back, and then all the way back to where she starts again.

"Come, take a closer look. What do you think?" Natty follows her words with a wink and a flick of the hair.

"Fuck yes." You whisper under your breath.

"What was that?" Your girlfriend's smirking to herself as you rise from your seat.

"Yes." You take a step towards them both.

"Yes?" Natty repeats, one of her dark brows arching.

"He thinks you're fucking beautiful, sweetheart. Gets a little lost in the moment sometimes." Karina is leaning her head in close, one arm around the girl. She has a finger running up along Natty's slender back as she pulls at the clips holding her bra together. "Isn’t she perfect, babe?"

"Something like that," you confess. You're standing in front of the girls, looking down at the topless Natty, at Karina who's still snaking her hands around her. And Natty looks up at you, eyes wide, inviting, smouldering with passion. She really is something else.

She peers beneath those bangs of hers with a look that says: why don't you sit right here beside me?

"There we go," Karina says and there's suddenly some slack. The weight of her pair is taken by gravity and Natty catches them into folded arms. She sinks back into the couch. You take a step, and taking her lead, you sit by her side.

Karina reaches down, pats you on your leg, then turns back to face Natty. "You were saying you thought he was pretty cute too, weren't you, Natty?"

"Pretty cute, yes. Hot too. Moreso now that he’s up close." Natty says while Karina's got her hands on her shoulders, taking the straps of her bra between her delicate fingers. And then her bra is gone—the last semblance of her modesty lost along with it. Her small nipples jutting, stiffened with arousal, ready and waiting.

"God, he's practically drooling."

"That's hot," Karina comments as her lips descend onto Natty's shoulder and she starts laying kisses up and along her neck, trailing all the way to her ears.

"Sit behind her, babe, let her make it easier for you," Karina says. There is something entirely different and erotic in the way your girlfriend commands you. It’s so often like this, the dynamic, the guest and you are equals but Karina? Karina is a level above, the one in control and setting the pace.

You move yourself further onto the sofa and seat yourself back, then Natty slides over your lap. She takes her place, just as Karina wants, in front of you. The look in your lover's eye tells you exactly what to do, while her hands give Natty some hands-on guidance. Holding her shoulders, she’s placing Natty’s back against your chest.

You lay your own touch on the starlet’s waist, coiling them around her body. Dragging them up towards her smooth tits causes her to respond with a shudder. You keep your touches slow, leisurely, tentative and exploratory, but with no lack of appreciation.

Natty refuses to shy and settles firmly into your body. Karina, meanwhile, sets herself in front of the two of you, resting her hands on Natty's knees. Your beautiful guest parts her legs a little as Karina slips her hands between them, urging her thighs to open wider. Wider until she has to lift her legs over yours.

"Is this okay with you?" Karina is looking up into Natty's face and the woman simply nods."How does she feel?" Karina's asking you now, placing her hands on the back of yours, guiding your touch over her breast into a rougher pace.

"Perfect." The word slips from your mouth, followed by a throaty groan. Among all of this, Natty's ass is against your crotch, the weight of her pushing your manhood to swell and strain against your clothing. You are thankful she's wearing a thin enough pair of yoga pants that enhances it all.

Karina has planted her knees between yours and Natty's legs. She's pulling her own shirt over her head and you already know what's beneath. For all the talk earlier about bras, Karina isn't wearing one; she never does. "Fuck, Karina," Natty coos at her bare chest. "He likes it too. I can feel him twitching."

Natty’s hands are all over Karina as she pulls her in. There’s grace, there’s tension and there’s a coy giggle from Karina as their lips are only inches apart. The hammering of your heart echoes within as you take a front-row seat to their show. It always triggers something inside you when she first lays lips on someone, it always heightens that delicious, tingling, primal feeling.

"Oh shit, girls..."

Your girlfriend's the best kisser and you love watching her like this—exploring another woman's mouth. Natty is matching her tempo beat by beat, kiss by kiss. Her body arches as you squeeze her breasts. You swear Natty's making little whimpers as the two make out.

Her body is all action against you: ass grinding back, rolling slowly and languidly as your hands pull at her breasts—squeezing them together and then apart. You dip into her neck with your mouth. The sweetness of her skin fills your mouth and the richness of her perfume fills your nose.

You lower your lips and gently nibble at her neck, dragging teeth over her flesh until she gasps from a gentle bite and you work your lips on her skin. Tongue roaming as you feast on her taste. Karina's pushing forward now, Natty sandwiched between you, their pairs of tits pressing together with your hands somewhere between.

They break, and Natty naturally moves to your girlfriend’s neck. Karina has her sights set on you, prying your mouth from Natty's shoulder and catching you in a deep kiss. Tongues battling, clashing. There's the familiar fading taste of red wine in her mouth, and the unmistakable flavour of something foreign to you, the lingering taste of Natty.

She pulls away from your lips, staring down the two of you. There's dissatisfaction on her face. "Why aren't the two of you naked yet?"

She pulls at Natty's hips, relieving your cock of the pressure of her sitting on it, and you hold Natty so as to not let her slip too far away. You and Karina work Natty's yoga pants, and her panties, from her hips. They slip effortlessly down to her ankles, leaving her decidedly bare.

No one speaks and you all know this isn't the time to explain anything or ask questions. When her clothing is out of the way Karina descends upon Natty again, kissing her hard and you catch the dying whimpers of Natty's moans into Karina's lips. Karina's hand is snaking down Natty's back, reaching for your crotch. She unbuckles and opens your belt all the time fighting against Natty's movement as she tries to grind her ass back into you.

"Stop moving." Karina giggles into their kiss as her hand delves beneath your trousers. She breaks her kiss again. "Need some help."

Natty's peeling herself away from you, turning to face you. Natty's naked, Karina's halfway there, you're the one slacking. Not for long. Soon the two are tugging away all the unnecessary clothes until all three of you are equally exposed. Your cock stands heavy and ready under their gaze.

"Woah, you weren't lying." Natty's figuratively licking her lips, hungry and wide-eyed, and you'd bet your last dollar she's got an idea in mind. "Can I...?" Natty turns to ask Karina.

"I'd hate to be selfish." Karina shrugs her shoulders and winks. You're transfixed. There's natural magic about the way they move as if it is rehearsed; the way Natty sinks to her knees and the way Karina pulls your hips to the edge of the seat, then rises above you.

Karina hovers and watches, Natty leans in, and then your balls disappear into her mouth. She’s handling them with her tongue expertly as she takes hold of your cock.

"God, what a pro. She wasn’t lying when she told me she knew her way around a cock," she exclaims, savouring every second as the air rapidly leaves your lungs.

It is beyond explanation, the way Natty's tongue is dancing along the underside of your balls as her lips caress each one. Her eyes occasionally flick up and flash mischievously—it's the kind of look that means she could get away with absolutely anything, and there is no way you are going to stop her.

"She's got the face for it, doesn't she? Like she just gives the most amazing head." Karina's on her knees by your side, sliding a hand between her thighs.

"Y-yeah." You manage to reply. "S-so... ahh! Good."

Karina leans forward, cupping one of your cheeks as she looks into your eyes.

"He's speechless!" She laughs, moving a hand to the back of your head and tugging gently at the strands. "Natty baby, give him a few words or something, will you? If you can?"

It's hard to look at her, but you crane your neck and you catch her looking at you again—one hand upon your inner thigh, the other wrapped around your shaft. "That's a good boy," Natty murmurs.

She teases a thumb over the surface of your glistening wet tip. "She loves that shit. Watch her..." Karina explains, smiling, the delight on her face all you can look at for a moment or more.

She guides your chin and you follow your girlfriend's direction, then you see, Natty's taken her mouth from you for a second and she's licking your pre-cum from her thumb; her gaze on the pair of you. She repeats her motion once more and the grin on her face grows bigger as you leak another pearl for her.

"How does he taste?" Karina asks for both of you.

"Delicious." Natty answers—now she's literally licking her lips.

You'll believe anything this woman tells you.

She's running a teasing tongue along the underside of your shaft, and as she reaches the peak, she catches the snow-white trickle you drip right there. You close your eyes in ecstasy, but before long, you’re feeling a finger poke against your lips.

You part them open, letting Karina's two fingers inside, and she's running her digits over your tongue as you suck her fingertips. The taste is so undoubtedly her, nectar straight from her source, your mouth salivating for more.

The feel of Natty's soft plump lips against the end of your cock is incredible as she moves them in an inch, teasing, testing, and then she withdraws just the same and you want to cry out. But you can't, Karina still lubricating her fingers, your tongue swirling around the digits.

She withdraws and your eyes open. And as much as you wanted to see Natty ready to settle her mouth around your cock, she's got something else in mind. She has her tits in her hand. "Are they still gorgeous?"

"Yeah, totally," you sputter.

"Natty girl, let him fuck them." Karina tells her and then she turns to you, mouth to your ear. "You want your cock between them, don't you? Tell her." Karina's not leaving this up to interpretation. "Tell her you want them."

"Oh yes..." you blurt out, without even really thinking. Karina giggles—it's her sign of approval, a tick. "Your tits, Natty. Fuck. Please."

It's not something you haven't done before. You love Karina's pair too, after all. It would be hard for anyone with a dick to resist a pair of round tits like hers. Luckily for you, tonight she's brought you a girl with a pair to match her own.

"He asked so nicely."

"He's a real gentleman," Natty teases and she raises her breasts a little, then pushes them together. As your head slides into her cleavage, she puts her hand around them, and as the skin squeezes the sides of your member, you are reduced to shuddering. Karina knows exactly how this gets you, knows just how this can bring you undone. It doesn't even matter if the actual thing feels nothing like sex—you'll always go crazy over a great pair of tits.

As the tip of your manhood peeks out through the crease between them, Natty lowers her tongue to it and you swear you nearly cum right then. Then the words echo inside your brain: he wants them, Karina's voice and as soon as she says it, your subconscious concedes to the reality.

"Look how easy and willing he is," she says to Karina and both girls giggle, then Natty forms a mock pout. "Such a good boy. I really want to make him feel good."

"He does deserve something." Your girlfriend runs her fingers into your hair as Natty plants a soft kiss onto your cock-head. Instinctively, you reach out but before you can touch anything, Karina's hand finds your wrist. "Tell her what you want."

She's leaning in closer again and Natty looks up from where she's teasing your tip, sucking, tonguing and lavishing affection and attention. "Ask Natty nice. Tell her you want a blowjob. Tell her you want to cum. Tell her what you want," Karina purrs her words.

And god, if anything makes it impossible to think straight, it is Natty's gaze up at you. She wants to make it easy for you, impossible to do anything but give in to your wishes, whether it’s her intention or your deep-seated desire making it seem so.

"Natty... can you suck my cock?" Your mouth's dry and the words grate in the throat.

"Anything," she says with a twinkle in her eye. And now it's all one motion. Her tits clamped against the sides of your length. Your cock drives between them and into Natty's waiting mouth. She's all tongue, bobbing her head a little and taking the tip of you in and out of her mouth.

Karina's all over you—kissing your neck, holding a hand behind your head, caressing, squeezing. "Aren't I just the best? Always doing this for you with all these girls." She's muttering away in your ear. The heat of her breath is constant and burning. She continues with sweet nothings in her deep, sultry voice.

You're sinking deeper into the couch, like you're laid on the shore and the tide is enveloping you. Wave after wave crashing against you, rolling, engulfing you and drawing you out further and further. Natty is pulling you under; every time she takes you into her mouth, wrapping her tongue around you, it's another wave over you. Karina is a life rope. You're grabbing onto the strands of her ponytail, trying to keep your head above the water. All her touches, her words, her encouragement, that's the air you need.

But the torrent grows ever more intense and powerful and the riptide is too great, Natty's drawing the last vestiges of resolve from you. You lose grip of everything—of reality.

You're lost.

Lost in her mouth, lost between her tits.

Karina knows it, she's seen it all before, so many times, for her and others. "Feel like you're gonna cum?" Karina's in your ear asking you the obvious.

Your answer's a growl.

"Cum!" It's a low-roar in your ear.

You don't say a word.

"All over those perfect fucking tits. Her mouth, her face, look at her," and then that's it. You're drowning in pleasure. Every sense abandons you—hearing, touch, and sight, all surrendered.

You can't think or do anything, because every fibre of your being is focused on a single action—pouring out cum. You're rigid and straining.

Your eyes regain focus and you see it all. All of it smearing her tits and just a little on her face, and then more streams erupt. Natty doesn't shy and she doesn't stop. She is milking you for every single drop.

And Karina's ever the encourager, ever full of pride. "Just like that, yes. Empty all of it right there on her chest."

This is her thing now. Has been for a while, ever since she convinced you to try it just one time. Her imagination was fueled by all those dirty little stories she read online about voyeurism and the like. It opened her eyes and redefined your relationship. It started with an experiment. With her best friend, Winter, all those months ago. It was the first time she took enjoyment in her friend getting you off.

Now it's a regular surprise. Sometimes they're girls you met many times before, almost like she was dangling them in front of you, teasing you. Other times it's just like Natty. You barely say a few words to them and before you know it, you're covering them in your cum.

Truth is, you always get the gut feeling when it's one of these nights, as soon as Karina and whichever girl it is start their first drinks of the night; you know it's one of those nights. Then it's just a case of waiting.

Natty didn't take long to get on her knees—she must have been excited.

And lucky for her, you're nowhere near being finished.

Karina is prowling and on the move, towards Natty, and she reaches her with both arms as she locks her into her grasp. A kiss, deep, hungry. All tongue. Seeing is believing; some of you ended up inside Natty’s mouth and now she’s sharing, distributing to Karina. Back and forth it goes between their mouths, with some spilling from their lips. As it’s shared, it’s swallowed bit by bit between them.

"Your turn Natty. I want to watch you cum for me." Karina announces she breaks away, then lapping up what remains on her lips and she has a hand on Natty's chest, playing with the mess you made of them.

You're lying there, spent and watching, as Karina guides Natty to her feet.

"There you go," Karina is pushing the girl towards the couch and she gets to the edge, then places a knee on it. Your eyes drift over her body as Karina bends her into place, her sticky chest planted against the cushions. Her juicy ass is in the air and the light in the room highlights every line and contour. Her flawless curves are accentuated to their perfect best.

"Legs wider, yes, yes. That's perfect," Karina's voice cuts through the air. She's behind her, hand on the small of her back, urging Natty into position. Lower and lower, Natty's head pressed into the cushion; she's turning to look at you, face full of excitement, of yearning.

A quiver passes through her entire body as Karina's lips descend upon her lower back.

Then lower, kissing her tailbone.

Her ass.

Lower and lower, peppering her skin along the way, Karina finally nestles between the two cheeks. Then she places her hands on Natty and starts parting them. "Perfect. Isn't that so perfect?"

Karina doesn't wait for any reply from you.

She doesn't need to. You are fixed there, utterly mesmerised, entranced and completely undisturbed, watching this gorgeous woman lay tongue on her newest conquest. Karina, meanwhile, can't contain her excitement. She's feasting on Natty, lapping at her sex, diving lower and lower with her tongue. "Oh yes. You taste so good."

Everybody's taste is unique. Just as her aroma earlier was something you couldn't put into words or compare, you can only imagine how sweet Natty must taste. And as if she reads your mind, Karina adds to the narrative, "So sweet."

And the sounds.

Fuck. The sounds.

Natty moans, loud, sharp and high. You should have known it, her voice being what it is—the tone; so unique, so unmissable. You should have expected the melodic composition. The pleasure is pure, crystal-clear music. It's perfection in sound. It's the kind of musicality people work their entire lives to compose, to play, to express.

To do all without a care in the world.

With as much freedom, spontaneity and energy as possible.

The tone shifts, and the octaves change. And it's Karina, playing her, burying a pair of fingers into Natty.

There is no question here. The two are in sync. Karina, a performer by profession, plays your guest as if Natty is merely an extension of herself. Your girlfriend, in her element, her playground, her stage and her domain. You are her audience. And she has never sounded, looked, or acted so majestic in her role.

Natty sings a string of profanities, nonsensical and fragmented phrases.

"That good?" Karina exclaims, teeth digging into her butt cheek as Natty spills into the cushion. Her legs quiver. Karina smiles into her ass, nipping her a second time and then she turns to you, staring at you with the same dark hunger, the same thirst, you always see.

"You still with us, babe?" she asks—rhetorical, she know’s you’re fixated. There's no question in her mind. She can read you and she knows how captivating this performance is.

"God yes," you whisper in reply. She's smiling wide.

"Good." That one word response, so laden with meaning.

It's a dangerous smile. It means only trouble. Good trouble.

"Come here," she's beckoning you behind Natty. Your legs feel weak and like jelly, yet you crawl up and behind her, your hand slips up to her thigh, pressing, pawing and grabbing her flesh. She purrs at your touch, and Karina, too, responds with delight.

"Natty," you begin, feeling her ass under your touch. "Do you want me inside you?"

"Mhm. Yes."

Karina slips a hand around your erection, her wet, lubricated fingertips meet your skin and when she says, let me get you ready for her. That alone could have done the job. But, damn, her hand feels so good as it strokes. The motion's just the right pace and when her grip gets tighter, a tremor courses through you.

"You did such a wonderful job already." Her praise is just as nice as her tongue running along the side of your length and then her lips, pursed, locking onto the tip.

"Karina..." it's a long-drawn groan. She lets her tongue swivel over you, each stroke lasting longer and longer. The more she continues, the more feels you grow and get hard—she works you until the last ounce of sanity leaves your brain.

Then she draws away and finishes her sentence, "I told you, you're the best. Now look at her, look how needy she is." Karina's still got a hand on your cock and the other caressing Natty's cunt.

Natty’s now the girl in the center of it all. Her beautiful face turned, eyes closed. She's twitching, aching, longing. She whimpers, and then gasps in desire as you angle your cock at her slit. Her folds open gratefully and the wet warmth of her sex embraces you. Her groans rise again, heightening ever more in the satisfaction as she backs herself further onto your length.

You move, thrusting into her, and she breaks into a tempered moan.

"Oh yes! God, yes."

And you feel a hand grab at your backside, encouraging, guiding, demanding more of you. She partners her touch with an all-telling grin. Karina's about as happy watching you fuck someone else as she is being fucked.

"That's it... You like it like this Natty? Does this feel good to you?"

It's a silly thing to ask, but it still makes Natty stir. It makes her hot—burning hot. As soon as the words are out of her, and she follows with a moan, she becomes tighter around you.

"Ah! Yes, yes, yes..." she trails into several more repetitions as you angle deeper into her.

Your girlfriend is dancing her fingertips over her skin. "So amazing," your lover is still muttering her words. "So fucking hot," Karina says as she tracks her kisses up Natty's back. Gentle kiss after gentle kiss to her glistening back as Natty keeps driving her ass back against you.

There is the unmistakable look of an idea forming in Karina's mind. She's climbing onto the sofa, crawling past Natty onto the back of it, where Natty's head is pressed against the fabric. Natty grows hesitant at the expectation of what's to come, and it allows you to take over. A hand on either side. You're gripping her hips and really fucking her, pushing your cock fully into her and stretching her.

You see Natty's fingers wrapping around the bottom of the sofa cushions in an iron grasp, trying to bear the surge of bliss. She shudders and clenches up as Karina runs a set of nails up her back.

"Yes, baby, you take her, don't be afraid," Karina hisses her words, raking at Natty's back with her claws. "Harder." Karina demands and you pull on Natty's hips, pulling the gorgeous young woman into your hips as you fuck.

Karina's sliding into where she wants to be, right in front of Natty's face, sitting where she rests it. She's handling her like the toy she currently is, pulling her head exactly where Karina wants it, and coercing Natty's mouth onto her. To bury her in and make her satisfy Karina's craving.

And Natty wastes no time, sliding her lips onto Karina, exploring her core the way she has explored her mouth. "Just like that," your girlfriend cries as she rests a hand on Natty's head and rocks back against her. "See, I knew you'd be perfect for us."

You have to admit, Karina nailed it with this one. Before any of the girls even step into the apartment, they know why they're there, but none of them are as ready for it as Natty. It must be a deep, dark fantasy of her own, maybe something she's played out in her mind over and over. It must have been burning inside her before even that first taste of red wine.

Red wine.

That's it. That's how you knew it was always going to end up like this. Fuck, you must be a fool for having missed it all those times before. It's so obvious now that it's when she drinks red wine with them—that's the signal of how the night's going to end. Your subconscious had made the connection, now you realise.

You smile to yourself in the moment of clarity and Karina has noticed, breaking through her moans to ask, "You look a little lost back there, babe. Something funny?"

She's got a coy grin on her lips and her hand gripping Natty's hair, grinding the woman's face further into her pussy. It's a stream of muffled moans from Natty between her hungry licks of Karina's cunt. She's all action between you and Karina's stare. "Nothing."

You raise a hand and spank Natty's ass; the echo fills the air and her cheek ripples. Karina flinches with surprise and she's drawing the young woman further into her body. "Jesus, fuck. Again."

Again and you lay your palm on Natty. Harder. She mewls in pain and Karina shivers in bliss. Her fingertips dig at the younger woman, grabbing her by her scalp and pushing her harder.

A final time you spank her ass, planting your hands and digging your fingers into her soft flesh. Using the strike on your mount to signal one thing; faster.

You're reckless now—manic. Grab her ass and pound; that’s all that is on your mind. You're rabid—not holding anything back. This is the sole reason that girl's here tonight and you're not letting her down, nor Karina.

You hammer against her body, deep into her depths. Her cries echo over Karina's. Each hit a satisfying smack to Natty's cheeks. Slaps and claps and cries. Sounds fill the room. The wet squelch, the grunt of every stroke to the backing track of Karina's rich mewls.

It's a symphony, eroticism on an epic scale.

Your eyes roll upward, over Natty's body and land on Karina. She's bouncing on Natty's tongue. Head back, face creased with pleasure. A grimace so beautiful that you swear it is the definition of raw sexuality.

Natty's struggling; her legs are giving way and she keeps reaching with her hands. To the couch, the cushions, Karina's legs, to anything. There is no steadying her, and it looks like she's barely clinging on for dear life. She has only her waning strength and determination holding her together.

You think she's cumming. But fuck, it is hard to be sure. Maybe you should slow down, but if she is cumming once, better to make it twice. Or thrice. So, you pick up the pace instead. You become wilder, stronger, faster, more forceful.

She's not even eating Karina's cunt anymore—she just can't. You grab Natty's arms and pull her upright so she doesn't slip. Chest to back now—she’s against you and your thrusts drive upward into her.

Natty wails and all the while, Karina is sliding down the couch onto her knees, face to face with Natty. She brings a hand to Natty's throat, grabbing and pushing to pin her against you. And her other hand is sinking between Natty's legs.

Karina's teasing Natty's cunt with the soft caresses of her fingers, and you're sliding between those fingers and into the girl. "Look at you," Karina's saying between clenched teeth, then a loud hiss passes her lips. "Oh, fuck."

A fire blazes across the brunette's eyes—you swear it is an inferno. Fingernails and knuckles are going white in her grip of Natty's neck, and the same could be said of yours holding her arms.

"Oh, Karina!" Your newfound fuck toy screams your girlfriend's name out at the top of her voice.

Karina responds by rubbing her fingers on Natty's clit, then pressing hard, strumming it at a maniacal pace. She's whispering into Natty's ear, words only the girl can hear, coaxing something out of her.

Natty screams again and again. Your name then Karina's.

She's cumming.

Not just that, she's fucking squirting.

Her body's a boneless jelly in your arms as it spasms. And your girlfriend just won't stop her mischievous act, not a single pause until she's dragged more from the young beauty. She's dragging her second and then a third eruption.

It pours. It flows. Eruption is exactly the right word.

Natty's spraying onto your cock—

onto Karina's fingers—

down your legs—

on the couch—

everywhere.

You've got an ardent geyser in your grip and her voice cracks, the climax too much for her, for any of you.

In a flurry of a moment, Natty falls, slipping from your grasp and collapsing and sinking against Karina's chest. Limp. Saturated and dripping, sweat and cum.

The girl has come undone.

You've slipped out of her, set her free, but you're ready to burst. Staggering behind her, a mess and almost drunk on sex, you catch your breath. "Karina... I..." you begin.

"Look at the mess she made." Look at the mess she is.

Karina's laying the girl down to the side; Natty is almost lifeless aside from the aftershocks still tearing through her.

"Karina..." you try again. "Karina, please..."

"Come here sweetie," and that's enough. You sink to your knees on the edge of the seat. Karina's in front of you, grabbing at your erection and lying back. You're collapsing over her, propping yourself with an arm. She's pulling at your cock. It doesn't take much and you're about to fire.

"Please Karina, please" you growl and Karina whispers back the sweetest reply, 'I love watching you do this'.

She's tugging your cock, aiming it at her wet cunt, freshly eaten.

Then your legs grow heavy and stiff, it's impossible to move, muscles tense, locking your body in place. Karina's jerking your cock and it's impossible to hold it.

Release.

It comes.

You can't explain, words can't describe it, the sheer, earth-shattering and mind-numbing rush as it pours. Spurt after spurt, you feel it all come out, and through your hazed vision you're watching it pour over her cunt. Some on her abs, some on her thigh, but most of it coating her pussy. It is all you want to see before you fall, slipping onto her, your head in the nook of her neck. Her words are just a noise in your ear.

"Stay with us," it's her soft voice that you feel vibrate in your ears as her chest rises and falls beneath you. "Natty? Darling, you too."

There's this moment of near silence. Three sets of heavy breaths.

There are things you know to expect before long, but in this space between you don't really know where it'll go. It’s all wild in the night.

"That was... fuck. Intense," you begin, laying the seeds to push the three of you to the next course, "Wasn't it?"

Karina's responding with a push at your shoulders, making you look at her. Her features, still so sharp, she's still so elegantly composed, the dark and playful look hasn't left her eyes. Her smile endearing. "We're not done," she begins, a whisper into your mouth as you lean over her.

Hand grasping your cock, firm, and she’ squeezing a drop or two more out. "I want you inside me." She demands it of you, of your spent dick. This is always the danger. You're just a single cock in a game that demands more.

It hurts as she rubs your cock. No matter how gentle her touch, it feels rough and you wince in her hold, it's raw pain and all you want is to draw back, but you stay. You have to stay. You want to stay. Refusing to let the pain, the momentary sting and discomfort end it. "Give her what she wants," it's Natty's voice, from beside the two of you. Who knows where the young girl even got the strength?

“Please,” It’s rare that Karina pleads, but her mouth is on your ear, nibbling softly. Her hot tongue traces the shell of it and the whole motion gives you a shiver that makes the hair stand on end. "Come on." She coaxes in a sultry, yet playful, sing-song voice. It makes her intentions unmistakable.

You draw your body back and rest on your knees, looking at the two girls, side-by-side, one melting and the other keening. Your heart is still trying to get out of your chest, but somehow the sight of them has calmed you. They make it all feel a little easier.

"I'm sure your cock can still work for me," Karina's words are undisguised lust.

Natty reaches a lazy arm, working her fingers into the cum you left on Karina's body, playing with it. She begins painting Karina's belly, streaking it over her skin. "So much," she purrs, adding a moan as a compliment, her tone soaked in desire.

Karina takes her own finger to it too, dousing it in your fluid before taking it to Natty's lips. It's a question that goes unspoken, not one word, one command, just a mere motion. Natty's reply is perfect; she opens her mouth and accepts it eagerly, slipping her tongue onto Karina's digit and suckling it.

Natty returns the favour, her finger into Karina's mouth. They're both sucking, tasting, swirling their tongues as you watch, drinking the liquid, gulping it down, savouring the taste. Their eyes locked in an impossibly sinful gaze. Neither can bring themselves to break it.

They only give in and finally end it when their bodies move instinctively, rolling in to a desperate kiss. Mouths together, sharing the fluid back and forth in a series of dirty, noisy kisses.

Natty's running her hand down Karina's body, running it through your cum and heading right for her cunt. One finger sinks inside, met by a silent whimper from Karina and a second finger joins the first as the girl's now twisting inside your girlfriend. She draws in and out, each time pulling more of your cum into Karina's hole.

And your cock, exhausted moments before, now wants to wake. It's stiffening, not too far from hard once again. You're a moth to a flame and Karina's burning brighter than ever.

Natty's insatiable thirst is getting the better of her and her finger fucks your lover relentlessly.

Karina's mewl of satisfaction turns into a blissful howl. And when you climb between the girl's legs, finding them parted, you grab her behind the knees. Karina moans once more when you move to slip her ankles over your shoulders and Natty is forced to concede. Your stiff shaft, the one Karina has yearned for, drives into her.

Karina absorbs you, clinging, squeezing, and she holds you, embracing you. Her body is soft against yours, yet inside she's hotter than molten iron. She's even wetter, every slick and intimate part of her is grinding against you. "Yes, fuck yes," she's slurring, muttering nonsense.

She's a fucking mess between her legs—there's some of Natty's, there's some of hers, and there's a lot of yours down there, and you're fucking it all into her as lubricant. Natty's forced to watch as you're pressing Karina's knees up to her chest. She's riding the edge between pleasure and pain and enjoying every bit of it.

And there's no better feeling than when you press her even closer, and now her ankles lock at the back of your neck. Every thrust from you forces her ass to rise from the cushion and her cheeks meet your hips in a way that resembles Natty not long ago. Her tits are pressed almost flat under the weight. She is so open to you—so, so willing.

Her thighs tremble. Her hands claw. She's losing everything inside herself, everything but the one thing she wants most, a violent orgasm.

It's Natty's turn now, a role reversal, as she tries her hand at the encouragement, the guiding partner, "Harder," her first order. "Deeper," her second. Both punctuated with her nails scoring along your flesh. And in an act that's so entirely Natty, she's now spanking your ass and laughing as she does it. She's playfully flirty and full of giddy enthusiasm.

"Faster." Natty's clapping her hands and she's watching your thrusts drive Karina wild. Every stroke, every strike, all of it Karina is crying out for. Every push forward makes her twinge, a sensation, a mix of pleasure and pain, each jolting through her. "God, isn't she great to fuck?"

"She's the best," you groan, struggling to reply with the only response you can formulate. She is, of course, better to fuck than anybody else. There's no question about that.

"And you," Natty turns to her, "are you going to cum for us now?" Karina's hair sways. Her mouth is full of cries and whimpers. Every roll of your hips, every pull back and every plunge into her pussy steals every breath.

"Yes," she says. "Fuck yes. Right there, baby. Don't stop."

Natty relaxes to enjoy the show. She can see your shaft thrusting. She can see it when you withdraw, almost the full length and then every inch into Karina. Each time, your girlfriend's body jiggles and twists and writhes.

Karina's face grows contorted. A contortion of pure delight.

It's what Natty's been waiting for. Watching. The expectation she couldn't express. The feeling inside her core growing.

"Oh. God!" Karina squeals. She's seeing white spots explode in her vision. A flash of colourful patterns swirl in her head. The white heat rises higher and hotter, so high and so bright it consumes her. She's gone in it. Next comes a sound following a deafening gasp that stops the air dead in her lungs, the release as an equally loud scream.

You hear it, and the heat burns inside your ears, as if sound could cauterize. Every cell of your skin sizzles. It's electric, this passion.

Her cunt turns to water and floods. Your cock is saturated. That's all the reason you need to lose yourself. To slip back and slide yourself deeper into her, pumping. Her eyes squeeze shut and a loud, sonorous gasp is swallowed by her lips. She's never seemed sexier. She is utterly engorged with desire.

"Ah! Ah!"

You know Karina's at her limit. A dire need for respite, for air to fill her lungs—for relief.

You know what you're going to do. Natty is oblivious, so when you pull out of Karina, and slide over Natty—who's lying on her side facing Karina—it catches her by surprise. One that brings a look of elated shock to her face. You push up one leg and mount her from the side, driving your cock into her.

Karina's drowning in air as she opens her mouth to take all she can. Her vision clears. It focuses on Natty.

The young woman is caught, once again, and in the best way possible; she's lost and helpless beneath you, she has to clutch and clasp whatever's available—the cushions, her own arms—and take it. She's face down to the couch; her body twisted. Her tit's pressed underneath her but her waist rotating, one knee pointing at Karina and one leg straight between your own.

And Natty has taken this all in stride. She's dug her nails into her own scalp, grabbing at her hair. And there is no uncertainty or indecision within her body, nor in her mind. She revels in her vulnerability. She loves the feel of you inside her. Loves the thrill that floods through her entire being as you dominate and ravish her.

Karina makes her move. To join Natty, she slides in on her side, lifting Natty's leg over her own hip, turning Natty fully onto her side to face her. You relent for a moment and Karina does what she needs to. She pulls her own leg up under Natty's and hooks it around her ass. The girls pull each other close. Pull each other into a kiss. Their mouths together. Their breath shared.

Karina whispers, but loud enough you can hear her, and says, "Told you," and her words are all wrapped up in a smirk, the smile of satisfaction.

You slap the length of your cock against Karina's ass; teasing her but not sliding into her. And only when Karina has worked herself up even higher do you lower yourself and slide in, penetrating, filling and stretching.

You're fucking in and out of her. This might be a new favourite of yours. The girls tangled together, sharing kisses and bites and tongue. Both their holes are there for you—each available whenever you want it, and each is only a hair width apart.

It's hard for you to keep a focus on everything like this. But you fight through, burying your shaft inside Karina. Once, and twice, and a final time again. And it's ever so easy to just drag yourself out, driving it between their cunts for a few short pumps and then slip it up into Natty.

"Fuck. I wish we'd done this sooner," Karina is mumbling more, but her words are rolling together and coiling into nonsensical verbal splashes of pure want and need.

Natty strains a response, "I'd... love... to... join you. Often."

"Perfect." Karina is happy as she shifts, arching her body to make a point, to tell you who to fuck now.

And you slip, and then you're inside Karina. As easy as that. Buried as deep and hard as you can, she's mouthing a silent cry and her hair falls over her face.

Natty's got a handful of Karina's tit now, caressing her nipples. It's hard not to envy the beauty that's in her hands. Soft, round, pert, perfectly curved, her breasts are works of art, beautiful beyond anything you could ever put into words.

And all of a sudden, Natty has shifted from Karina's mouth, planting her lips on Karina's soft pillows. Natty is suckling at them and Karina's mouth is twisted open in a soundless gasp, then she speaks, "I could do this forever."

Her arms draw along Natty's body until she finds her ass, slipping down and around, and then her fingertip sinks between her cheeks. It makes Natty lurch as it caresses her taint, presses lower, and touches her tight rear entrance.

Then she does it, a manoeuvre only the confident would have considered, a twist and she's pushing a slender finger into Natty's ass and causing the girl to nip at Karina's breast. "Fuck," Natty hisses, giving a breathy shudder. And her reaction draws a grin onto Karina.

And they keep going like that, they are perfectly attuned to each other. And you swap again, seeing the opportunity to really punish Natty. You're angling towards her again, sliding into her soaked cunt.

You push up inside her. With no time or inclination to start gentle, you're instantly fucking her fast. In and out, hard and deep, over and over, you hammer her cunt. She's muffled with a mouth full of Karina.

"How's that Natty? Both your holes are ours." It's Karina, whispering her dirty words again, "tell us you're going to join us again. Tell us."

Natty nods her head against Karina's chest. It's not a verbal answer. But it's an affirmation that, fuck, yes, she'd like that—as would you all. You could have this again, and maybe soon, a replay with a fresh twist.

Maybe next time you can be the one inside Natty's ass. For now, it's Karina's finger working her, and it looks fucking amazing as it drives into her and withdraws in the exact same rhythm that you're giving her.

You both keep the pace, driving Natty into nirvana, and at some point, it's clear when the climax hits. But it's an awfully hard thing to gauge the passage of time while being wrapped and caught and tangled with these two vixens. All you know is that all too soon, your balls are beginning to churn.

And that's when you switch back again, driving into your girlfriend's cunt with no time for a rest.You're going for broke. Slamming yourself fully inside and Karina knows the instant you do what your fate has become. She laughs and squeezes Natty, pulling the girl tighter.

It's only natural that the rising tide, the bubble of the climactic force, grows and grows and grows. Your ears pound in the beat of the blood racing and your breaths come in fits and starts. The noises escaping your three mouths become louder than before, more frenetic, more unchecked. More lustful.

"Karina— I— Natty—" You're losing the fight against your own body. The rush, the pressure, all the sounds, sights, and smells have put the signal in the green. There is no stopping it. No controlling it. It's all building, coalescing, into one pinpoint of space and time, right there between their legs.

Karina's pulling Natty into position as you're pulling out of her cunt. They both turn to face you, their cheeks pressed together, tits too, and their legs in a knot. They're lying in such a manner that they feel to you like an oasis in a hot desert, inviting, like a promised paradise, and it's calling you, tempting, and you can't hold yourself any longer.

You're rubbing yourself over the edge, and they're calling out to you in a desperate tones, still riding some faint traces of orgasms, "On us."

"Go on."

"Please cum on me, on us."

"Cum for us."

You barely hear their calls, and there's no fucking way you know who is saying what. It's just words of need spilling from two filthy mouths.

It takes only a handful of seconds, and then it happens.

With a harsh spasm from head to toe, you feel it shoot forward, ripping free from your body, and pulsing as you paint their flesh. Spurts and ropes and slivers shoot up and over the girls. A little on a thigh, on their bodies, over their tits and all the way to their pretty little faces.

They're smiling like idiots as you cum. They're proud of it. They relish it. Natty's tongue moves around inside her lips, just getting another taste—a droplet or two. Karina's teasing as always, "Is that all?"

You're still forcing every drop out you can, the final bits dropping to their thighs.

"There's no way that's all of it, huh," Karina continues to tease. And then it ends, and your body lets go and you fall beside them. You simply can't stand any longer.

"I think that's all of it, Karina," Natty's giggling to herself. She's twirling her fingers over Karina's nipple, playing with the rope of cum that landed there. And Karina is humming out an almost silent cry, twisting under the touch. "Here, taste," and the offer is clear, and again Natty is surprising you.

She offers her own tit to Karina, willing her to lick your cum from it. And the act brings a gleam to Karina's eyes as she cups it, bringing it to her mouth to taste. She's sucking and licking and Natty's gasping at the sensation, and at the way Karina nibbles just a little—just a little too much for it to be painless.

You're laying and watching in awe at the debauchery of the scene and wishing you could watch it forever, or at least capture it. The girls are just lapping at each other now, filling their mouths with your seed and swallowing. Laughing. Panting. Moaning. Sighing. Gasping.

Their limbs tangle. Their tongues too. And it's then you realise, no matter how drained you are—completely fucking bone-dry—these two aren't even close to finishing. There's still a show to be enjoyed yet.

You shift just a little to find the most comfortable view, and Karina's taking control now. Slowly she rolls Natty onto her back, their legs still tied, in such a way that Karina can mount her. Natty's got a playful smile across her lips, looking up, seeing the glistening of cum and sweat shining against Karina's neck and cheeks and mouth, her entire gorgeous face soaked in the stuff.

Karina's getting rougher, her nails cutting into Natty's skin. A hungry bite here, a nip there, another scratch here. She's threatening to draw blood as red as the wine she drank. Right on the edge of true pain, but Natty's relishing it. Her eyes roll back, and she lets out a small squeal. And you watch her buck and writhe.

Karina grows ever more forceful—pinning her and keeping Natty in place. She's starting to drive her hips against her. The desire is clear; she wants Natty to a delirium.

You can do nothing but marvel at the sight. You may be raw, you may be sensitive, but you're here to enjoy the show that may yet last a whole night.

"Me and you now, Natty. Are you ready to cum for me?"

"Yes," the whimper slips out of Natty. "Yes, anything for you."

#karina smut #kpop smut #male reader #kpop fanfic #m reader #natty smut #kiss of life smut #aespa smut #karina x natty #girlfriend!karina #kpop fanfiction #karina x reader #natty x reader

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ceruleancattail · 29 days

Text

Stupid things that the Basketball club members do to show affection to you

Ace x reader, Jamil x reader, Floyd x reader

Ace calls out your name, whenever he’s about to shoot. A horrible habit that immediately draws all the defenders towards him… but hey, the sense of satisfaction he gets from slip sliding away from them and scoring a goal anyways is always worth it.

The feeling of your gaze on him as he darts into scoring range does make his pulse race. To think out of all of the players on the court, you were only looking at him. In this one moment, it’s almost as if as you two were the only ones there.

He makes sure that he catches your gaze as the ball slowly sinks into the basket, with the swish of a clean shot into the net.

There’s that smug sort of pride Ace gets whenever he looks at the aghast faces of the opposite team. As well as that tiny little tinge in his heart when he looks up at you, a crooked, boyish smile dancing across his lips.

Ya saw that, right? Wasn’t he so cool?

You know he’s going to pester you about his shot non-stop when he gets off the court. Regaling you with tale after tale of his heroic exploits until you jab him with your elbow. Well, if he wins this match, you’ll consider buttering up his ego a bit.

Besides, it’s not as if he has to tell you everything. You were there, in the stands. Cheering for him… and the rest of the team, of course.

Mostly for him.

He also has another horrible habit. Ace kisses his knuckles before lightly punching in your direction. He does this before every match, from the moment he steps onto the court. Ace’s version of a flying kiss, his own personal lucky charm.

If he’s ever questioned about it, Ace laughs it off. Claiming that he’s passing on all his bad luck to you, so he can focus on the game. Truth to be told? He‘ll much rather give you an actual kiss.

Ace’s personal good luck charm, for every match.

Jamil lingers around you, when it’s time for a break. Plopping himself in the seat beside you, his shoulder bumping into yours. He likes to sit right by you, feeling his pulse race against yours. There’s something about having you next to him that just… sets him at ease.

Jamil times his heartbeat to yours, chest heaving up and down. Calming himself down for the next round, clearing his adrenaline pumped mind. You busy yourself with a towel as well, mopping off Jamil’s head. He’ll try to snatch the towel from you, muttering about how he can handle it himself, but you’re insistent about him taking a proper break.

Jamil can only give him to the fluff of the towel, and your gentle touch. Sometimes, your fingers just brush against his face, a sudden flush of warmth lingering on his skin. Almost like an intimate touch.

So he contents himself by watching you take care of the entire team. Sometimes, Jamil gets a little jealous, watching you flutter around, abuzz. He’ll ask for your help with braiding his hair, bundling it up into a tight bun of sorts. You gladly oblige, your fingers running through his hair.

Jamil appreciates this, honestly. Most of the time, he’s the one looking after Kalim. For once… it’s nice to feel fawned over, even if it’s only for a while. Well, since you’ve already put in so much effort for Jamil… guess it’s only right if he brought back a victory, hm?

Nothing less, for you.

Floyd likes to pick you up. Before and after, every match. Before the match begins, you’ll feel a pair of lanky arms snake around your torso, before you’re lifted up by Floyd. He gives you a quick affectionate squeeze, before setting you down again. His personal pre-match ritual, Floyd chirps as his chin nuzzles into your scalp.

He does this without warning every single time, sneaking up on you silently. Even if you’re wary, glancing around for any sign of that eel, Floyd still finds ways to surprise you. You’re not escaping his grip that easily, Shrimpy!

After every match, you’re immediately attacked by a very tall eel drenched in sweat. Floyd loses the slightly hint of subtlety after the entire basketball match, and just straight up grapples you into his arms.

If it’s a victory for Night Raven College’s team, Floyd’s swinging you around, his fingers wrapped tightly around your wrists. It’s a big win for him! Hey, did you see the way that guy’s face just fell when Floyd blocked his shot? Did you, did you?

On the days it ends in a loss, Floyd just grabs you and buries his face into your shoulder. You can feel his breaths on your skin, gentle puffs that make your shoulder tingle. He holds you there for a while, legs wrapping around his own. Silently reflecting on his loss, calibrating his emotions perhaps. You wouldn’t know.

Although in the silence of those days, you can’t help but worm an arm out of his hold, stroking his hair the best you can from that awkward angle. Rubbing his hair, tousling it up. Sometimes, Floyd lets you. Snuggling closer towards you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

Sometimes he traps your hand under his cheek, nudging you softly. He won’t stop until your palm is flat against the side of his face, cupping his cheek tenderly. Sometimes he just wants to be held himself, Y’know?

Stay with him for a while, okay?

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #lucky potion 🔷#written while my ass was sick lmao #ace trappola x reader #ace x reader #twst ace #ace trappola #Jamil viper #jamil #jamil viper x reader #Jamil x reader #Floyd leech #Floyd #Floyd leech x reader #Floyd x reader

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boyfhee · 2 months

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박성훈 、SECRET NEVER KEPT

sunghoon likes getting detentions.

featuring ⋆ rich boy! sunghoon x fem reader, highschool au

contents ⋆ kissing, suggestive i mean you can say this went out of hand a little...sunghoon is crazy guys don't try this at school ( 0.78k )

notes ⋆ another rich boy hoon bc it's always on my mind. they should cast him in a drama and make him third gen chaebol heir idk. btw this one is for @atrirose

sunghoon’s lips curl into a subtle smile when he heard footsteps coming towards the classroom. he knows it’s you, he knows your pace, way too familiar with you to not even recognise the faint humming echoing in the hallways.

he chuckles, his smile growing wider as he pushes one of the desks aside. he shakes his head at how easily you make him smile, and you aren’t even in the room. the melody you’re humming gets a bit clearer, and he turns towards the door as you slide it open.

“detention again?” you tease, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. it’s unfathomable how giddy he looks after getting detention. “it’s pleasing to watch the mayor’s son sweeping the tiles,”

“just a little charity work for school,” he hums jokingly with a shrug, and then he looks up at you, his eyes are soft and just a tad bit crinkled at the edges and his smile is sweet as if an invitation to come and kiss him.

not a whiff of what happens at school reaches his parents because he knows his dad will have anyone who dares point fingers at him lose their job. while his mother is more inclined towards him trying to lay low and mixing into the general public, sunghoon can’t help but stand out.

he likes attention.

he likes it when people talk about him when he walks down the hallways, or when you wink at him from across the room. he liked it when you visited him when he had gotten detention for the very first time, and it’s a routine now. you stay after school for extra lessons and he hates not being able to sneak in a few kisses with you in the storage after school ends. fortunately, detention gives him the perfect excuse to stay.

“charity is nice but this—” you say, pointing at the mop and bucket, walking towards him as he carefully holds your hand so that you don’t slip over the wet tiles. “— doesn’t suit your pretty face.”

and sunghoon laughs, sitting on one of the chairs around, pulling you on his lap. your arms wrap around his shoulders out of habit, and he can’t help but swoon at the way your gaze rests on his lips for a fraction of a second before going back to his eyes. “well you win some and you lose some,”

and he doesn’t really care, honestly. with hands that are made to caress your cheeks and hold you close, he doesn’t really mind if they’re occupied with mopping the floors. just the same way he doesn’t care if his father hears about you and him. with elections ‘round the corner, he will be furious to see his dear son dating the daughter of the opposition.

but when has sunghoon ever cared about what others have to say about you?

“you know, anyone could walk in right now,” you warn quietly, although your actions are contradicting your words as you tilt your head a little, giving him an easier access as he presses his lips against your neck, leaving a trail of slow kisses down and then to your jaw.

he pulls away slightly, taking in the fragrance of your perfume— it’s the one he had gifted you on your birthday, and he likes how irresistible it makes you, as if you aren’t already. “the whole building’s empty,”

“the guards take rounds after school,”

“well, no one will come. and if they do,” he gently tucks your hair behind your ear, fingers drawing random patterns on your thighs, and you can feel your cheeks heat up as he slides his hand a bit further up. “we can put on a little show for them,”

“hoon—” he doesn’t let you say much, simply cutting you off with a kiss. most of the time, it doesn’t fall upon him to be the responsible one in the relationship, but you’re not any better with the way you pull him closer, fingers lost in his locks. you huff and his arms move up to your waist, and you pull him closer, kissing him deeper— a clear confirmation that you’re into this just as much as him.

and it does end up this way, most of the time. you on his lap, his arms around your waist and yours around his neck, lips together, in the empty classrooms or storage, under the staircase— sunghoon doesn’t care if someone sees. it’s least of his concerns when you’re with him. sunghoon falls first, he falls hard. everyone knows it, it has never been a secret.

2K notes · View notes

bookshelf-dust · 2 months

Text

baby love, my baby love

gif by @corrodedcherry

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 1,880

warnings: swearing, reader had a not so good day, some hair washing, reader is nude in a non-sexual way, casual intimacy, lots of lovey-dovey things

a/n: hello! i am still very tentatively getting back into writing, but i wanted to write something sweet and comforting and soft and all those things. and eddie is the best provider of all that. this is so cute i almost made myself nauseous. lemme know what you think!! happy reading!!! <333 lots of love

————

“Where’s my girl at?”

Eddie’s voice rings throughout your small apartment, echoing slightly due to it not being fully furnished. His tone is almost giddy, words taking on a little twang after having spent the day working with Wayne.

You bury your face deeper into your pillow, fighting a smile at the way he speaks to you. From your place on the bed, you hear his keys smack the wall as he hangs them up, hear his boots thudding across the kitchen tiles as he makes his way to you.

When Eddie appears in the doorway to your shared bedroom, his arms are raised, fingers working to quickly tie his hair up in a knot. His biceps flex with the movement, drawing your eye to his pale skin. A brilliant smile spreads across his face upon seeing you.

“Hey, bug,” he says.

You flush. You never thought you’d allow someone to call you love bug, let alone any variation of it. You certainly didn’t think you’d like it. It’s who’s saying it that’s converted you.

You’re laying on your stomach, hands crushed under your cheek. You try to smile back at him, but it comes out much less enthusiastic than normal. It’s a very tired gesture.

Eddie notices, kicking off his shoes and crouching before you. “What’s the matter sweet girl? You’re wearing your outside clothes still, and you look pretty pitiful.”

At least he’s honest.

You blink and let your eyes flutter shut. “Long day. Headache. Upset.”

He brings his hand to your face, brushing his fingers over your temples. “Oh, I’m sorry, bug. I know you just wanna feel all better. Is that it?”

You nod, eyes still closed. He starts to laugh playfully just because of how pitiful you really do look, at how small and scrunched up you’ve made yourself. When he kisses your cheek, you feel his smile against your skin. It makes you beam, despite how you feel. The tingle Eddie’s lips leave behind makes it seem like the first time no matter how long it's been. You’re all soft for him, and there’s no denying it. But hell, he’s the same way.

“How about…” he trails off, rubbing the tips of his fingers up and down your spine, tickling your lower back where your sweater has ridden up. “How about I take care of you? Run you a bath, for starters? I know you like that.”

Your eyes open, happy to think about how nice it would feel to sink your tired body into a hot basin full of bubbles. “Okay, Teddy.”

“Yeah? C’mere then,” Eddie says gently, holding his hands out to encourage you to sit up. You slowly push yourself away from the mattress, and he easily pulls you to stand. “I’ll get the water warmed up for you.”

You give him a poor little salute, making him laugh, and then stick your fingers through his belt loop so you don’t have to do as much on the short walk to the bathroom. When you get there, Eddie bends to cut the water on and push the drain plug down. You wrap your arms around his waist and fold yourself against his warm back. You close your eyes once again, hearing him squirt a hefty amount of bubble bath into the tub. You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t flood the bathroom.

The plastic top clicks shut and Eddie rises, grabbing hold of your hands and spinning around in your grip.

“Don’t like seein’ you all drained, baby,” he says. Eddie’s hands cradle your face, long and pale fingers beginning to rub at your temples. It feels so nice to have that pressure be pushed away, to feel his body so close to yours. At this rate, you’ll forget you even had a headache.

“Wanna tell me about it?” Eddie asks. “Or do you just want to have a chill night?”

You open your eyes and push up on your toes to kiss his nose. “The latter,” you say.

He chuckles, knowing you never used that term until you started reading Jane Austen.

“M’kay, bug. That works for me.” His eyes twinkle mischievously. “You want a kiss? I think you deserve a good one.”

That gets you to practically melt. I fucking love this woman, Eddie thinks. He feels breathless each time you look at him that way. You look at him like he hung the stars, like he is your knight in shining armor. He kisses you in that way that thanks you for making him feel so loved. So cherished.

You thread your hands in Eddie’s hair, fingers pulling at the chunk at the nape of his neck where it’s most sensitive. His mouth is warm against yours. He smiles at your playfulness, breaking away to kiss both cheeks.

He bends and drags a finger through the water. “It’ll be plenty warm enough in a second, bug.”

You give him a tired thank you squeeze as he presses a kiss to your jaw.

“Need help undressing?” he inquires, a wolfish grin spreading across his face.

You gently backhand his stomach, watching as he feigns severe injury. “Perv,” you joke.

Eddie sits down on the toilet seat lid so that he can be prepared to turn the water off when he deems the tub full enough for you. Really he’d just like to see you surrounded by a huge pile of bubbles for his own amusement, but also because he knows it’ll be the thing to coax that pure, joyous laugh out of you. The sound he’d bottle and keep on his nightstand if he could.

You remove the little bit of makeup you’d been wearing with a cotton pad, sighing in relief to have it all off. You take out your earrings and slip off your rings, setting them in an ashtray on the counter you’ve been repurposing ever since Eddie decided to cut back on his smoking.

You take off each of your socks, one hand gripping the countertop for balance. As you slip your belt off, Eddie finishes preparing your bath and turns to face you. He holds his arms out, ready to collect your dirty clothes and accessories so that he can put them in their rightful places.

He takes your belt from you only to be cheeky, snapping the thick leather as loud as he can manage. He makes himself laugh.

You turn to the side when you unbutton your jeans, flushing and shy at his attention even after all this time. Even knowing how beautiful he finds your body. How much he loves how soft you are. After all, your body allows you to live. It allows you to spend time with him, and that is all he’ll ever ask for. It doesn’t matter to him what state your body is in because it is yours. And you are his.

Eddie smiles watching you shimmy out of your snug jeans. You hand him your pants and t-shirt, now only in your bra and underwear. You don’t give yourself the time to be self-conscious, longing for the hot bath water. You turn and quickly unclasp your bra. Eddie playfully flicks your bum. It always deserves appreciation in his eyes.

When you hand him the last of your items, he presses the sweetest kiss to your tummy, thumbs rubbing at the indentations left on your chest from your bras underwire, as if he can make them go away just by sheer will.

“I love you, bug,” Eddie says, looking up at you with those watery doe eyes. His kisses your stomach again.

“I love you same, Teddy. Now let me take my bath. It’s rather chilly in this house, don’t you think? I refuse to freeze.”

Eddie laughs to himself as he walks off, taking your clothes to the hamper and storing your bra and belt elsewhere. He never could’ve imagined a world where preparing a bath for his partner would make him as happy as it does.

————

Eddie is kneeling on the bathroom floor. Your back is pressed against the side of the tub, and he’s washing your hair. Well, really he’s already given it the scrub and cleanse that it needed, now he’s just trying to make weird shapes out of it.

After you’d sat in the warm water until your toes pruned without actually bathing, he jokingly offered to do your hair while you washed your body.

You hadn’t even thought about it. You were enjoying the way the bubbles came up to your chin, the way you were completely encapsulated in the safety of them. The way Eddie sat there on the rug, telling you about his day. About the different things he’d fixed on which cars—nothing you understood in any fashion, but something you always wanted to hear about.

“You could make good money doing this, you know. You’re very talented,” you quip, scrubbing your calf with a washcloth.

Eddie snorts, kissing your wet shoulder blade. “What? Give head massages?”

You ring out your rag, having completed your washing ritual and made sure everything got the attention it deserves.

“Mhm. That felt so good.”

You pull the drain plug up, letting the water out. Eddie stands and acts as though his back is going to give out on him. You quickly turn the shower on, just so you can make sure you got all the conditioner out of your hair and feel completely clean. Eddie has never done this rinsing routine after a bath, but loves to see you do your little happy dance when you’re all clean and wrapped up in a towel.

He holds out a hand as you step over the rim of the tub, bowing for added effect. “How was your bath, m’lady?”

You lead the way out of the bathroom, on a search for pajamas. “I’d say it was the best bath I’ve ever had the pleasure of taking, good sir.”

You hug your fuzzy towel to your chest, pushing up on your tiptoes to kiss Eddie’s full lips. He blushes at the eye contact you’re giving him. He knows how it makes you nervous, but getting to have all of your attention like that makes him tingly.

“Thank you for helping me, Teddy.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

You turn to the side, gripping a round, wooden handle and pulling open your top dresser drawer. Eddie kisses your cheek. Sometimes you think Eddie’s kisses are lifesaving. They’ve surely contributed to your stability. They’re healing. And so is the way he cares for the people he loves. The way he so effortlessly does things just because he only wants to see you happy.

Eddie ends up picking out your pajamas while you pick out his. You’re in your own bottoms, but one of his Iron Maiden t-shirts. You told him you should match, so he pointed you in the direction of another, and you made sure to choose pants for him that had red in them, just like yours.

Before you can sit down on your shared bed, Eddie takes your hand and leans down to whisper in your ear. His chin brushes your jaw, lips parting in a bright grin before the words ever leave his mouth.

“Now, what do you think about going to get milkshakes?”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

#savannah’s fics #eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x reader fluff

1K notes · View notes

nichuuu · 2 months

Text

Scatterbrain

Word count: 18k+

They say it takes a village to raise a child.

To raise a girl as fine as Jang Wonyoung, you’d probably need 3 whole villages.

Two of those three villages would be used to train the way she walks because it’s perfect: classy, poised, elegant. The other one would have to work on her outfits because god would she need those. Hopefully the village doesn’t operate a Shein style manufacturing line. She’d hate that.

Her face is the definition of “striking the gene pool lottery”, and so is the rest of her body. Lanky arms and legs; toned, slim tummy; big, bright eyes that glimmer under the flashing lights. Personally, you like her “you’re on camera” smile the most. She knows this, and she always makes it a point to shoot it your way as she struts towards you. She stops half way to get a flute of Champagne, make that two actually, then grabs another. Those long legs can cover one hell of a distance, and they bring her right to you in a matter of seconds.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” she hands you the Champagne flute in her left hand, and the rings on it shine in the light, “cause it’s starting to feel like you’re just stalking me now.”

Of course, it’s the snarky remarks that open the conversation. Jang Wonyoung, airheaded as ever m’lady, and you sip on the Bubbly that she’s very nicely delivered to you. Wonyoung is, of course, a little bit of an airhead in your books (only because she believes that you’re always there for her, nothing else), and it’s never not hilarious to watch her draw her lips into a thin line. It’s not the first time she’s hearing this from you; it certainly won’t be the last. You can’t control where you’re posted to, but you know for a fact that you’ll see her again a couple months down the road.

Cause your meetings with Jang Wonyoung are through pure serendipity really, and you certainly will start calling it that after you read that one story. You know: the one where this guy cheats on his idol girlfriend, who he has a tense relationship with, with another idol that he happens to meet just about everywhere. There’s 0 communication between the two of you when these types of events come around, and neither of you know if either of you will be there or not. Actually, it’s just you really; neither of you know if you will be there.

“Here for Kwon Eunbi again? Or are you finding someone else?” This question of her’s is customary at this point. Never once has it been perfunctory.

“Well, I was actually here to try and catch an interview with Jo Yuri, but I guess you’ll do,” you reply. Wonyoung scoffs—so I’m second place then?—and you have to assuage her oh-so-damaged ego, “you’re making this inference on your own Princess. I never said anything remotely close to that.”

And it’s that smile on her face that makes you want to kiss her really. It’s gorgeous, it’s cute, it’s beautiful. She’s given you that damned smile so many times that you could probably draw it from memory, though you’d definitely butcher it. The dress is certainly doing it justice, and you watch it brush against the skin of her legs as she shifts her weight to the other foot. I’ve never been that good at inferences. You’re far better than me, Prince, and she’s playing with her hair: twirling and untwirling it around her finger. That ribbon atop her head… Her stylist certainly knows their stuff.

“Think I’ll win an award this year?” Her question draws you away from your thorough examination of her. You take a moment to think, and you have to say, it depends, but I think you could definitely get something in some category. She gives you this inscrutable look, and she’s chuckling to herself as she looks at the crowd and sips on her champagne. You can guess what she’s about to say next: quite the crowd today, huh? And you’d reply, “Don’t think that they’re all here for you”, and that would prompt her to shoot back with, “Then who are they here for? You?”.

But of course, when do things ever go according to plan?

“Have you thought about my offer?” she asks, and you’re caught off guard.

Cause here’s the history between you two: Middle school best friends, always kind of inseparable. She was the beauty queen, it girl, and she still is; you were the writer, head of the school magazine, and you’re pretty much writing for the rest of your life. Wherever you went with her, rumours followed—Are they dating? I think they’re just friends. Maybe she’s trying to be the front of the magazine?—but you never thought much of it. It was just a simple friendship to you, nothing more.

Then the kiss she gave you in high school changed it all.

It was a party, hosted by one of your mutual friends. She kissed you, and no, it wasn’t a Spin The Bottle forfeit, nor was it a dare of any sort; it was a sincere, tender kiss in the garden—unprompted, and away from any prying eyes and soft like silk chiffon. You have to admit, the sensation had your brain mired for a minute or so. But when you came back to your senses, you kissed her right back, and things got complicated after that.

No one knew of it; it was your little secret. Wonyoung became closer than ever, and next thing you know, she declares the two of you “exclusive” but not dating. It’s because her agency has that funky dating ban thing, and Wonyoung was desperate to find a loophole, albeit a little complex. Of course, you’re willing to stay “exclusive” with Wonyoung in secret, but you started to worry that it can’t stay this way for long after the two of you get out of high school.

But as fate would have it, your career paths meet at the crossroads, and now you see her every other month or so. You still text her when you can, and the “exclusive” relationship has sustained. Now that she’s an adult and she’s bringing in mad bucks for the agency, she’s informed you of some changes in her contact. From there, the offer was birthed, and you have left it unchecked for the past four months or so, “grey ticked” as she liked to call it.

“You haven’t texted in a while, thought you died,” she continues, leaning on her elbows against the table. “Thank god you’re alive, huh?”

You hoped that she’d just forget about it, but she’s more of a mnemonist than you give her credit for. An award show is the last place you expected to be caught off guard by Jang Wonyoung, but she’s definitely a master of surprise. I uh… I haven’t really thought about it, is a lie you tell her and yourself. She smiles enigmatically, downs the rest of her Champagne.

“Let’s talk about it tonight,” she touches your chest, and it’s soft like silk chiffon, “you know where to find me, Prince.”

She struts off to join the rest of her members, stops halfway to return her Champagne flute, then looks back at you over her shoulder to give you a small wave. You sip on your Champagne as the silk brushes against her skin.

It’s a heavy breath that leaves your mouth, and it’s the rest of the Champagne that goes in.

302.

Gold lettering, black plaque. It’s grand, pretty elegant. Suits her well.

Then the door opens.

In her bathrobe, Jang Wonyoung shoots her “you’re on camera” smile. You’re earlier than expected—she lets you in—Matter of fact, I thought you might not show at all.

And it’s a must to quip back, “thought you’d be asleep by now you big baby.”

When the door closes, it’s straight to work, and here’s how that normally goes: kissing, undressing, foreplay, then finally—fucking. Not that it has to follow that order or anything, but it’s the unspoken schedule that Wonyoung’s written up. God forbid anyone goes against what the princess is comfortable with, not that you’d ever try to either way. Your voice is barely a mumble past her lips—aren’t we supposed to talk about something?—and Wonyoung’s quick to dismiss any queries, “later. There’s always time for it later”.

So it’s the kiss that’s pulling you back into her. Her front teeth capture your bottom lip, pull, drags it back a little like she’s trying to unwrap you like a present. You hold her waist, and with gentle hands, you push her back against the wall. It’s not that you’re trying to get control or anything; you’re just attempting to give her something to work with, a place to rest as she starts to work on the buttons of your shirt.

“Are you already naked underneath that?” you whisper, though it’s more of a drawl than a whisper. In response, she momentarily stops with your buttons to slide a section of her bathrobe away, giving you a good look at a column of her naked, milky skin.

In short: Yes, she is very much naked under that robe.

“Don’t get distracted, my prince. Eyes up here.”

“You’re the one that made me look, princess.”

She’s evidently struggling with the last button of your shirt, and you have to let go of her for a moment to help her get it done. Then it’s off with the shirt, and she flings it against the door for convenience sake. Your belt’s next, and that’s taken care of before you can even say, let me undress you Princess. It does make her hesitate at the clasp of your trousers for a bit. Just for a bit.

“I’d like,” her fingers are moving again, and they’re awfully quick at unfastening your pants, “for you to unwrap me on the bed instead.”

How raunchy of her. Makes you want to try her on.

Your pants fall. Your hand slithers into the bathrobe. Her jaw drops. Wonyoung my darling, and your fingers have captured one of those perky breasts, the right one to be exact. How do you ever—it’s light pressure to the nipple for you; it’s mind melting for her—get away with being such a big slut? Look at you, I’m barely even squeezing here. You’d like to save that face she makes in a supercut of her other memorable faces: eyes wide, mouth agape and her chin tucked into her neck. Frame it up, take a step back, admire it. It’s the face of someone who’s pent up, the expression of a needy girl who’s been aching to get some dick. Maybe if you guys had met a little sooner, she wouldn’t be this sensitive. But now? A twist of your forefinger and thumb is all it takes to draw a cry out of her, a little more pressure is enough to rain hellfire upon her. What a crazy-hot mess she is; only god knows how to clean her up and get her sorted out.

Open mouth straight to your ear, Wonyoung lets out a breathy gasp. In your fingers, the stiff peak rolls between the pads—back, forth, back, forth: motions that make her weak in her knees. It’s with great effort that she pulls your face back to hers, captures you in her quivering lips. Elegance has long been thrown out the window by now, and it’s not going to be returning for quite some time, as if you ever need it at a time like this. She’s barely holding herself up at this point. Where did the prim proper Jang Wonyoung go?

The answer’s in her kiss—gone, dusted, she was here just a minute ago though. She’s grasping at whatever inch of your skin she can find, and her nails are definitely gonna be leaving marks on the sides of your neck. You let out a small, wry laugh as you silently observe her behaviour, watching her implore without speaking, badger without requesting. It’s an art form really, the form of expression for the horny and desperate and bratty. When her hands grip your face and her nails sink into your cheek, you pinch a little harder and relish the pleasant vibrations that are sent into your mouth as she gasps. Her palms press into your jaw, and they’d probably crush it if you press any harder. Her feet patter against the wood as she starts to direct you to the bed. You kick off your shoes together with your pants.

It’s definitely a sight to take in: Jang Wonyoung in a massive king size bed, a thin bathrobe being the only thing between you and that wonderful body being the bathrobe. Maybe if she wasn’t in this state she’s in, she’d gesture to you with a come hither motion, and invite you to remove the fabric from her body. Instead, she opts for a spine tingling mewl, and that’s your invitation to her body. It’s hardly an insinuation; the fact that she wants to be unwrapped like a present is undeniable, she used the word unwrap herself. The bunny knot holding the two pieces of fabric is symmetrical—has Wonyoung’s fingerprints all over it. If it weren’t for the fact that she’s watching you with a half-open mouth, maybe you’d compliment her on her efforts a little, maybe even call her “princess” a couple more times before you properly ruin her.

(But she’s already ruined, ruined by a mere bit of pressure to the nipple. What else can make her tick now?)

Her body is at your mercy and it, quite literally, jerks as you start to pull at the knot, undoing it centimetre by centimetre, millimetre by millimetre, inch by inch. You want to see how long she can watch for, how long she can witness herself be undressed in a painfully slow fashion. Needy as she is, she’s patient as she watches one end of the rope grow longer.

Longer.

“Do you want me to speed this up, baby?” The smirk on your face would earn you a pout from her if her nerves weren’t in a bundle at the given moment.

“W-Whatever you want,” she answers, and her voice is brimming with breathy arousal. How are you getting away with all this? She’d grab your wrist and pull by now if she wasn’t so damn needy right now.

You give a dry laugh. “Then I’ll keep at this then.”

Longer.

“Fuck. Just pull it all the way already.” She looks you right in the eye as she begs you to hurry, and now you can see the need brimming in those large, round eyes, the ones that stare back at you with soft intensity, if that’s even possible. She’s good at mixing emotions into her stare.

“I thought you said—”

“Just fucking do it!”

Slack.

And the knot comes undone, and together with it, the robe falls off to the sides of her body—it’s beautiful. Never have you taken so much pleasure in undressing her, but you sure-as-hell have taken this much time to admire that wonderful, slender frame. From your standing view over her, you get down to her level to get a better look at her. It’s all part of the game of course: the way you look her in the eye, the way you touch her jaw ever so slightly to turn it towards you. The kiss is sickly sweet, and she’s starting to taste more and more like that cherry lipstick you gave her when you saw her some time ago at another event. Into your mouth, she lets out a sonorous moan. Your fingertips brush along her skin, slither down from her collarbone to her cleavage—down to that flushed pink region between her equally flushed thighs. Almost instantly, the tip of your digits are coated in slick fluids, and you raise an eyebrow at the girl on the bed.

“I literally touched you.” It’s amusement permeating your voice more than anything. In the sheets, she squirms in the slightest, eyes locked on your fingers that rest against that dripping heat and breath caught in her throat. You know that if you were to shift your finger in the slightest, you’d trigger a chain reaction that you have no power over. Her legs would clamp, her abdomen would tense, her eyes would roll. In the midst of it all, she’d maybe scream, or maybe she’d moan; either way goes. As far as you’re concerned, she’s needy as fuck at the moment, and she’s not going to let anything stop her from cumming.

“Yea, well… I can be sensitive.” Her defence is hardly a solid one, more of a perfunctory reply. Her head’s far from able to formulate a quip to throw back at you; that ability went out the window together with classy Wonyoung. “Put them in.”

You go against her request, and your fingers start to skirt the edges of that swollen, pink slit of hers. A crime—you’re going against the princess’ wishes, but realistically speaking: she can hardly be called a princess at the moment, so why comply?

A portion of the bathrobe is still clinging on to her breast. You use your other hand to push it away, and the split second of contact makes her flinch. “Jesus. You’re so fucking turned-on right now,” you can’t help but muse, all while your fingers retrace te outline of her swollen lips. She’s shivering, she isn’t breathing quite right. “Do you want to moan, baby? Do you want to moan like a good little slut for me?”

And she fixes you with a glare. “F-Fuck you… Put them in.”

No “please” this time. Shame. If she were more polite, you would’ve obliged; now you’ll just have some more fun with her.

Your thumb finds the swollen nub, and a little brush is all you need to get her straining like a psycho in a straitjacket. What will I ever do with you Wonyoung?—and she’s getting wetter by the second—You look so pretty when you’re so needy, you know that?—why would you ever, for a second, think that she’d be as refined as the last time? She doesn’t play with herself when she needs to get off; she waits till she sees you again to get off on your cock, your fingers, your mouth. Sexting was off the table, she wants you to be physically there, driving her insane as she lets herself come undone.

“You know,” and you’re almost laughing as you watch her face twist even further, “that I could do this forever right? I could just lie here, tease you for as long as I want… Or maybe that’s what you want?

She’s messy, so fucking messy. Juices are starting to soak the bed—you can feel it as your fingertips round the bottom of her slit. Housekeeping would certainly question the spot, and the two of you wouldn’t be there to reply anyway. Her cheeks are flushed, the veins of her throat are popping. It takes a considerable amount of effort to stay this composed, but you know that she’s breaking more and more. With each round your fingers make, cracks start to form along that perfectly sculpted face. The fine lines on her forehead begin to show as her brows start to furrow. Strained sounds are coming from her throat as the urge to moan is slowly winning the battle against her will. She wants control, but she can’t have it when she’s a wet, hot mess next to you. She’s being bratty for the sake of it. Your fingers are your leverage against her. It’s killing her. It’s delighting you.

And just like fine China thrown against concrete, her will shatters.

“Please! Put them in!”

And your fingers stop just at the top of her pussy. It feels like a long minute, but she isn't about to take another second of this. Her thighs clamp against your arm. Her fingers wrap around your wrist in desperation. She begs again. And again. And again. And again, again, again. The bed starts to creak as you start to move your fingers down her lips, down to the very end of her cunt.

God is she dripping.

“Will you moan for me?” you drawl huskily. A finger, two, three rest themselves against her heat.

“Yes.” There’s barely any of her original self left in there. “Please just—”

The fingers breach her opening. She screams, a high-pitched, keening cry. The noise makes your cock strain in your boxers, and you have to grit your teeth as her inner walls wrap tightly around your intruding digits. A moment of stillness comes, a moment where she’s just breathing raggedly, struggling to process this pleasure that’s racking her body faster than she can comprehend. She’s a ticking time bomb of nerves; the slightest movement in this state could send her into perdition, and she’ll barrel past that point of no return faster than both of you can imagine. God, she’s sensitive. God, she’s a mess.

The chuckle that departs from your mouth is one of perverse pleasure. “Baby,” you whisper, right into her ear as she struggles to catch her breath. She squeezes her eyes shut, and you watch with a grin as her chest rises and falls. The grip on your wrist is a vice, knuckle-white and unrelenting. She’s begging you, with her eyes, to start moving, and you have to tell her, “I can’t start till you let go of me, baby.”

And it’s with reluctance that she slips her hand off your wrist, but that hand won’t stay empty for long. You guide it to her own breast, and with a soft whisper, you tell her to squeeze. She’s servile. She complies without protest. Her eyes slowly open themselves, and you relish the way they’re lust-glazed appearance looks under warm light while her breaths level themselves out. For a moment, there’s calm. For a moment, it’s tender.

Then your fingers start to move. All hell breaks loose.

Everything she did to calm herself quickly becomes futile; it becomes undone as her back arches in a way that catches your breath in your throat. Your fingers graze her walls, pressed into each other as they slowly draw in and out of her. And mind you: you’re going slow, slow enough to make her feel every bit of your fingers brush against her insides. But it’s enough to make her curse, enough to get her mewling like a damn kitten while her hips start to rock, rubbing her clit against the base of your palm. There’s no way to describe how needy she looks; her want is beyond words, and you’ve barely even started. Three fingers is the most you’ve ever put inside her. Clearly, it’s working wonders for her.

And now you yourself have to admit: you’ve wanted her for some time now. Since the last time you saw her, you’ve fantasised about that slim tummy twitching, about holding that snatched waist once more, about those long legs wrapped around your neck while your tongue and fingers turn her into a pliant plaything. For weeks, you’ve wanted nothing more than pulling Jang Wonyoung apart, reduce her into a withering mess wherever you guys are and get her screaming till she’s sore. You can’t even begin to describe what you’ve done with her in your dreams, nor can you ever convey how it feels to desire her as much as you have. So, you put all of it into action, sordid sentiments channelled into your fingers that are making those cute features twist and contort in perverse pleasure. She’s rambunctious, and her juices are quite literally soaking your hand, spilling the strongest sillage of lust all over the bed.

“Why do you always have to be so fucking messy?” You’re really just trying to see how much you can get away with at this point, though the answer seems to be: just about everything. Your fingers start moving faster. You love the way her cheeks are starting to flush even more. “Are you always this wet? Or is it just for me?”

The squelching is lewder than you can ever imagine. The sound of her slick, wet heat being breached by your fingers is enthralling. Add the sounds she’s making into that and you have the ultimate erotica audio that can bless mankind. She’s panting, she’s moaning, she’s whining—she’s doing it all really, and you’re just using your fingers. God knows how she’ll react once you’re inside of her, rock hard meat stretching her out instead of a few fingers fiddling around in warm walls.

But hey, the sounds she’s making are ever so erotic, and she’s definitely making your blood flow to all the right places. She feels out of place; you can’t put your finger on what’s wrong in this whole thing. It’s probably a small detail, something you’d overlook over the sight of her chest heaving as air shoots out and gets sucked back into her mouth, her whole body straining and convulsing against the bed while you get a thumb on her clit and rub at a languid tempo. Probably something miniscule, not worth mentioning because all your attention is focused on the look on her face (you want to mess up the makeup so badly it’s almost frustrating). And no, you’re not trying to make her cum in five seconds; she’s just really riled up—bundle of nerves and trigger happy. Probably hasn’t been treated this way in a while, probably hasn’t had three fingers twisting around, sliding in and out of that tight wet hole slow enough to make her feel every bit of skin against her walls; fast enough to make her combust if you were to speed up, in, like, forever.

“I–I…” She’s quite literally mewling, and the sharpness in her voice is so cutting that it makes an incision in a bag inside you that’s keeping all the perverse thoughts at bay. The thoughts are leaking out now, and it’s almost impossible to stuff them back in. You want her against the glass: tits against the window and ass in your hands while you pump and pump and pump into that slick tight hole; you want nothing more but to pick her up and have her lock her legs around you, tight frame flushed against you while you nail her against one of these walls that surround you; you want to unhinge that jaw and watch that pretty mouth—now parted to let the stream of moans flow—take your cock in and out between those kiss-swollen lips and watch the drool leak out the corners of her mouth. Shit. It’s killing you. Jang Wonyoung, dolled up. She’s killing you.

(No way in hell are thighs meant to be this hot, and lips are not supposed to look this delicious. Yet Jang Wonyoung somehow goes against every fucking norm, fights it naturally and effortlessly and wins like a seasoned warrior. So just for her case: her thighs can be this hot and flushed, and her lips can look this fucking appetising. You kiss her; it’s sloppy, it’s lewd, it’s hot and everything in between. Mark her neck, mark that row of skin above her right collarbone, mark her everywhere. Cusses are flying—god forbid her agency finds out about the things hse says while she’s getting fingered. She's making a mess out of herself. She’s making a mess out of you.

Fingers, just fingers and she’s already looking like this: hair fanned out, frazzled, looking like she just went through a car wash and yet somehow has her make-up intact. Fuck. You want to watch the mascara run, watch it streak while she tears up as she’s choking down cum and she’s struggling to take in air. Pretty little princess, messy and glacially being turned into some improper slut. It’s hard to not smirk while you ruin her with the same fingers you use to type articles about her—fingers that sing praises and can also make her moan enough to make her throat hoarse.)

The rhythm of your hand makes her body roll. Her toes–painted over, fresh manicure—curl into the sheets. Doe-like eyes stare back at you, plump red lips part to gasp your name, throat muscles strain trying to curse and moan at the same time. The fingers are gliding in and out and in and out and she’s begging you to not stop (like hell you ever would) in those choke up little sobs while she’s—

Oh fuck baby I can’t I can’t I can’t — Anything. I’ll do anything. Please just let me cum. I’m so fucking close baby. Please just let me fucking cum. I’ll be a good girl. I-I promise I’ll be a good fucking girl for you just… Fuck!

—blue screening on your fingers: lost in the sauce or whatever. Pliant plaything, docile doll. You’re certain she hasn’t gotten off in at least a month if the way she’s taking it is any sort of yardstick. She’s far beyond drenched, far beyond salvation and way off the deep end of the “needy” pool—drowning herself in her own sea of sighs and gasps and moans and loose phonics that slip out of her mouth. Ostinato of your fingers squelching in her cunt; half time rhythm of the creaky bed; melody of the chorus of Jang Wonyoung’s voice—music to your ears.

And there’s lots to unpack from the moment you locate that soft spot at the top of her pussy. There’s a lot of cussing, a lot of jolting, a fair amount of whining and your name is thrown somewhere in that mix. You find her lips, she kisses back, one of her hands grabs your arm, nails dig in and stay there. Flurry of actions, filthy language—fucking hell, someone stop her.

Bottom line: lots of action. You find it congenial to start from the part where it quite literally ends her world. Once your digits curled up into that sensitive patch of flesh, it was all over for her.

You can pinpoint the exact moment where the orgasm rips through her body, the exact moment where her muscles seized so perfectly that her back arches. The pulse around your fingers is strong, walls tight around your digits and your thumb gently rubbing on her clit while the pleasure rolls through her body, molten iron libido converting the feeling between her thighs to electricity that makes her short circuit. The moan is breathy if anyone’s asking, and the look on her face—twisted, perverse satisfaction: superimposing need and want—has a whole foot over the line of pornographic. Wires are fraying in her head, her vocal cords are strained, she’s ruining the sheets with her juices; you’re complicit in every damn part of this, and guilt is the last thing on your mind.

Then her back falls back flat against the mattress, and the sheets ripple as her body makes a dense thump against the bed, punctuating the sigh she releases into the air. Nerves are unbundling themselves. She’s sweaty and panting. Your fingers are beyond soaked.

“Messy,” you muse, slowly drawing your juice slicked fingers out of her cunt. You bring them to her mouth. She languidly tastes herself, sweat-darkened sheets hugging the muscles of her shoulders and lining her ribs. She looks so tiny in the bed if you looked over the fact that her legs were dangling over the edge of the mattress, and that’s easy to do once you lean in for a kiss.

(It’s not hard to slip your tongue into her mouth, and there’s barely any fight left in her as you roll her nipple between your index finger and thumb. The sweat-matted hair sticking to her forehead adds a nice touch to her face.)

“Such a good girl.” Your tone is warm as you praise her, and a hand moves to cup her cheek in an act of tenderness. Her eyelids flutter shut. She puts the weight of her face into your palm.

“Do I get my reward now?” she whispers, and it’s more of a plea than a question really. You take a moment, not to think, but to drag out the suspense for a little more before you give her an answer. You take guilty pleasure in knowing that you could keep her on tenterhooks for the whole night—the only thing stopping you is the throbbing of your cock in your boxers and the look of sheer need on her face. If you could: you’d drag this out a little longer, maybe tease her a little and call her more names. You still could do that, but you’d much rather fuck her instead.

“Where do you want it?” your thumbs hook into the waistband of your boxers and hook them down. Your cock springs free from its cottons confines, and Wonyoung’s eyes instantly dart to it. She may be a little obsessed with your cock, but only a little when she’s depraved (which is right now). Before you can even react, she has your shaft in her hand, lanky fingers wrapped around it and pumping it with considerate strokes.

“I want a big load in my ass.” she requests, far from innocent and banking more towards improper, which seems to be a pretty big theme of hers tonight. “I’ve been wanting to feel daddy’s hot load leaking out of my ass for a long time…” The strokes delivered to your length grow firmer and firmer by the second. “Please?”

The spikes of pleasure her small hand delivers to your system is really making it hard to say no at the given moment. Of course, she’s well aware of it, and she’s definitely feeling so damn smug right now. And so with a very clouded mind, you nod. She smiles smugly, unaware that you’re about to fuck that smug little smirk rig of her pretty face. Conveniently, she’s already on her back—it’ll make the process so much easier.

“I take it that the lube is in your bag?” You raise. She grins and nods.

Sure enough, you find it in the exact same place as it usually is: side pocket, right next to her lipstick. You toss it towards her and move around her, slip her ankles over her shoulders. She lies still, unmoving and obedient as her left calf goes past her head, then her right. You lean forward, and she gasps as she's almost bent her completely in half. She’s flexible; this position won’t bring any harm to her, but it is congenial to ruin her asshole and leave her sore for the next day or so, which is exactly what she wants, but probably not how she imagined herself getting it. She cracks open the lube, and with precision, squirts a generous amount of it on the tight ring of her ass, making eye contact with you all the while as the clear liquid gathers at the puckered ring of muscle. The tube is discarded to a side when she’s done, and she uses her hands to spread her asscheeks for you, inviting you to take your liberties with her hole.

“Come on Daddy,” she urges you. “Come fuck this ass,” she continues, her hands spreading her ass cheeks even wider as you start to line yourself up with the tight ring. “Wreck this fucking hole Daddy, I can fucking take it.”

To hear her say those words was almost enough to have you cum right there and then. You press the tip of your cock at the open, gaping hole of her ass, swirling it around the entrance, collecting more of the copious amounts of lube around it. She was generous with the amount of lube she dispensed; you're about to be generous with the strokes you're gonna make inside that ass.

(She yelps when you slide inside her ass. God does it feel so fucking divine.)

She is so tight and wet and hot that you think you could’ve cum with your first thrust inside her. Her pussy was tight and hot, but her ass was even tighter and even hotter. Even though your cock was slick with lube, it did close to nothing to keep the sheer tightness of her asshole from clenching around you like it was a really small glove. It wasn’t the first time you’ve been inside her ass, but it sure as hell felt like a novelty every single time you entered that tight ring of muscle. Fuck. The heat, the tightness—sublime. You think you could cum in a matter of seconds if you didn’t have self control.

“Go!’ she hisses, through the pain and discomfort. “Fuck me. Fuck my ass!”

You would have been happy to stay there, buried balls deep in Wonyoung’s ass, but her own words goad you into moving—slowly at first, but with a steadily increasing pace, you begin to fuck Wonyoung’s ass with long, slow strokes. She hisses—part glee, part discomfort—as your shaft starts to pump itself in and out of her ass. You draw yourself out till only the base of you tip remains inside of her, and then you thrust back in, hard, hard enough to make her yelp out in pained pleasure while she grits her teeth and watches your rock hard shaft fill her ass. It's a perverse show for her, and it brings you a sort of dark satisfaction in knowing that past all that discomfort she’s feeling, she loves the way your cock stretches her out and fills her defenceless little hole.

With her ankles over your shoulders, you’re practically spearing yourself vertically into her ass, fucking her deep and making her feel every inch of your throbbing meat inside of that hot, tight hole. Every penetration is punctuated by a deep, guttural groan from Wonyoung, sometimes a curse, or something along the lines of: fuck. So fucking full. You know for a fact that the pained sounds you hear now will turn into airy gaps of pleasure once she gets used to the discomfort, and that she’d probably be a mewling mess by the time you reach the stage where she can take you in and out of her ass with only pleasure in her system and no pain. For now, you’ll settle with the pace you have—slow, long strokes in and out of her ass while she squeezes her eyes to block out all sensations distracting her from enjoying the sensation of her ass being filled with cock. You have to admit that she’s doing a great job at it, and your praise vocalises itself in the rather harsh form of, “what a good little slut.”

(And here’s something interesting you noted: never once in this whole thing did she ask you to stop, nor did you ever think about stopping to let her adjust. If this was anyone else, you would have given them a moment to breathe upon entering, and you certainly would be checking on their wellbeing throughout it all.

Thing is—the two of you know her too well to know that you could only dream of stopping once you got started with her, and it could only end in two ways. 1) You cum in her. 2) You cum on her. Edge her and you’ll never get the end of it, you would know. The last time you pulled a stunt on her like that, she left you tied to a chair with a vibrator taped to your cock till you were begging and a cummy mess. It wasn’t pretty. She could dominate if she wanted to, but she preferred to be a manipulative brat instead.)

It’s not long before she’s desensitised to the pain, and your slow pace is not enough, no, not for Wonyoung. Next thing you know it, she hissing for you to go faster, fuck her harder—I told you to fuck my ass Daddy. Don’t hold back on me now—and deeper. She swears, all three languages that she knew strung together shabbily like they were put together on some shitty production line and thrown out at random—and while you made little sense of the sounds coming out of her filthy mouth you knew what they meant.

Harder. Faster. Rougher.

Then you fuck her ass. Hard and fast.

You almost surprised yourself with the liberties you were taking, drilling in and out of her butt with the same speed and depth that you would use with her mouth and pussy.

“Yes!” she shouts—a loud, full shout. “Yes! Fuck me like this! Pound me, fuck me until you cum in my slutty little ass!”

You grunt in reply, because it was all you could do. The faculties of human language have long since abandoned your grasp and ability, and nothing else exists in your mind except the thought of filling her tight, hothole with warm, white semen. Her eyes lock with yours and you only find that they’re full of need, nothing else (not like she’s capable of displaying any other emotion at the moment). The rest of you, every fibre of your being, was focused on pounding Wonyoung’s tight little hole as hard and fast as you possibly could. Her ankles bounce helplessly behind your head, her knees press into her shoulders and her breath is ragged; sweat drips off your forehead and onto her tits, and your hot breath mixes with hers as you struggle to keep yourself propped up with your arms.

In short: the two of you are sweaty and messy (one more so than the other. Take a pick, not sure if there’s a prize for guessing right), victims of lust and slaves to pleasure. You blame Wonyoung just because you can.

For a few delicious moments, there is absolutely nothing in the world aside from the tight hot sheath of flesh around your cock, the warm flesh of her legs against your shoulders and the strands of sweat-slick hair that fly just about everywhere, all topped with the lewd, filthy, obscene words spilling from Wonyoung’s mouth. For a few delicious moments, she feels nothing but the feeling of her tight hole being stretched and used by the cock that turns her face into a wrought outlet of pleasure while she lets filthy words and exclamations spill from her lips.

Try as you might, you couldn’t have it last forever. Not when you were already so turned on from watching her writhe and twitch under your fingers. Not when the sheer, pure pleasure overwhelming you was more than enough to cause you to cum at any moment.

And when she orgasms for the second time, her ass tightening exponentially around you—there is little you or anyone else could have done to stop the inevitable.

“I’m gonna cum in your ass, Wonyoung,” you hiss through gritted teeth, your lust and pleasure-addled brain on the edge of losing all comprehension.

“Cum with me! Fill me!”

And so you do it, burying yourself hilt deep inside the quivering woman’s asshole before filling it with the last of your cum, giving her every last drop you had left in your body, leaving rope after rope inside her sore, well-used, cum-filled asshole. You almost black out, and you quite literally have to dig your nails into the sheets while Wonyoung’s own orgasm takes over her body, making her twitch and her ass contract—milking every last bit of cum from your throbbing, twitching length till it was nothing but a dry, hard rod inside of her creamy asshole.

There’s silence that is punctuated by both of your ragged breaths. She looks at you, you look at her. And the two of you can’t help but chuckle at the mess you’ve made of each other. You want to remember the way her nose wrinkles as she teases you, “you fucking animal”, and you want, so badly, to burn the image of a sweaty, weary Jang Wonyoung, folded in half beneath you like she was a piece of origami paper, panting and gasping as a fresh load of cum spills out of her ass.

It takes energy, but you bend down and kiss her, letting her sweaty calves slide off your equally sweaty shoulders as you do. She’s satisfied, for now, and she pulls you down next to her on the hotel bed with one hand and gathers the cum leaking out of her ass with the other.

“Look at this,” she whispers, and your eyes train themselves on the pearlescent, sticky, slimy, fluids that run down from her fingertips slowly. “You made such a big mess inside my ass,” she chides before bringing her fingers to her mouth and sucking your cum right off her fingers like it’s a delicacy. “Now I have to clean all of this up. You’re lucky I like the way your cum tastes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Um… Ew?”

Wonyoung smirks and gently nudges you with her left foot.

“It’s okay,” she tells you, all smug and everything. “I know you love the way I taste too.”

* In the dark, her small hand creeps around your torso and grasps yours.

“You’re awake, aren’t you?” She’s whispering right into your ear, and it’s a sensation you want to be able to hold on to for the rest of your life. “I know your eyes are open.” The feel of her small fingers rolling the knuckle of your index finger sticks itself in your head like a post-it. “ I can hear and feel you tossing, you know?”

Okay. No dodging.

The sheets stay still as your shoulders turn. You roll over, face her, and you really just want to capture the way the night lights paint her face: doe-like eyes reflecting glimmering pools of moonlight, warm yellow light painting her cute-yet-so-fucking-gorgeous face in a manner that not even Van Goh could copy, lips parted slightly as if in mid speak. She’s right there—you can kiss her if you really want to.

“Are you still mad at me?” She asks, tender with her tone. “I know that I fucked up, okay?” You can tell that she’s not even trying to look pitiful at the moment, but the way her face is sculpted really makes you want to just hold her to your chest and stroke her hair. Sincere are her words—heart heaved into her mouth. “I don’t blame you if you’re still mad. It’s your right. But… Just hear me out? Please?”

If you were mad, you wouldn’t have let her hold your hand the way she was now. If you were mad, you would’ve pretended to be fast asleep; ignore her pleas and just close your eyes and fall asleep. Alas, you can never stay mad at her for too long.

“I was… Never really angry, Wony.” Your tone is a lot softer than you would ever expect, but you know it’s because you probably needed this talk more than she did. “I... I’m sorry if it came across that way.”

And she studies you for a moment, lets the sound of your breathing fill the space as she furls her upper lip into her front teeth, and it’s a perfect moment for you to try and understand what’s happening in her head. She’s a complex creature really; understanding her is like finding a meaning that everyone can agree on when you look at abstract art.

Down below, you can still hear the cars moving through the street. Billboards and screens are still on, and from the window in your bedroom, multi-coloured lights filter into the room past the blinds like moonlight through bamboo leaves. The sheets you lie in are fresh, and they feel nice and smooth against your skin, and they smell like roses. The mattress creaks a little as Wonyoung shifts her weight, and you have to admit that you’re half-drunk on the scent of her shampoo.

“You must have been scared,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. I got really emotional. I… I shouldn’t have walked out. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know how to reply to that. Not now at least. Maybe it’ll come to you the next morning.

You give her a sweet smile. You hug her to your chest. You want to remember how she feels in your arms.

The gentle trickle of water down the arch of her spine is really something—a steady stream flowing down her back, running over the muscles of her shoulders, the curve of her breasts and fraying at her plump ass. You can’t remember the last time you showered with her, but you certainly remember the view being this good.

In the shower of room 302, Jang Wonyoung lets the warm water hit her skin from the rain shower nozzle. Her hair—wet and freshly shampooed (and conditioned)—sticks to her back. Creamy skin glistens, small beads of water affix themselves to random parts of her body, stay there for one or two seconds, then roll down in streaks, almost as if they too were admiring Wonyoung’s well-sculpted figure.

Slim fingers grasp locks of hair. She lifts and looks over her shoulder, the whisper of a grin on her face as she shoots a beckoning wink. “Are you gonna help me soap my back? Or are you just gonna keep staring at my ass?”

“Don’t you have to, like, turn off the water first?” you ask, and you already know what she’s gonna say, but you just want to hear her say it. For memory sake.

“Mmmm.” Her humming as she ‘ponders’ reverberates in the shower, floating over the sound of water from the shower head falling to the floor like rain. “No… Adds to the atmosphere, don’t you think?”

Ah. There we go.

“Then could you at least step back?” you request. This shower is comically huge—long length, breadth about the same length as your arm span. In the space, she looks so tiny, but you know for a fact that she could probably walk to the other end of the shower in a stride. You’re not one to disregard the facts, but you do like to live with a bit of imagination.

Wonyoung chuckles, low and sonorous. She pushes her hair over her shoulder, then—painfully slowly—walks back till she’s out of the stream of water. Water wastage is the last thing on her mind. She stops when she feels your hands on her back, and she looks over her shoulder, expectant. You move your hands and the soap lathers as it’s spread. You start from the centre of her back, rubbing gently in the section where the muscles of her shoulders meet and working your way outwards and upward to her shoulders. Then it’s down from there, your palms moving in small circles and covering every inch of skin.

“You’re good at this,” she mutters, watching with intent as your hands start to trail to her lower back. “Maybe you should’ve been a masseuse instead of a writer.”

“Uh… Patronising much?” You chuckle, watching as her back muscles twitch a little when you apply gentle pressure. “The pay’s about the same,” the soap makes patterns across the area above her ass—spirals of foam that stick to her skin like styrofoam flowers. “The hours are probably the same… But I don’t think I can live on rubbing someone’s back really hard. I Think I’ll just save this service for you, but only for when we meet.”

Humored, Wonyoung offers a giggle, high pitched and cutting above the sound of water striking the floor tiles. She shifts her weight to her right foot, making her body slant a little. Her skin is soft under your palms. Your hands are going lower and lower, slowly spiralling towards the curve of her ass that’s literally just a centimetre away.

“You know…If you take up my offer, you can do this for me everyday.”

Your hands slow to a stop. You raise your head a little to find her searching for your gaze over her shoulder. “Oh?”

“Yea.” Her voice is low, like a mother trying to persuade her child to eat their vegetables. “Every night, we can be like this: you soaping my back, us chatting… Doesn’t it sound wonderful?”

Your lip furls behind your front teeth. “Yea… It really does.”

And in her gaze, you sense her sensing your apprehension. “What’s stopping you from taking it up then?”

(For context, here’s the deal proposed by her company: the two of you go public with the relationship, get clout for the company, and Starship will let you lead your lives together—no qualms, no disturbances. She can visit you whenever, live with you, appear outside together with you like it’s a regular Tuesday night; you get to date the girl you fell in love with all those years ago for real. Only issue: once you get the last stroke of your signature out on the contract, you practically agree to blurring the line between your private and public life. Press will be all over you like ants after you step on their nest, you probably won’t get to enjoy a cup of coffee in peace, everyone will suddenly want to curry favours with you… Was it worth the sacrifice?)

You find it hard to meet her eyes, and so your gaze affixes itself on your hands. It’s not like you don’t love her or anything, but your apprehension makes you feel like shit. It shouldn’t be this hard to say yes, yet the idea of selling your life of privacy to live a life with her makes you screech to a halt at the crossroads. Sometimes (in these moments), you wished that you didn’t always make decisions with your head and your heart.

As the shower continues to run, Wonyoung slowly turns around. One hand finds yours, the other gently takes you by the chin and raises your eyes up to her. She’s tall, and the two of you are staring eye to eye; same height, different trains of thought.

The hand on yours guides you to her breast. Eyes locked with yours, she lays your palm flat against her tit. The skin beneath your fingers is slippery, but it doesn’t remove any of the familiarity from the sensation. Then she squeezes, and the flesh spills out between your fingers like putty. She gasps—airy.

“Don’t you want me?” She whispers, and it’s raunchy more than anything. It isn’t aggressive, but it’s certainly blurring the line between demanding and caring. “Don’t you want to be able to fuck this pretty little pussy every night?”

She’s really far from home base. “Wony…”

“Don’t you love owning me?” She’s squeezing harder. Her knee twitches. Sopa’s spilling out of your fingers. You’re certain that you’re gonna mark her. She doesn’t care. “Don’t you want me all over you? Every night?”

“It’s not that Wonyoung.”

“Then what’s on your mind?” She’s not prodding for an answer, nor is she trying to demand a reason for your silence. She wants to understand you, to internalise what’s going on inside your head. You have no reason to lie.

“Will it all really be okay?” you ask sincerely. “My family, my life… Will… Will it all really be…”

She understands where you’re coming from (if the relieving of pressure around her own breast is any indication), and she’s starting to tune herself to the frequency of your worries. “If you’re wondering if you’re gonna be harassed—you won’t.”

“Yea but—”

“I promise you: I will do everything I can to make sure that you will be safe. You and your family–if so much as a finger is laid on any of you, I will quit.”

“Wonyo—”

“No one will intrude on you. You won’t have to live with the flashing lights. I give you my word: I will make sure that everyone who wants to invade your privacy will leave you alone. You and your family will all be left alone.”

If it’s possible for sincerity to ring clear, Jang Wonyoung has absolutely made it happen. Sweet like honey; she’s left you feeling like you had a spoonful of it. And just for good measure, she steps closer and repeats once more: “I promise.”

Considering that your hand was at the left side of her chest, this was really a “I swear. Hand to my heart” type of deal (whether it’s intended or not is purely up to your discretion).

And as you gaze into those eyes, you want to remember the way she gazes at you softly, gently, tenderly. If it weren’t for your hand on her tit, you would’ve considered this one of the more tender moments you’ve shared with her. Not that it’s not or anything… Just that it’s a little hard to call this a loving moment when you can literally feel her nipple poking into the flesh of your palm at all times of the conversation.

“Are you sure you won’t land yourself in trouble?” you ask her, and she’s quick to scoff.

“Of course. I make too much fucking money fo those higher up fuckers to not listen to me,” she reminds you.

Well… Then that settles about everything then.

“Okay,” you tell her. “Okay… I’ll do it.”

The corners of her lips play up in a smile. She leans in, kisses you—no tongue, closed mouth—and lets the hand keeping yours at her breast fall. Long arms wrap around your waist and she pulls you close, flushing her tight frame against your body. When lips part, she whispers a soft I love you, a sparkle in eyes that lingered for a moment.

But only for a moment.

Then—without you noticing—her hand snakes down and grips your rapidly hardening shaft, and she squeezes. This time, the line between demanding and caring is clear as day, and she’s chosen to play her ball to the court of demanding. With a gleam in her eye, she begins stroking with her closed fist, and she pumps your stiff length at a slow but steady rhythm, adding an occasional twisting motion to her wrist, corkscrewing her fingers around your cock, increasing the pleasurable shocks she was sending through your system with each pump of her hand. It was almost like she wasn’t the sweetest, loving girl in the whole world just two seconds ago.

“Jesus fucking…” You can’t even finish your sentence. Your teeth grit. Your fists clench. It’s hard to breathe. “Maybe… A little bit of a heads up next time?”

She smirks proudly, watching as you tilt your head back and let out a groan. “Where’s the fun in that?” And gently, she pushes against your chest, guides you to the wall. When your back presses against the cool tile, she presses herself against you. She leans in, hot breath on your skin, and then the feeling of her lips against your jaw almost makes you yelp. She kisses a path down your jaw, paves a way towards your neck to get cheeky: sucking, nibbling, licking the skin of your neck while she keeps the movement of her hands slow and considerate. The shower continues to run.

Do you know—she breaks contact with your skin for just a second—how fucking horny—her breath’s tickling your ear, sending shivers down your spine—you make me?—and she squeezes a little harder around your shaft, not enough for it to hurt, but enough to feel you throb in your hand and make you gulp a little. She starts going faster—jerking, fucking pumping your length in her closed fist, and it’s almost impossible to keep your eyes open; your eyelids flutter shut. Your head rests against the wall, a sigh slipping past your lips. It’s filthy really—down from the way she catches you off guard to the way she makes your skin sore after she’s done feasting. Almost every interaction with her in a private space is as X-rated as this; it’s hard not to get into a situation like this around her. You know: a situation where the two of you are naked and getting really touchy and actively trying to get each other as many times as humanly possible.

“Fuck yes baby…” you rasp, your nails starting to eat into your palms as she the sound of her hand sliding up and down your dick starts to cut above the steady stream of water. With each rise of her hand, the pad of her thumb plays with the head of your member, and when it sinks down, she twists her wrist in a screwing motion. Rinse and repeat; up and down and up and down and fuck. “You’re so fucking good at this.”

She hums in reply, and she has your earlobe between her teeth the next second, nicking you mischievously, sending small pricks of pain shooting through your system as she adjusts her grip on your cock without ever breaking her motion. Next thing you know, your tongue is inside your ear, and she’s leaning in so close that when you open your eyes, you’re practically looking over her shoulder, looking down the curve of her back that glistens with moisture and soap bubbles.

“I love this cock so fucking much,” she whispers, a bit of a hiss in her words as she takes the head of your cock between her forefinger and thumb and pinches lightly. “It stretches me out when I need it.” her fingers start to trail down your slipper shaft, letting the smoothness of her palm rub against your whole length, “fills me when I want it.” She’s milking the precum out of you, making you all leaky and squirmy as she starts pumping faster. “And it’s so fucking big that I can choke on it. You know how much I love being choked.”

She chooses that last bit to make eye contact with you, and she’s practically served you what she wants next on a silver platter. The next move is clear cut and simple; no words need be spoken. You were going to fuck her—and you mean properly fuck her—with a hand wrapped around that small throat. How you were gonna do it was still a mystery, but you figured that it’d slowly come to you, but it will definitely be related to the mirror and the sink outside and the mirror in front of it. At once, you reach over to the handle of the shower, and you turn it down to the handheld showerhead mode. Wonyoung bites her bottom lip, perverse glee painted all over her face as you use it to wash the soap off her back. She’s watching, waiting, probably drenched down there and aching to be stuffed full of cock.

She’s almost shaking with excitement as you finish washing all the soap off her body. You’d hardly consider her clean, but it won’t hurt to hop back into the shower again once you're done with her. The shower door swings open and you’re cupping her pussy, dripping wet while stumbling out with her, lips locked on hers and her hand on your cock as you push her against the sink of her hotel room. From the moment her mouth opens and let the moans pour out while you rub her clit to the moment her hand leaves your cock to cradle your face, she’s practically radiating need from the pores of her skin. You can’t help but playfully remark, “you’re such a fucking loser”, while your thumb thumps against her clit and sends pleasure tearing through her system. Weak in the knees, she holds on to you for support.

And the moans (those fucking hair-raising moans), they tumble out of those plump lips like marbles down a ramp, and they mix with the sound of your lips smacking against her skin as you start to leave a trail of kisses down her neck, doing to her what she did to you in the shower; you give her a taste of her own medicine, and the way she’s titling her head back to let you mark her freely makes it almost seem as if it’s the intended outcome of her actions. It’s like she knew that you would get back at her, and it wouldn’t come as a surprise if you ever find out that she gets off on knowing that she can manipulate you in her own bratty ways—get you wrapped around her finger and have you doing all the things she wants you to do without having to tell you. Not that you have something to gripe about it, but you’re just so amused (and that’s just one word to describe how you feel) by how she goes about her ways.

“Come on,” she manages to whisper, all while you’re busy sucking on the skin just below her collarbone till it’s sore. She has a lot of pride in her voice for someone who’s quite literally quivering. “You know you want to fuck me. Give me a good creampie again.”

You lift your head for a moment, and you take in the look of almost childlike excitement on her face as your hand finds its way to her throat. It’s perverse excitement, that lewd exhilaration of knowing that she was about to get what she wanted, and albeit a little messed up, it was pretty hot in its own way. When your fingers gently wrap themselves around her throat, you can feel every muscle in her body tense in anticipation, as if she didn’t get enough from the bedroom earlier.

“Up on the counter baby. Let me see how messy you are down there,” you whisper.

She knows what to do, and she has herself propped up on the counter and engaged in open mouth kissing. She doesn’t need you to tell her to spread her legs, and she definitely doesn’t need you to tell her how cute she sounds when your fingers slip inside of her, feeling around the mess you’ve made of her and coating your digits in her fluids. Your index and middle finger are slick with her juices when you retract them from inside her, and you can’t help but chuckle.

“Messy as ever,” you muse, making a show of sucking her juices clean off your fingers. She’s sweet and borderline tangy—a taste that you’re accustomed to, and you will never get tired of it. She’s biting down on her lower lip, the skin wrinkling under the pressure of her front teeth as she makes a sound that’s close to a purr.

“You made the mess.” She has her eyes locked on yours as you raise an eyebrow, prompting her to follow up after her first statement. Not that you didn’t know what was coming, but more that you wanted to gently coax it out of her, because it was so fucking hot to hear what she had to say next. “You clean it up.”

And you’re more than happy to oblige. She watches you with intent eyes as you sink down to your knees, waits with bated breath as you lower your face till the glistening, pink folds of her pussy are right in front of your face, flushed thighs around your ears. Her excitement is almost palpable, and you can hear the sharp inhale she takes when your palm finds its place on the inside of her left thigh, pushing gently to give you better access to her heat (you’re really just trying to drag out the tension if you were being completely honest with yourself). You lick your lips, lean forward till your mouth is hovering above her slit.

“You better moan for me this time,” you tell her, and you’re making sure to make your breath hit her slick as you speak. “You have such a wonderful voice. Put it to use.”

Praise mixed with the slight hint of authority—it’s enough to make her nod furiously and implore you with doe eyes to just get on with it. With a smirk, your lips find the swollen nub at the top of her entrance. You suck on it. Hard. And almost at once, her thighs clamp around your ears and her hand is on your head, like it’s some sort of natural instinct for her when you’re eating her out. Keeping to her word, she cries out—keening, whiny and ever so fucking bratty, and it’s the the holy grail of every wet dream. Nothing in the world could bring you more satisfaction than that shrill, airy cry she lets out when the pleasure ripples through her body, and you’re just getting started.

Your mouth opens and your tongue flattens itself against her folds, (She tastes so good. You want all of it, all of her) and you drag it up her folds, deliberately, painfully slow as you start to lick up that wet cunt. Her back arches; you can feel her struggling to keep a hold of your head; she throws her head back and lets out a gasp; her thighs clamp down a little harder around your head. The pleasure in her system builds up with the slow movement of your tongue, only rising and rising as you lick from the base of her slit to the mid section to the top. When the tip of your tongue flicks her clit, it's almost like an explosion, enough for her other hand to join its pair atop your head, enough to make her cry out in a perverse plea, “Daddy, please!”

(For the record: she’s wanted this from the moment you guys stepped into the shower. She’s willingly turned herself into some pliant little plaything, and she’s probably getting off so hard to it. Frankly, if she wanted to order you around, you’d be up to it, but this is what she prefers.)

And nothing else needs to be said really. You put your whole mouth on her—relishing the shiver that runs up from her thighs up to her body—and get right into making a wreck of her. You lick, you devour, you ravish her: working your mouth on her pussy, lapping up the juices that spill forth from flushed lips with broad, sharp strokes that make her body grow taut and her legs quiver. You tongue her clit, lick up sweet fluids, make her messy and needy and hot in all the right areas till she’s drilling her nails into the back of your scalp and pushing your face against her sweet slick. In half whispers, she tells you just how good you make her feel—oh Daddy I’m so fucking wet!—and you feel a dark part of yourself be fed by these lecherous words—Oh god oh fuck I’m gonna fucking cum if you keep… Fuck!—that leave her half-parted mouth and linger in the air, reminding you of just how wanton she is and how you’re the only person in the world she ever wants to fuck and be satisfied by. You’re hers; she’s yours—a relationship with Jang Wonyoung that any guy would kill for.

“Daddy—” she gaps, her voice a whole octave higher than it should be as her nails turn into claws at the back of your head. “Fuck I’m cumming. Daddy I’m cumming!”

The pulsing of her pusy against your tongue grows. You continue licking, lapping. One stroke, two strokes—three. She moans, blue screens. You hazard a look up.

Nothing else matters. Only: the sight of that back arching off the marble counter, her thighs around your head trembling and quaking as her hips roll and her mouth parts in a silent scream. You’re certain that there’s blood being drawn from the back of your head, but you're more certain that she’s got enough heat in her core to melt molten iron but a lack of breath that makes her gasp for air as you lick and lick and lick your way into her. You can feel her orgasm getting closer by the second, it’s in her breathing, and in the way her hips are practically thrusting her into your mouth.

And just like the bathrobe from earlier, she comes undone—falls apart and ceases to keep control of her body. She tenses, her thighs go rigid around your ears. Her breath is caught in her throat, her eyes are closed. You stop your work, admire the way she glows as her body twitches and her face twists. Pleasure rips its way through her muscles, her nerves—splits her very being in half as the orgasm rolls through her system. She’s beautiful, and she’s a messy work of art that you’ve created.

You rise to your feet as she winds down, and her hands leave your head to rest on the counter while her body struggles to process the aftermath of that orgasm. It’s not the first time she’s cum for the night, and it certainly won’t be the last. Her eyes open, and she instantly locs them on you as you brush back some of the hair that sticks to her sweat slicked face. You take her hand and give a gentle tug, and she slips off the counter obediently. You grip her jaw—tenderly but rough enough for her to like it—and tell her to turn around. Servile, she obeys, and in the reflection of the mirror, she watches as your hand snakes its way to her throat and grips it. You’re not squeezing, not yet.

“I’m gonna fuck this pretty little pussy now,” you drawl, gripping your shaft in your hand and slapping it against her slit. The contact makes her shudder, but she remains silent as you place a kiss on her cheek. “Your face is gonna be so pretty when I choke you and fill you.”

“Yes Daddy.” Her reply is a whisper, a borderline drawl that’s airy and raunchy and makes your hairs stand on their ends. She’s looking at you through the mirror, plump lips slightly parted and eyes glassy. “Own me. I’m yours, forever.”

And you’re all too happy to hear that from her.

You slip into her, hilt yourself inside her in one swift motion.

(Tight. Hot. Wet. So tight.)

She lets out a sigh, low and sonorous, harmonising with your own groan as you press her against the edge of the counter and make the fingers around her throat squeeze. The sound that leaves her throat is the sound of her sigh being truncated, and it delights that dark part of you. Being inside Wonyoung was otherworldly, as it always was, but here, in the bathroom of her hotel, on the night where you’ve agreed to seal a deal with her, she felt downright heavenly. She squeezes her walls around you, her body thankful for the sensation of being filled by cock, if the intense tightness and slick wetness were any indication; she looks over her shoulder and bites her bottom lip. And when she has your gaze, she mouths something.

Fill me.

The silence is deafening, but it’s all you need to hear.

When you withdraw your glistening shaft for the first time you relish in the feel of her walls gripping you, not wanting to release you—but just as quickly they welcome you back inside as you penetrate her again. Soon you are pumping in and out of her at a slow, steady pace, her soft gasps turning quickly into long, drawn out moans as she is fucked against the marble. Her hands steady her body against the counter, her back arched in a way that lets you get a wonderful top-down view of her breasts as they roll together with her body. It’s a concerted effort, but she makes it seem effortless.

“Be honest.” With the hand around her throat, her voice sounds a little hoarse. It’s hot. “Do you think about this, Daddy? About fucking me like a good little slut?”

“Wonyoung,” you reply, speaking through your gritted teeth. “You have no,” and you punctuate the sentence there with a deeper thrust into her tight slick, a thrust strong enough for her to let out a strained gasp. “fucking idea…”

(In the mirror, you watch as she curls her lips into her mouth and tilts her head back into your shoulder, like she’s submitting her whole being to you and letting you take liberties with her body. You take the invitation, and your free hand finds itself on one of her soft mounds and gives it a squeeze—rough but tender enough to elicit a low moan from her throat that makes your hand around it vibrate pleasantly.

At the given moment, she’s doing all she can to make herself a pretty little fuckdoll for you, doing her best to encourage you to treat her rough, treat her like you own her. She wants nothing more but to feel the rockhard meat penetrating her tight little cunt stretch her out and fill her the way she wants, all while she’s begging and pleading obsequiously while being obsessed with your cock. It’s a lot to take in for her for sure, but she gets off on it, and you get off on it too—the fact that she’s being all needy and pleading just so she can implicitly tell you to fuck her till she’s raw and can’t fucking walk the next morning. The fact that she’s actually in control while being such a bottom. Bratty manipulation.)

“Then fuck me Daddy,” she tells you, almost pleading. “Use this pretty little pussy. I want it. I fucking need it.”

With her invitation to do more with her body, you’re more than ready to do what you’ve intended to do from the very start. You increase your tempo, and before long you are truly fucking her, drilling in and out of the tight hot warmth of her body with quick, deep strokes. With each stroke you don’t pull out more than halfway—you concentrate instead on pumping hard and fast, getting as deep as you could inside her given your standing position. She takes it well, like she was made for this. In her world, this was what fucking looked like, and it was the only definition that she was going to live with and she’d take it to the grave. She indulges in the roughness, the almost animal-like way your cock fills her again and again and again, all while she encourages you with cries and moans and sighs that are music to your ears.

And a notion hits you: she’s going to make you fuck her till she’s the only thing you can possibly think about. She’s going to draw out every single primal urge within you, make you want her like she’s some form of drug and you’re the abuser, and then she’s going to get exactly what she wants—your cum in her pussy. You can’t let her win like that, you can’t. You can tell that to yourself now, but you’re not sure if you can remember it later, not when she practically reeks of the strongest possible sillage of sex.

Her pussy throbs around you, pulse strong and just a beat behind your thrusts as you thrust yourself in and out of her slick walls, filling her up and drawing yourself out before filling her up yet again. Pure filth spills from her mouth, expletives, sordid sighs and cries and any sound or word that comes to mind. She's a quivering and squirming mess, and from the mirror you enjoy the way she’s almost writhing in against the counter. Ample breasts bounce with each thrust that shocks her body, and it’s almost hypnotic if it weren’t for the fact that that pretty face was stealing the show. The face that was marvelled, the face that was the source of jealousy, the face that was on the face of so many magazines and posters and adored by millions, if not billions—scrunched up, improper and so fucking lewd that it looked like it belonged in a porno instead of an idols face, and you take pleasure in the fact that your cock is ruining the face of a princess, turning her dissolute and so fucking needy that she was as good as a fan begging her for an autograph. This side of her was reserved for you, and only you—her duality is reserved for your eyes only.

Her body is slick with sweat, rubbing against your own sweaty torso while her body rolls together with your thrusts. “Fuck—” you’re saying, but it comes out as more of a growl than anything given how hard yur teeth are clenching. Your fingers squeeze tighter around her throat. The slightly reduced airflow at her throat causes her pussy to clench even tighter around you—and the added tightness brings succulent pleasure to your mind that makes you think you’re going insane. You probably are at this rate. “This pussy. It’s so fucking good baby.”

Her reply is a strained gasp, but you get the gist of what she wants to say. She wants, so badly, to tell you how good your cock is making her feel, how well it fucks her, how well it fills her and stretches her and how it’s her favourite thing in the whole world. The squelch of your cock filling her pussy is loud, but not loud enough to drown out the smacking of skin against skin as you press more of your weight against her, pushing her a little more into the corner of the counter and a little more over the line of pathetic. She moans in response to your actions, and it’s telling you: fuck. Harder. It’s better when it hurts.

And you can feel her juices leaking down the back of her thighs, wetting your crotch and making the smack of skin against skin louder than ever, almost as if it was an announcement: I’m being fucked like a good little slut and I love it. She doesn’t know what she’s doing to you,and for clarity, it’s something along the lines of turning you absolutely feral with her moans and the divine tightness of her pussy that makes you want to cum on the spot. Okay,maybe she is cognizant of how crazy she makes you when you fuck her, but you barely have the capacity to think, let alone rationalise wether thai girl in your arms that your chocking and fucking feel smug in knowing that she’s driving you insane.

Oh and she loves it when you play with her tits. The way you fondle them is almost aggressive. Scratch that—it’s really fucking aggressive. You’re slapping her tits, leaving red marks all over the milky white skin and pinching and twisting the stiff nubs atop her breasts, all while she mewls and cries out in that strained voice that makes you throb even harder inside of her wet walls and makes you grit your teeth like your a dog waiting to chew on a bone.

“D-Daddy,” she pushes out, past the fingers that close her airways and past her groans and moans and sighs. “Harder.” And your thrusts are starting to cut her off, but she has more to say. When it comes out, each word that she spits out is punctuated by a thrust of cock into her pussy, and it’s the hottest thing you’ll ever hear.

Fuck.

You thrust deep inside her.

Me.

Your cock drives itself deep into her, slicking itself with her juices.

Harder.

And if words could linger in the air, hers certainly would.

You fuck her hard, and fast, and deep—hammering her into the counter, nailing her defenseless pussy with a pace that you would have thought was rough and callous were it not for the fact you knew this was exactly how she wanted it. All she can do is hang on, grasp onto the counter with a knuckle-white grip with her hands as you take your liberties with her body, fucking her as hard as you can, as deeply as she can take it. The cups on the counter shake, the toothbrush inside one of them shaking under the force. It’s loud, but you hear none of it. You hear only the sharp sighs of pleasure that leave Wonyoung’s lips, and the wet slap slap slap of your crotch as it hammers her cunt again and again and again, your cock drilling her, pounding her, making her yours if you weren’t already doing that.

It takes a little long, but the haze of lust parts for a moment for you to realise that you're getting closer and closer to getting what she wants out of you. While the thought of burying yourself inside of that quivering, pulsing pussy to let it milk every last drop of cum from you is ever so enticing, that small part of you that wants to own her pushes you to fight against the urges. Not that there’s any harm in giving her what she wants, but it’s just that you don’t want to reward her bratty, manipulative tactics. She knew for a fact that she could tie you up and ride you over and over till you were dry—she’d done it before. But instead, she’s chosen to fulfil her needs in a less direct manner, maybe for fun or maybe just because she felt like it.

“Yes,” Wonyoung hisses, spit flying into the mirror and her palms slipping on the counter. “Just like this Daddy.” And she’s making sure to make eye contact with you through the mirror, letting her eyes do most of the talking. If anyone’s curious, the look she gives you is saying, I’m your good little slut. Fuck me. Use me. Fill me. Please, and it's nothing short of hot and tethering far over the line of lewd. At this point, neither of you are in a state where you're capable of coherent thought, nor are you capable of thinking about anything else except each other’s bodies and the wet, lewd squelching of cock filling Wonyoung’s pussy. It goes on and on and on, a cycle of your hips hammering the back of her legs and your cock spearing deep into her cunt. She takes it so well, drinking you in hungrily, coiling around your shaft like a snake as if it was begging for you to stay in her forever. The sight is enough to make your balls tingle and your toes curl, and your hand around Wonyoung's throat tightens to the point where the only thing that can leave her lips is a groan as her airflow is reduced.

She’s tighter, hotter, wetter. Her pussy fits you like a glove, moulding around your cock as it pumps in and out of her at a pace that you had no idea you were capable of. The hand around her neck is nothing but an outlet of pleasure for you, and she’s loving it. “Such a good girl,” you mutter, watching from the mirror as her mouth slacks and opens while she’s being pumped full of cock. “You were made to take Daddy’s cock, weren’t you?”

Her equivalent of a yes is a sharp, strained groan��an amalgamation of phonics and whatever sounds the lack of air flowing to her throat permits her to make. She’s so fucking messy down there, and your cock is sliding in and out of her with ease, aided by her slick juices that coat your shaft and let it disappear and reappear from between her legs with ease. The motion is almost graceful if it weren’t for the fact that it was a sordid one, and you take a moment to admire the way your shaft glistens in the light of the bathroom while you fuck her the way she wants it: rough, hard and tethering over the edge of callous. If it weren’t for the hand around her throat, she’d be making herself hoarse with all the moaning she’d be doing.

And the hand around her throat is bringing her so much pleasure, if the way her pussy squeezes around you when you choke her is any indication. She wasn’t lying when she said she liked being choked. While she didn’t like gagging on your cock, she sure as hell loved it when your fingers clasped around the muscles and made her gasp. She liked the sensation of being deprived of air, be it when she was riding or when she has her kness buried into her shoulders and was being fucked into the bed like a slut. You were always afraid of hurting her, but when she shots you that look, the one that says, come on, you can do better, you know that she’s getting exactly what she wants, just the way she likes it. It was just a matter of how hard you squeeze around her throat before she either cums or passes out, though the latter has rarely happened before the former.

“Daddy!” she chokes, and you know exactly what she’s about to say next. So you release her throat from her grasp, bunch a lock of her hair in your closed fist and you pull back. Her eyes squeeze themselves shut. Her back arches deliciously, her voice now free to finish shat she’s aching to announce. “I’m fucking…”

You never expect her to finish her sentence. Wonyoung’s eyes open, and a gasp leaves her open lips. Her walls, already vice-like, tighten so hard around you that you think you might come there and then. You feel how close she is.

“Fucking cum for me, Wonyoung. Cum around my cock like a good little slut.”

Wonyoung does as she is told—and the quivering, trembling orgasm she experiences is almost frightening in the way it overwhelms her body, turning her into a wet, hot mess. Her pussy tightens and pulsates, her fingers claw against the marble counter, and her entire lower body shakes violently, as though she had lost control of her nerves and muscles. For a few beautiful seconds she is utterly overwhelmed by the sensations, until finally she slumps forward in your grasp, breathing heavily.

It's good. It's so good, but it's not quite enough to get you to your finish. Not yet.

(And if anyone’s asking: it’s not that the sex isn’t good. It’s mind blowing, amazing, and whatever word that can be used to describe “fucking incredible”. She’s hot, so tight and fucking soaked down there. You’re horny, throbbing and on the verge of filling her full of your seed. But you’ve said it before and you’ll say it again—you’re not rewarding bratty manipulation. As tempting as it would have been to simply pound her from behind until you gave her needy pussy the load of semen she so desperately wanted, you knew that there was something even better that you could do.)

You pull out of Wonyoung, your shaft glistening under the hotel light. Her eyes are wide with shock as you withdraw yourself from her body, pulling her away from the counter—but only enough to have her lean back against you and not stand up completely. Her mouth opens to say something, but she's interrupted when you turn her face to you and kiss her. She moans into your mouth, and you swallow it, your tongue slipping into her mouth and massaging her own, lapping at the roof of her mouth as her tongue swirled around your own. You bite her lower lip, and it's not rough, but enough to get her attention. When her eyes flutter open, you whisper, "I'm not finished."

She nods, and you relish the disappointment in her eyes. You turn her around, push down gently on her shoulders. She goes with the motion, and you're not sure if you can ever get over the image of Wonyoung on her knees with her pretty little face staring at you with anticipation. You think about fucking her face, letting your cock thrust into the back of her throat over and over and over till you finally bury yourself inside and cum down her throat, but that would just be a repeat telecast of every other night with her. Spice things up; give her the liberty of creativity with your cock.

And of course, Wonyoung perfectly understands what has to be done. You step up to her. She parts her lips and takes your cock right into her mouth. Grasping the base of your cock and pumping it with one hand while she gently cups and squeezes your balls with the other, Wonyoung quickly launches into a hard and fast blowjob, taking the top half of your cock in and out of her wet mouth with a rapid pace while her fingers work your shaft in a corkscrew motion, just like she did in the shower. The suction of her mouth is almost lethal, and the audacity she has to look up at you while she takes your cock in and out of her mouth is so exhilarating that it makes you weak in the knees. Your hand finds a clump of her sweaty hair, and you close your fingers around it, holding them in your fist. No, you weren’t going to push her head down onto your cock; you had to give her the space to work on her craft.

And of course, she exceeds every expectation out there. Your eyes shut involuntarily, your brain unable to handle any sensations beyond the wet, hot cavern of Wonyoung’s mouth sealed tightly around your shaft with tight, soft lips. With the first entry into her mouth her wet tongue is pressed tightly against the underside of your shaft, lathering it with her spit. With each subsequent entry her tongue becomes more adventurous, beginning with quick swipes left and right on your shaft with each entry and ending each exit with a swirl of the tip around the head of your cock. While she tastes herself on your cock, letting her juices mix with saliva, her hands work in perfect concert with her mouth, one joining her lips at your shaft and pumping up and down, a twisting motion to her wrist while her free hand works gently with your dangling balls, fondling them with considerate fingers. She plays with them softly yet hastily, her fingertips working their magic between the sacs with expert attention.

You are content to stand there with your eyes shut, simply enjoying the feel of your cock pumping in and out of her mouth at a fervent pace, but a small part of you knew that you had to see it happening in order to truly believe it was all real—and so with a not insignificant amount of self-control, you force eyes open to watch the spectacle unfolding between your legs. Black locks bob up and down frantically above your cock, doe-like eyes glazed with pure lust staring right up at you as her cheeks hollow and her jaw unhinges even more to accommodate your length.

It all becomes too much, and it hits you all at once—having her pump your shaft in the shower, eating her out then fucking her—and you quickly find yourself nearing that inevitable peak.

“Fuck, Wony—” is all you manage to say before your orgasm overtakes your world.

Wonyoung releases your cock from her mouth a split second before you erupt, shooting long, thick strands of hot semen all over her pretty little face. Her face glazes over in pleasure and you are all too happy to watch as strand after strand of cum lands on her cheeks, her pretty little nose, and finally her open mouth and jaw. You watch, through half-lidded eyes drunk with pleasure, as the thick streams of cum flow down her face, dripping onto her upper chest and those perfect breasts of hers. Her face is flushed and her mouth open, as though she herself was on the verge of orgasm (she probably was, and she was going to make it your problem as soon as she got your cum off her face).

You want to remember the way she wipes your cum off her face with the back of her hand, how she licks it all up like a cat licking its own paw before moving to clean the stray strands of cum off the tip and sides of your cock. You want to remember how she rises so gracefully even though she was a sweaty mess, and how she gently takes your hand and guides you back into the shower for another clean up.

And back under warm water, you want to remember how she kisses you, and how she whispers, “next time, I want that big load in my pussy.”

“What?”

And it’s hard to meet Wonyoung’s eyes as you set down the papers from the doctor. You can feel her confusion, her frustration, her rage from across the dining table in your apartment. It isn’t pretty. Nothing about this situation is.

“It’s a neurological disease,” you tell her, all while you’re looking at the MRI that’s in the middle of the table. You’re really just regurgitating what the doctor told you—it’s the only thing you have the capacity to do right now. “They ran their tests. They told me what I suspected. I’m losing my ability to read and write, to understand language. In 2 years—give or take —I won’t be able to express my thoughts. I’ll be spouting gibberish. What people say, what I see — on pages, street signs, everywhere — they’ll all be unintelligible to me.” She’s silent, and it unnerves you in every way possible. You haven’t even gotten to the worst part of it all. “My mental competence will deteriorate. I’ll have to live off a tube cause I’ll forget how to eat and drink. Dementia will follow shortly.”

Now would be a great time for her to say something, anything to break this silence. But she is silent, unmoving and reticent in her seat from across you. You have no choice but to gulp and deliver, in your personal opinion, the worst part of it all, “By the time I forget how to breathe I… I would’ve lost all my memories by then.”

She chooses the moment after the last word leaves your mouth to pick up the MRI scan and look at it.

“So… Everything we’ve built up till now will just… Disappear?” she whispers. She sounds hurt, scared and everything in between. You bite your lower lip.

“Yes.” There’s no point sugarcoating it, it’s inevitable anyway. Face it now, sulk later… You think that’s the best way to deal with this piece of news. You hope that the matter-of-fact tone of voice that you’ve chosen doesn't betray how frightened you are by the prospect of losing everything you know. “We can’t stop it. It’s in my genes.”

She sets down the scan, and when you look up, you see the tears flowing down her cheeks and it makes you want to cry as well.

She stands up, shoulders her handbag and walks towards the front door.

“Where are you—” you begin. “I’m going somewhere else to think,” she interjects.

When she slams the door behind her, you feel like you’ve let her down in so many ways. There’s a burning in your chest that you can’t describe. The first hot tear rolls down your cheek, and you let the rest that well in your eyes flow down without resistance.

You don’t want to remember what it feels like to be helpless—the emptiness, the rage, the sadness, the confusion is all so overwhelming. But you figure that you’ll have to feel it again at some point down the road.

Might as well figure out how to cope with it now, when Wonyoung isn't there and you're all alone with your thoughts.

When you awaken later that night in your bed in the apartment, it takes you a few moments to determine whether the soft, slim body climbing atop you is real or part of some wonderful dream—but the familiar warmth of your girlfriend, and the soft, pleasant smell of her hair, convinces you that this was all real.

Wonyoung places soft kisses on your neck and jawline, before moving to your mouth and kissing your lips softly. You are still only half awake, but your senses and instincts take over, and you find your mouth welcoming her kiss and returning it with one of your own, your hands moving to either side of her hips and finding, to your surprise, that there was only bare skin there and no clothing.

“Wony…” you begin, as she deepens her kiss, her lips pressing more firmly against yours.

“Shhh,” she answers, “please. I need this. I need you, right now. Please.”

She’s suddenly reappeared after walking out on you, and you have yet to process the slew of emotions that have come your way. Part of you wants to stop her, to talk things out with her so that you could: a) figure out if she was still mad at you and; b) verify that she wasn’t drunk. But the part of you that formed the majority of your conscience knew that she needed comfort as much as you did, and that she needed something to assuage her and make her feel like everything would turn out alright. So you find yourself relaxing underneath her, letting her scent fill your nostrils as her tongue dances with yours.

She straddles you, and your hands begin to run up her naked body, up from her slim thighs to her chest where the ample mounds sat proudly, her nipples erect and stiff. She isn’t wearing any underwear, and your fingers brushing against the slick of her pussy is enough to verify that for you. She’s naked atop of you, kissing you like you just confessed your love to her or like you’re about to go on some mission and never return. It’s not lustful, but it’s full off passion and aims to soothe not stir.

She breaks the kiss. Her eyes flutter open. In the dark that is pierced by the street lights of the city, you want to remember the way her eyes glimmer and shimmer as she breathes heavily. There’s no alcohol on her breath, and from the way she’s cradling your face, you can infer that she’s not mad at you in the slightest.

“You okay?” she whispers, and her tone is soft and warm, like that time she spoke in the shower of her hotel about signing that contract with her company so that the two of you could officially start dating. It’s been some time after that, but you still hang on to the way her words made their way to your heart. “I didn’t mean to startle you if I did.”

You respond by nodding, and it’s enough to convey: I’m alright. You brush away the hair that falls in front of her eyes, and you really want to remember how silky smooth her hair feels in your hands.

“What are you doing?” you ask her, making sure to keep your tone as warm as her own. She blinks, goes silent for a moment, then answers, “I’m making amends.”

She holds your gaze, you hold hers. The staring contest ends when you gently pull her in for another kiss, and you want to remember how she softly moans into your mouth while her thumb, smooth and tender, caresses your cheek.

When the kiss breaks again, her hands snake their way down to your sweats. You assist her in removing your shorts—a very clumsy affair: tangled hands and arms and lots of chuckling. But your cock does finally spring out from your boxers, the ones that have been discarded in the corner of the bed, together with her clothes. When it’s all done, you have the pleasure of witnessing the sight of her slim frame straddling you once more, long legs surrounding you on either side of your thighs while she peppers kisses on your chest.

“I’m sorry I left you to deal with… Everything. Alone.” she begins, “I shouldn’t have walked out on you like that… I’m sorry. I hope you aren’t angry”

And from your lying position, you lift a hand to cup her cheek. “We can talk later.”

She gets the message, but bends down and kisses you nonetheless. You’d probably have trouble falling asleep later in the night, and she’d wake up and you’d have this same conversation again. You’d rather have it later than now, not when the wound is still fresh.

Wonyoung lets a soft smile play on her lips. You are slightly aware of her raising her hips, her right hand finding its way between your bodies to grasp your wet, erect shaft, and line it up with her entrance. She breaks the kiss for the third time that night, searches your eyes for approval to continue with this. Was it make up sex? You didn;t know if it was for sure, but it sure as hell felt like it. What you do no for certain is: you’d like to experience this now, and you want to etch this in your memory for as long as you can before it fades with the rest of your mind.

You give her the slightest of nods, and you feel the head of your cock press against her wet, tight opening. Slowly, carefully, Wonyoung lowers herself down onto your shaft, your cockhead parting her tight lips to impale her pussy. She gasps loudly as she impales herself fully, and she opens her eyes slightly to match your gaze. You brush stray locks of hair away to reveal her face fully, and you bring her mouth back to yours to kiss her deeply. As your tongues duel, she begins to raise her hips, drawing your shaft out of her body before lowering it once more, and soon she has found a soft, slow rhythm as she rides you, grinding her warm, tight body against yours.

She raises herself upright and lets her hands rest on top of your chest. You’d like to save that face she makes in a supercut of her other memorable faces: eyes closed, lips slightly parted and the wisp of a smile on her lips as she rocks her hips. From where you lie, you watch as Wonyoung takes you in and out of her body with soft grinding motions, riding you slowly, enjoying every entry and exit of your shaft as it fills her over and over in slow, tender strokes that make her shiver. You watch as your shaft appears for a split second or so before driving back into her, each disappearance accompanied by a soft spike of pleasure. As always, she’s letting moans and sighs and gasps tumble freely from half-parted lips as she takes you in and out of her slowly, rocking her hips with innate grace and elegance. All you do is let your hands rest on her thighs, moaning softly to encourage her as she rides you lovingly, tenderly, a far cry from what you’re used to when it comes down to sex with Jang Wonyoung.

Through the night, your cock glides in and out of that perfect pussy, elicits moans and gasp and sighs and cute little cusses when you hilt yourself deep inside of her and tug a little at her hair. Her hands were always active, sometimes caressing your chest, sometimes on your jaw, sometimes behind your head as she snaked an arm behind your head to keep you locked where you were just so she could sneak in a kiss. You came in her mouth, her ass, her pussy. She came on your fingers, your cock, your mouth. She cussed a lot, almost passed out once or twice. You cussed a lot two, and you caught her when she almost rolled off the bed (the two of you laughed for a minute about that situation before you ended up spooning on the floor, her leg in the air and your cock pumping in and out of her while she had your back to you and your face in her right hand).

Bottom line: it was wonderful, wonderful make up sex that ended with both of you sweaty and panting and wanting more from each other but you guys just don’t have that energy to keep going. It was a novelty for both of you, and you wanted to remember just how special she could make you feel, even in the impurest of acts.

The flash of the polaroid camera is almost blinding, but you power through and keep your eyes open. Like a child that’s seeing snow for the first time, Jang Wonyoung watches excitedly as the polaroid emerges from the slot in the camera, and she’s all too eager to grab it and lay it face down on the coffee table in your apartment.

“I thought you’re supposed to shake it?” you ask, watch as she fiddles with the camera for a little bit before she snaps a selfie with her newest purchase. She gives you a look that basically translates to, “uh, are you dumb?” and waits for the next polaroid to emerge from the slot before she launches into her lecture.

“Shaking the polaroid to make it develop faster is a myth,” the way she sounds so official and everything is so cute. You can’t help but smile a little as she sets the other polaroid down. “It shifts the pigments and blurs the photo, but an idiot like you would need a genius like me to tell that to you.”

The remark is clearly meant to be biting, but it’s nothing short of hilarious to you. “When did you become a camera nerd?”

“Ever since I got this,” she lifts the polaroid camera up and hits you with that you’re on camera smile. “Maybe I should do an ad for this brand. Increase their sales, you know?”

She leaves you to think on that and retrieves the first polaroid she took: a picture of you and her on the couch of your apartment. Not the grandest first photo, but hey, a memory is a memory, and you really are just focusing on cherishing those at the moment. As she leaves the couch to clip the polaroid onto the photo rack (a bunch of metal wires on a metal frame with wooden clips to hold photos) she just set up, you grab your journal next to you and flip it to the page you wrote on a few hours before. With your pen (that you now carry around just about everywhere with your journal), you scribble down a new part of today that you want to remember. It was her idea to journal down everything you wanted to remember.

The entry goes right under the one about Wonyoung’s new camera.

She looks so happy with that new camera. Bet she’s going to go back to the dorm and show it off to all of her members because she’s a fucking child. I hope that…

And you trail off in your writing, What you wanted to say was just on the tip of your tongue just a second ago. Why can’t you remember it? It was literally just in your head a minute ago…

No.

You shut the journal. It makes a soft yet substantial thud as the leather cover slaps against pages. You place your pen in your pocket, set the journal back down on the couch and stand up to walk towards your girlfriend, who is currently adjusting the angle that the wooden clip holds the polaroid at. She senses you walking up to her, steps aside and makes a space for you to watch her struggle. You would offer help, but you know that it removes half the fun for her when you do something for her.

She fiddles around a little more, makes a couple of grunting sounds under her breath, curses a little, and next thing you know, she exclaims, “tada!” while pointing at the first occupant of the photo rack. You roll your eyes, throw an arm over her shoulder and look at the slightly blurry photo within the white frame.

“With the camera,” she tells you, her tone soft and warm like… Like… Fuck. “I hope that we can help our memories live on. Sounds pretty deep huh?”

You can’t help but chuckle in agreement. You take a moment to stare at the two faces that occupy the space in the polaroid, and you hope to God that they will never, ever look foreign to you. It’s a futile prayer, you know, but a glass-half-full mentality is the best chance you have at not spiralling out of control.

Wonyoung lays her head on your shoulder, silent and all sentimental as she closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath. She lets out a shuddering sigh, and you know that she’s trying not to cry, cause in this situation she’s the one that will end up hurt at the end of it all. You’ll forget the pain of forgetting; she’ll remember the pain of being forgotten. It sucks, but it’s just the way it is. You hug her, hold her close and stroke her hair. You don’t want to forget what she means to you, what you mean to her.

How many more polaroids left till it all ceases to matter?

____________________

Hello! Hope you guys enjoyed this fic. I'm a bit rusty so this one might be a bit funny, but hopefully the style of storytelling I chose didn't fuck you up too bad. Non-linear storytelling will be the death of me. Also: I kinda didn't edit this one too much. My bad hehe.

This was really more of a PSA to cherish the ones you hold close to you, because you never know when they will just disappear. Love the people close to you, cherish them forever.

~Lots of love Nichuuu

#jang wonyoung #wonyoung smut #ive smut #ive wonyoung #kpop #fanfic #writing #smut #nichuuu #ansgt

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