#and settling for people who only kind of wanted me
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WAS I FOOLIN MYSELF | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [5]
Description: The THREE times you can't have him no matter how much you want to
Length. 15.2k
warnings: angst, spencer's addiction mentioned, gory cm cases (medical trauma, removing limbs, human marionettes etc) explosion, broken arm and surgery, slight lemon at end but not actually written just described aftermath, Maeve arc (I'm so sorry), guns, almost dying, blood, general cm warnings, anything else let me know!
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Authors note; I will edit in the morning I just really wanted you all to have the next chapter as promised!!
'I'ma strike these matches, never had control,
I'm ready to let go, no, was I fooling myself?'
The one with the wedding
JJ’s ears were ringing, a high pitched whine like a radio skipping between stations searching for a signal, and she felt the hard concrete against her milky skin before the throbbing in her forehead hit.
“JJ, are you alright?” There were hands at her shoulders, patting her down for fractures, not wanting to move her if her spine had been hit, and it wasn’t until she rolled herself over, eyes frantic and in shock that she saw Morgan.
“Where’s Will? Where’s Bugsy?” She asked, the words blurring into one word. Her legs were struggling to a stand before she could think too much about the concussion she almost definitely had, giving Morgan a quick once over, “Did they get out of there?”
But she hadn’t seen any movement before the blast had shot them back ten feet to the floor. Had only seen the back of the youngest Prentiss woman’s head as she rushed into the building to get emergency medical care to her partner.
“Where’s Emily?” Morgan added, and the two of them realised they were missing perhaps three of the most important people to them with no sign of life from any of them.
It didn’t take much for JJ to take off bolting into where the bank’s entrance had crumbled to the floor, where the dust hadn’t even settled and they didn’t know whether there was a second set of bombs waiting for them. They didn’t know anything.
And it was for that reason JJ dipped straight into the wall of smoke, hand tight on her gun as she went to look for survivors.
Morgan and Hotch were hot on her heels, a dozen firefighters and medical in tow, a similar face of dread in their expressions.
Aaron’s heart was in his throat when they entered the building, the west facing wall almost entirely in smithereens on the floor. The dust choked him the second they ran in, and he coughed before he could even get a word out, hand flying over his mouth to try give himself some kind of filter to the air.
“Bugsy!” He yelled as loud as his dry vocal chords would allow, “Bugsy, give us a signal,”
Nothing. Nothing but the sound of JJ and Morgan screaming for Will and Emily just as loud. And even to that they received no answer.
It wasn’t until they got close enough to the rubble and began seeing the bodies did Aaron start to fear the worst. He called her name again, her real name, splitting up from the rest of his team because it was no longer a mission for the UnSubs, it was now a search and rescue.
He crouched to press his fingers against a woman’s throat, stomach flipping when he felt no pulse beneath them, before he moved onto another one, his eyes darting between the chunks of brick and ceiling to see if he could spot anything that looked like an FBI jacket.
It wasn’t until he found one of the men donned in a SWAT uniform, his gun long since dropped to the tiles that he knew he must be close. It was one of the guys who had gone into the buildings seconds before her.
He felt for a familiar thrum of a heartbeat, his breath thick in his throat when he managed to get a slow and steady thump, and he immediately began signalling for medical attention.
Paramedics came running over with a stretcher between them, but Aaron wasn’t finished, Not until he saw her.
He dodged around the large chunk of stone that piled in the centre of the room, cringing when he saw a splatter of blood on the tiles in front of him, and it was only when he saw a hand splayed out on the floor did his heart truly stop.
His cold eyes were wet with fear as he traced the hand up its arm, the familiar blue he wore himself ripped to shreds, the skin beneath it broken and the bone snapped clean in two. He could barely make out the three letters, F. B. I. that were so covered in blood and dirt it almost matched the navy, before he got the pillow of familiar hair matted against a head that faced away from him.
But it was her. There was no doubt about it.
He thinks he said her name, but it might just have been a sob, because he fell to his knees quickly, scrambling to get to her face to see if she would respond to him at all.
“Bugsy, I need you to wake up,” He ordered, though it sounded like a hiss of pain, his rough hands finding her young face, desperate for any movement behind her eyelids, “Come on, sweetheart, just tell me what day it is,”
Years of training on what to do in a crisis and the correct first aid to give to someone unresponsive flew out of his brain, leaving behind bits and pieces like getting her to talk to see whether she had severed anything in that big, amazing brain of hers that had so much promise.
He leaned his ear down next to her nose, looking down the front of her chest to check for any signs of breath.
This was too similar to what Foyet had done with Haley, like a horrid deja-vu he wouldn’t wish even on their worst UnSub. He had been too slow, too stubborn, too stupid to stop her from getting hurt. He didn’t know what her blood on his hands would feel like, didn’t know if he would ever sleep again knowing he had gotten her killed.
Aaron’s stomach flipped when he saw her ribs rising slowly beneath her vest, her breaths cold against his earlobe.
“Guess it’s my turn to come back from the dead, huh?” A croaking whisper came softly, and he flicked his head around so fast he thought he might have whiplash.
But her eyes were open, squinting and tired, and he cursed the fact he had only then noticed the cut on her forehead, red ichor pumping fast and restlessly down the side of her face.
He gave a breathless laugh, though it pained his own ringing ear to do so, stroking gently down her face with the same care he would put Jack to bed with.
“Gotcha,” She smiled up at him sheepishly, her brows furrowing when she seemed then to notice the tears rolling down the tip of his nose, “Aaron Hotchner crying over me, are pigs flying today?”
He chuckled wetly, and his eyes were the warmest brown she’d ever seen them when he looked down at her. He turned his attention away for a second to call over medical, his eyes landing on Emily who was also frantically scanning the wreckage for her sister and giving her a sign too.
“You gave us quite a scare there,” Aaron said softly, because judging by the bump on her head, and the way blood was pooling in her ears, he guessed her eardrums had been damaged in the blast. Emily was over to them in seconds, looking dishevelled herself, and she gasped into her hands when she saw her sister’s fragile form.
“Bugsy- oh my god your arm,”
The girl’s face dropped, eyes widening as she tried turning to see the damage but Aaron was faster, quickly blocking her view of the mangled mess of skin with hand over the side of her head.
“What’s wrong with my arm?” She asked, and he saw nothing but his son with a scraped knee in her eyes when she looked up at him vulnerably. Emily fell to her knees next to her, taking over from Aaron by stroking her sister’s cheek, because if her adrenaline rose too much, then the numbness of the shock would wear off and she would feel it all.
“I think it’s broken, but the paramedics are going to fix you right up, I promise,” Emily cooed, though she felt herself go a little white at the sight of her sister’s bones so mangled and in pieces.
Aaron looked up when he heard Morgan calling his name, spotting the paramedic team navigating their way back to where the three of them sat, and he waved his hand up to let them know where they were.
He bit his tongue, looking down at where Bugsy was clearly starting to wake up more to just how bad of a state she was in, and she watched him woefully be torn between helping the rest of his team or staying with her.
“You guys can go, I’m no use on the case anymore,” She said, despite the fact she was terrified of what might happen if they left her alone.
“Are you crazy, absolutely not-,” Emily was cut off when two EMT’s rounded the block of concrete and brick that had missed her by a few inches when it had fallen, a stretcher and med packs at their side.
“Good to see you’re responsive, Agent Prentiss,” One of the EMT’s commented, opening his case up to retrieve a neck brace and a splint for her arm before they could move her to the stretcher. Bugsy smiled up at them, though she knew it looked like a wince, taking one more look at her sister and then at Hotch, both of whom looked stuck between a rock and a hard place.
“Go, I’m serious. Will needs you,” She said, feeling Emily squeeze her hand gently, pressing a kiss to her hairline, looking down at her in worry, “Go, Emily. Just bring me pudding when you get to the hospital- no Jello-”
She hissed when the paramedics slipped the brace over her shoulders, strapping her head into place to stop her doing any more damage to her spine.
Emily nodded, and her and Hotch took off round the corner to where Morgan was calling them, and Bugsy let the paramedics fuss over her some more, taking the pain killers without a second glance once she realised just how broken Emily had meant when she saw her arm.
It got hazy from there, until she felt the sun on her face and she felt a hand grab her good side. Her eyes were rolling with the fact she was fighting off sleep, or maybe she really had lost more blood than she thought. Either way she managed to flick her eyes open enough to meet hazel hues, distraught and worried, heard a familiar voice calling her name sadly, but she was too far gone by then. Her eyes shut despite her fighting them, and she was wheeled into the back of an ambulance by the friendly EMT’s, and the doors shut before her medicated brain could even recognise the voice as Spencer.
She was asleep before she could protest to it.
–
The air smelled like bleach- no, like floor cleaner had been drenched all around her, like she had been dropped into a janitor's closet and spilled every bottle over on her way in.
Her body felt stiff, and she frowned when she felt cramp in her fingertips, pain shooting up her wrist the second she tried to move them. Her eyes opened blearily, and she groaned in protest at the overhead white lights, burying her face into the scratchy sheet that covered her body. Only then did it click that she was in a hospital.
She moaned again when she tried moving her legs and her whole body protested, her bare legs rubbing against the paper like material in a way that made her cringe, and she felt only the hospital gown and underwear on her body.
“You’re awake,” The voice startled her, and she realised she hadn’t even heard the door open in her haze. Spencer stood in the doorway, three big bunches of flowers and two teddies in his arms, one of them holding a sign saying ‘You’re bear-y brave!’
What got her was the look of worry in his eyes when he took her in head to toe, his eyes lingering on the bright pink cast on her lower arm up past her elbow.
She grimaced, following his eyes to the horror, “Sexy,”
He rushed over to her bedside, all but throwing the flowers and cuddly toys on the space where her legs weren’t curled up under the sheets, pausing for a second to assess the situation.
“Spencer, you didn’t need to get me all of this,” Bugsy said, her cheeks warming when she saw her favourite flowers right at the end of the bed, blooming right in her direction, “Is everyone okay? Is Will okay?”
He nodded, but had yet to say anything, and he fiddled with his fingertips the way he did when he was struggling to get his point across properly. She reached out with her functioning hand to take them in hers, because she hated when he wouldn’t talk to her.
“Spencer, I’m fine, it’s just a broken arm, right?” The woman asked, trying to shuffle herself into a sitting position only to yelp when her side burst into pain. He rushed to put his arm behind her back, to get her to lay back down without putting too much pressure on her sternum, “What the fuck is that? I feel like I got hit by a baseball bat,”
“That’s what happens when you run blindly into a building without waiting for backup,” Spencer said, an undertone to his words she had never heard from him before, “Two cracked ribs; you’re lucky your lungs are still intact,”
Shit.
“Anything else?” She asked, a grim look on her face as his expression soured.
“Almost tore one of your eardrums, moderate concussion. They had to put pins in your arm to fix the fracture, it was transverse before you ask, lacerations to your legs from the glass, and some shrapnel they pulled out while you were in surgery.” Spencer listed, propping a pillow behind her head for her to rest against more comfortably though he still seemed annoyed, “No biggy,”
She paused for a second, watching him like a scolded child, her lips pulling down slightly, “Are you upset with me?”
He sighed, running a gentle hand over her leg that was covered by the thin sheet, and she felt the sting of cuts on her skin just like he’d said.
“I’m not annoyed, I could never be annoyed with you; you just-” He huffed, looking up at her sad eyes and feeling his resolve crumbling immediately, “You can’t just throw yourself in the way of danger, you have people who care about you, people who love you,”
She bristled for a second, looking into her lap and chewing the inside of her lip worriedly, “I just wanted to help Will, I just didn’t want JJ and Henry to lose him the way I thought I lost Emily,”
Spencer’s heart sank, and any telling off he was going to give her for worrying him left him in seconds, and he forgave her embarrassingly fast.
Taking her hand back in his gently and scooching a chair closer to the bed so he could sit with her, he looked up at her with the sweet, puppy eyes she had always loved on him.
“I know, I know you just wanted to help,” He hushed her, using his other hand to stroke her hair behind her ear, “Next time just… wait for your lucky charm, remember?”
She smiled brilliantly, and he almost could ignore the butterfly stitching on her forehead or the bright pink cast on her arm, or the fact her clothes had looked like a crime scene when they’d shoved them in a biohazard bag with how soaked in blood they were.
Her pretty tweed pants and white shirt she’d bought especially for his Dr Who convention to make him happy, wasted.
“Where’s all my clothes?” She asked, like she’d read his mind, but then again she had been known to do that.
He pouted, because he knew she’d hate the answer, “Emily said they had to cut it off to get you into the brace properly; they ran some scans first to make sure your spine was intact.”
“All of my clothes?” She baulked, and he knew she was upset before she could even say so he stroked his thumb over her hand for good measure, “But my lovely shirt- and the pants they were so cute, weren’t they?”
“They were so cute,” He agreed, even though he thought she looked good in everything.
“And- oh my god they got my bra too?” She asked, wide eyed and horrified like she hadn’t had a building dropped on her, like this was the worst part of her day. Spencer opened his mouth to say something, but he thought better than to tell her it wasn’t a big deal and he was sure Pen could take her shopping for new ones even if the thought of it made his cheeks flush red, “They got the best one, Spencer, that was my best one with the little bows and the lace at the back- fuck,”
She huffed, rubbing her temple in annoyance seemingly completely unaware of the situation she’d put him in, when JJ slowly entered the room, looking more tired and stressed than she had in months, but there was a little glow in her face that washed it all away.
“JJ, they cut off my favourite bra,” Bugsy huffed, holding an arm out for the woman who came to stand at the opposite side of the bed to Spencer, and JJ quickly leaned in to hug her close, Bugsy’s head pressing against her stomach, “It was the only one that fit perfectly, now look at me. Wasted.”
“I can get you another one on Monday after Will and I have stopped by the courthouse,” JJ said, her eyes alight with mischief like she had a secret, and Bugsy frowned, looking up at the woman.
“Why on Earth would Will be buying me- Wait,” The girl stopped, her breath catching in her throat as she took in JJ’s sheepish blush and girlish grin, “Courthouse? You’re getting married!”
JJ’s smile was beaming, and Bugsy yanked her with her one good arm into a side hug, just about as much as her ribcage would allow, and Spencer’s face lit up equally, though he was quick to usher Bugsy back into a resting position so as not to jostle her stitches.
Spencer drove her home that night after she got discharged, and he helped her get settled back into her own bed, her face still a little bitter at the fact her favourite underwear set was “totally mismatched now”; her words, not his. He put a documentary on for the two of them until it was time for some more of the painkillers the doctors had sent her packing with, and she fell asleep pretty quickly after that.
He watched her breaths rising and falling slowly, the sight of her on that stretcher being wheeled into the back of the ambulance flashing in his head like a horror motion picture. Her face had been soaked in blood, her neck in a brace that looked tight enough to crush her, her eyes were weary and dim from what he knew now was the sedative effects of the painkillers.
He’d almost brought up the fact he’d found a geneticist willing to take a look at his MRI scans to help his migraines; almost brought up that she had finally got back to him with results and a plan of vitamins and dietary changes he could make to help ease his flare ups.
Spencer almost mentioned it, but he fell asleep listening to Bugsy’s breaths, checking for irregularities, before he had the chance to.
–
Hot pink did not match ditsy blue whatsoever, she had quickly decided, but the bluebell, floral dress was the only thing she owned long enough to cover the scratches on her legs and arms, and hid the majority of the hideous cast that weighed down her arm.
Spencer had encouraged her not to come to JJ’s ‘engagement party’, had encouraged her to stay at home and sleep; promised her he would rustle up the best chicken soup she’d ever tasted if it meant she would stay on the couch and rest her marred body.
But then Rossi had said he just simply couldn’t let a nice occasion go to waste. A few phone calls later, a drop in the ocean of his wealth and within two days the yard to his stately manor had been turned into a ceremony, the whole arch, pews and altar style.
“You should worry so much, you look lovely,” Spencer softly chided her when he saw her yanking her sleeve further down her arm, trying to cover the hard shell that protected her radius while it healed. She did, despite the fact he had to help her do her eyeliner because she could only do it with her right hand, or that there was still a nasty cut on her forehead that was scabbing up.
She was still beautiful as ever to him. And it made Spencer’s chest sore.
It felt like something had cracked between them since that night she had been dropped to his, her pupils wide as dinner plates, her inhibitions lowered to zero, and had pecked his lips like it wouldn’t tear him up inside to have her so close to him knowing it was everything he had ever wanted.
He knew if she ever kissed him again he couldn’t keep it in anymore, couldn’t stay in this limbo they had found themselves in where all he could think about was how she smelled when she wore his clothes, a mix of his laundry and her skin together, something he’d found himself purely saturated in since she first lived with him after Emily’s funeral. He loved the way her eyes seemed soft and mellow when she looked at him, loved the way his stomach seemed warm and fuzzy when she held his hand, and he knew it wasn’t in the same way it normally was with other people, when he was worried about how many germs they were spreading to him or if they’d had all their shots or if he’d remembered to pack hand sanitizer. His stomach felt funny, and his skin felt sweaty, and his head got scrambled, and it was somehow good.
He would do anything for her, anything she ever wanted from him and it was hers.
He knew it way surpassed friendship. It felt like she was his girlfriend, which was absurd because he had never asked her to be. Or maybe it was just him trying to wish it into existence, because he knew he would never ask her. She was too good for him, too good for this world let alone a scrawny, know-it-all like him.
She simpered under his words, looking at him with tired eyes, though he could tell she still yearned to fluff up her hair or fix her dress because she felt like a polished turd right now.
“Thankyou,” She said quietly, immediately spotting a waiter carrying a tray of champagne passing by and reaching for a little flute, “Want one? Thank you,”
Spencer shook his head politely, quickly spotting Emily and Morgan moving into the garden with Hotch and Beth not far behind them.
“I’ll be right back, just wait here a second,” He said, gently stroking over her spine with his warm hands, before he darted towards the group. Jack took off running towards Bugsy the second he saw her, and Spencer heard the small ‘ooft’ leave the woman as he collided with her stomach and nearly winded her. He was getting bigger by the minute, Spencer swore.
“Don’t you look dashing, boy wonder,” Morgan teased, flicking his finger under the lapel of Spencer’s two piece suit that Bugsy had told him more than once fit him like a glove, “Someone to impress?”
Spencer blanched, his eyes shooting to Emily who seemed to hide a smile, because his feelings for her sister were about as plain to see as the moon that coated their evening in a blue glow. Hotch looked over the younger agent’s shoulder, to where his son was throwing cents into Rossi’s fountain with Bugsy and making wishes, his eyes quickly falling to the pink cast around her wrist, and his face hardened.
“How is she?” He asked, lips pursed.
They had seen her in turns at the hospital, but most of the time she had been extremely out of it, Hotch had managed to catch her right before they took her into surgery for her arm, and even then he’d been ushered right back out of the room because they were getting her prepped to be scrubbed down.
Spencer bit his lip for a second, glancing over his shoulder at Bugsy fishing through her purse with her one good hand for more nickels, before he looked back at them, “She doesn’t want anyone to make a big deal about it, and don’t bring up her arm or her forehead, she’s a little delicate-”
He was cut off by Penelope squealing behind them, and they turned in unison to see the blonde woman cupping Bugsy’s face, checking herself for more abrasions, stroking over the younger girl’s shoulders as she simply allowed herself to be ragged like a doll.
Because it was Penny. And Penny always meant well.
Spencer flustered worriedly, and Morgan chuckled behind him, wrapping an arm over the kid’s shoulder.
“Can’t protect her forever, lover boy,” Derek said, patting him before he let go, taking Emily’s elbow and walking over to where they were serving hors d'oeuvres.
Spencer knew that, knew she could handle herself just fine without him. That was what worried him the most.
–
JJ looked beautiful in her mother’s wedding dress. Bugsy welled up with happiness, true happiness when she saw her friend walking down the aisle with her son, a spitting image of her, in one hand, her father’s arm in the other.
Will looked besotted, but then again he always did when he looked at JJ.
Bugsy felt the love in the entire yard as they said their vows, kissing each other without restraint under the floral arch as Henry covered his eyes with a little giggle and an ‘eww!’ which made everyone chuckle.
The violinists began playing soft hymns as the couple had their first dance, and Henry migrated towards the woman with the pink hand and the sapphire dress.
“Buggy,” He tugged on the bottom of her skirts, huge, sky-blue eyes blinking up at her behind a mop of blonde furls. “Buggy, your hand!”
She knelt down to hear the three year old a little better, and immediately tiny fingers trailed over her wrist worriedly.
“Your hand, it’s hurt,” He said, and Spencer crouched to comfort the boy who he still remembered holding hours after he was born.
“I know, I hurt myself at work,” She said, letting him run his fingers over the pink shelling, his eyes wide and confused about the new material, “But Mommy saved me, and she saved your Daddy, and she saved you, didn’t she? Isn’t she so brave,”
Henry smiled, like all his thoughts of his mommy being Wonder Woman were true, and he nodded, stepped towards Bugsy while making grabby hands for her neck, “Up,”
Spencer was about to protest, because he didn’t want her to push herself, but he knew she could never say no to kids, especially ones as cute as the boys.
“Alright, big man, up we go,” She put her good arm under his bottom, Spencer holding under her shoulder to help her into a stand with a repressed grunt, “Jesus, what did you eat for breakfast today. You really are a big boy, Henry,”
She put him on her hip, shoving off the way it stung her superficial cuts because Henry seemed happy, grabbing a section of her hair in his tiny hands, and stroking her head gently in what Bugsy guessed was the way JJ stroked his when he was unwell.
“Mommy says you have to have a magic kiss when you get hurt,” Henry babbled, and she smiled, her cheeks hurting because the kid was just sweet enough to eat.
“Oh, yeah? Is mommy magic then?” She entertained, feeling Spencer still a ghost over her shoulder in case she started struggling to hold the pre-schooler. His godson laughed like she told a joke, shaking his golden locks as he answered.
“No, Buggy,” He giggled, patting her cheek as she scrunched eyes shut with a smile, “You get a magic kiss when you get fixed. Like this,” He leaned in, leaving a big wet smooch on her cheek that made her giggle, tightening her hold on him with a shiny jaw. Henry turned to where Spencer watched them with a dazzling smile, pointing up at him, little fingernails waving in his face, “Spencer’s turn,”
His godfather faltered, his cheeks turning red and Bugsy looked between the two of them, amused.
“I can’t, I’m afraid Henry. I’m not magic like you and mommy,” Spencer replied, trying to brush the boy off as kindly as possible. Henry’s face frowned, because he had watched Uncle Spencer pull a coin out of his ear not even half an hour ago and so that statement seemed ridiculous.
“You have to! You have to give her magic kisses or she won't get better!” Henry ordered, trying to grab Spencer’s bow tie with vigour, “You have to!”
“Alright, alright,” Spencer agreed, his hands shooting up in surrender, “I’ll give her magic kisses,”
Bugsy looked at him with a heart stopping smile. She looked soft like butter, syrupy and warm as pudding. The moonlight washed her pupils with something like a cartoonish twinkle, and he hoped his forest eyes didn’t turn to two love hearts the way he felt like it did.
He raised one of his hands to her cheek, the same one Henry just kissed, holding her still. She was cool in the night air, or maybe his hand was just too warm because he was so nervous. He hoped he wasn’t shaking, but her jaw fit into the palm of his hand like it was always meant to be there.
He dipped his head in to give her a long, delicate kiss to her cheek, running a thumb down the apple of her cheek.
He pulled away from her, and they exchanged a look, something in her eyes he had rarely seen before. Figuring it was discomfort, or maybe just the light playing tricks on him, he stepped away, and Henry was quickly distracted by a frog hopping through the mildewed grass, and he set Bugsy on the task to help him catch it.
Spencer busied himself talking to Will and Derek in the hopes his heart would calm down any minute soon, but he had quickly felt himself becoming somewhat addicted to the feel of her skin beneath his lips. He wondered lewdly if the rest of her would feel so soft as her cheek had, and immediately scolded himself for it.
The thought haunted him for the rest of the night.
-
Penny twirled her around by her good arm, and the two of them giggled like school girls under the fairy-light woven pergola, the string quartet finishing off the fast paced song they had switched up the mood with. The blonde was careful about not jostling the woman too much, she could already feel Spencer and Emily’s worried looks from where they sat together at a table, nursing their drinks mid chat.
But whether it was the fact she had been cooped up for days on bed rest orders (Spencer’s, not the Doctor’s, though he’d argued that was the same thing,) or that last morphine patch had really given her a kick up the behind, but she seemed to be hiding the pain well.
JJ would only have one wedding, she’d argued with Spencer, she could have a hundred days in bed, but there would only be one night like this one; when they were all together, safe and happy, when there was enough palpable love in the air that fell over everyone's shoulders like a warm hug. He’d grumbled that he was usually the optimistic one and zipped up her dress for her with shaky fingers anyway.
Before Penny could spin her round even one more time, a figure appeared two tower over the blonde, and a voice cut in between them politely.
“I don’t suppose you’d let me lead the next dance, I think Reid and Prentiss might just tackle you if you shake her up anymore,” Aaron’s voice was soft, inviting with the one and a half beers he’d had edging at his tone, almost teasing in a way so rare for a man so stern.
Penelope looked over Bugsy’s shoulder to indeed see the woman’s two guard dogs watching her like a hawk, Bug’s already opened purse on Spencer lap where her emergency painkillers were.
“Oh god, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Spencer frown like that, it’s like watching a puppy resource guarding,” Penelope faltered, looking the woman head to toe as if she was being held against her will to dance by the blonde, “You’re not hurt or anything- you’d tell me if you were hurt, wouldn’t you?”
Bugsy chuckled, throwing her good arm over the woman’s shoulder, “Relax, they’re both worry warts. I’m having fun, Pen. I think Hotch just wanted a turn with the ugly barbie,”
Against Penelope’s better judgement, she gave the woman a kiss on the cheek with a sigh of defeat, though she had been so careful not to push her in fear of her cracking another rib, but she had loved seeing Bugsy smile like that again.
Derek was quick to swoop in to save her, swooping in to steal her for a dance as Aaron gently took Bugsy’s waist and good hand, entirely respectable and gentle in his touch.
“I’m glad you’re okay, your bell got a little rung in that bank,” Aaron murmured, trying not to fret over the gash on her forehead that had a few butterfly stitches pulling it together. He remembered how frail she’d felt in his arms the last time he’d properly seen her, like a baby bird with its wings snapped in his hands. He was worried he was going to be burying her too, just like he had Emily, just like he had Haley, except he knew for her there wasn’t a catch, an escape route to Paris. There wouldn’t have been a do over.
But she was okay. Broken bones and all.
She smiled at him, as if to remind him just how alive she was, and he saw how her eyes were bloodshot and tired, as if it was taking all of her energy to keep her head upright.
“If you knew how many morphine patches are on my butt right now, you’d freak,” She said, and he laughed, because she was always good at getting those from him. Bugsy relaxed in his arms, and he rocked her side to side sweetly, not quite dancing but moving passively to the soft melody the band was playing.
Maybe it was the fact he wasn’t in work mode, or maybe it was because the night air was cosy and light, or maybe she just weaselled out the guilt that had been stored in his chest for nearly a year, but he let himself look at her with a sad, sepia gaze, and it was like she knew what he was going to say before he said it.
“I’m-”
“Don’t apologise,” She cut in quickly, her own expression falling into something forlorn, “You have nothing to apologise for, Aaron,”
He took a deep breath through his nose, “I do. That wasn’t right how I treated you. You’re not spoiled.”
“I can be, sometimes,” She argued defeatedly, but he shook his head before she could add to it, “You were doing what was best to keep Emily safe, it was her I was more mad at than anything. She’s my sister, she should have trusted me, you and JJ didn’t owe me anything.”
“We owed you a better explanation than we gave,” He said, watching her sigh and rest her cheek on his shoulder. He cursed Spencer for allowing her to wear heels in her condition, though he didn’t doubt that the pretty boy had put up just as much fight as he would have seeing her grab the shoes on her way out, “I never meant to hurt you so much. And we do owe you better, we’re a family. Families fight, and they say mean things and they tell white lies sometimes but we love each other, and I only ever wanted to keep everyone safe. Okay?”
She nodded against his blazer material, dropping his hand in the interest of wrapping both her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug, ignoring the dulled ache of her ribcage.
“I love you too,” She murmured, and he gave her a feather-light squeeze back, all too aware of her bones creaking under her skin, “I’m sorry I hit you,”
She let go of him, and he held her hand, the tips of her fingers poking out from beneath her cast that already had Jack’s name scrawled over in black sharpie.
“I deserved it, I was being cruel,” He said honestly. He hadn’t meant to be so harsh, but the emptiness in her laugh, in the way she’d stormed out, had scared him. He thought even if she lashed out, if she screamed at him or cried that would be better than the silent treatment because at least then he would know where she stood with him. But instead he had driven the knife in deeper, and for that he couldn’t say he blamed her for it, “I’ve had worse, much worse. Maybe you’re not as tough as you think,”
She baulked, and realised he was teasing her, “Maybe we could go round two Monday morning, I bet it would hurt a lot having a hard plaster cast swung at your face,”
“For me or for you?” She smacked his arm with her good hand, and it made him chuckle again, and soon she was laughing too, resting her head back onto his shoulder comfortably, “I’m glad you’re okay, Bug,”
“Did you not hear where I put those morphine patches? I could paper mache with those bastards,”
And they danced between chuckles for another half an hour.
–
“Wait, wait, you’re going to compress her spine,” Derek stopped, Bugsy dipped at his waist where he was supporting her full weight because she’d complained she missed dancing with Penelope. She hated people walking on eggshells around her, and if anyone was going to have fun with her who could still make sure she was safe, it was Derek.
The woman grinned up at him, Derek’s hands safely around her waist and not pressing on her ribs whatsoever, though she had to admit she was ready for another dose of painkillers after a few hours of dancing between Hotch, then to JJ who had swiftly been taken over by Henry who wanted to be lifted high enough he could hold Bugsy’s hands like he had seen the others doing. David had even entertained her with a very slow three step waltz, until Derek had been her next target because he seemed to be having the most fun whirling Emily around the dance floor.
“Spencer!” She said and Morgan returned her to full height once he saw Reid’s fretful expression. She pouted, “Spencer, I was having fun,”
“You know what’s fun? Eating cake is fun, drinking water is fun, resting on the couch is fun,” He said, and Morgan was quick to hand the baby Prentiss over to Reid who rifled around his pocket to produce the tablet version of her buprenorphine, “You need more medicine or it’s going to hurt worse in the morning, remember? Getting ahead of the pain?”
She sighed, nodding, and before he could pop two out of the shiny, metal coated tray, she stopped him, “Wait, dance with me first,”
He looked at her incredulously, eyes softening when she stepped closer to him, her hand coming over the top of his to push the pain killers away, “It’s going to hurt more if you don’t get ahead of it now,”
“I know, I know,” She muttered, nodding docilely, “Look, I promise if you just dance with me a little now, I’ll have my meds and take it easy for the rest of the night, no questions asked,”
He looked unconvinced, because she was known to put up a fight when it came to doing something she didn’t want to.
She sighed, “If I sit down now, I know I won’t be getting back up again for the rest of the night, and I wanted to enjoy myself until I couldn’t anymore,”
Spencer looked at her pleading puppy dog eyes, and broke almost embarrassingly fast, letting her follow his hand into his pocket, putting the drugs away and letting her take his now free hand in his own.
“I’ll have it known I tried to stop this when this catches up to you and you have to go lay down on Rossi’s spare bed,” He argued back, but felt his stomach flip when she laced her fingers with his, pushing herself closer to him as a means of drawing him out of his grumpy mood.
“He has more than enough, just dance with me,” She brushed his attitude off, wrapping her plaster-cast over his shoulder.
He took her waist gently, feeling the plush, softness of her hips and wishing the heat away from his cheeks. She looked divine under the fairy lights, ready to be whisked away by sleep yes, but the sleepy blinks added to her charm, and she was soft and pliant under his touch like a tame cat ready to curl up on his chest.
“I had so much fun,” She said, meeting his adoring gaze, probably because he couldn’t drag his eyes away from her. He nodded, worrying then if his hair was sitting right or if hid bowtie needed straightening. She was a goddess in his arms, the colour of her dress matching her skin beautifully, a few wisps of hair falling over her eyes from where Penny had damn near done the quick step with her.
She looked like a dream.
“I never thanked you for everything you did for me when Emily was-” She gulped, her eyes suddenly down turned, like she couldn’t admit anything to the hazel of his eyes, not when they looked at her like that. “You were the only thing I had for a very long time, and I never really said how much it all meant to me,”
“You’re my best friend, I’m always going to be there for you,” He said, lovingly stroking a thumb over her skin, his voice tender as this touch, “That’s what friends are for,”
Even though he was sure he’d never felt this way about any of his friends before, even the tiny crush he’d had on JJ for all of two weeks when he’d first started at the BAU didn’t even make a mark on how she got his chest hammering like a jackrabbit.
Her face flickered with something he couldn’t read, and she nodded, “Right. Friends.” She swallowed heavily.
She slumped against him, like the wind had been taken out of her, her head on his shoulder, but it felt nothing like when she had danced with Hotch.
It felt like everything she’d ever wanted was right in her grasp, like the one person who made her feel whole again was pressed against her, stroking down her spine with an affection she could swear blind was nothing like she’d ever felt before. Like the only air she knew how to breathe was filling her lungs, every note of fresh linen, the hair gel he sometimes used to tame his curls, down to the faint smell of his apartment, so filled with books the smell of worn leather and thin paper seeped into his clothes.
She couldn’t remember who she was before she knew Spencer. She felt like she’d always known him.
He wasn’t just her friend, he was every bit of her that she wasn’t. Every ugly part of her that had always felt so alone, like loneliness was just ingrained into her since birth that seemed to jump up in a strange feeling of longing and home whenever he was near.
She let herself revel in his arms as long as she could, because she knew it was so illicit to be feeling so hungry for something she couldn’t have. She knew he was too good for her; she had never deserved any scrap of kindness he gave her. She could be mean, and rude, and loud, and ugly, and spiteful and he was everything she wasn’t. He was kind, and sweet, and gentle, and loving, and he didn’t deserve someone like her; he deserved so much better.
Bugsy let herself stay against his chest for a while longer, slowly swaying with him under the moonlight as JJ and Will took each other in their arms; a couple that fit together, Bugsy thought, two people who were so right for one another. Who deserved their happiness.
And so she selfishly let herself pretend she could have him as long as she could, silently dancing together under the pergola, until she agreed to go sit down because she would never admit that the ache in her side had started to seep back in, and he fussed over her some more and she told him he was being silly, but she preened under his affections anyway.
They’d reached a stalemate, Spencer would have probably called it.
Bugsy knew she shouldn’t want him, but she did. She shouldn’t want him because he was the pretty boy, the sweetheart that sat untainted by everything he’d seen and endured, the one who had jumped and cleared every hurdle life had thrown at him where she had fallen flat. He had gotten better on his own after Hankel; she had crashed and burned and taken nearly everyone with her. He was strong, and she was weak. She shouldn’t want him, it was selfish, but she did.
Spencer knew he couldn’t have her, because she was beyond anything he had ever dreamed of, beyond his best friend, beyond the girl who kissed him and didn’t ever want to talk about it again. He couldn’t have her because she was still healing, still wounded and vulnerable and rattled from barely recovering her relationship with her sister before she’d had a bank dropped on top of her. It would be wrong, it would be selfish, she would never want some scrawny kid from a shitty home where he was beaten up by girls even smaller than him and wedgied so hard he had to follow the librarian to class. He was a nobody. He couldn’t have her because she deserved so much better, but he wanted her.
They sat at a stalemate for a few weeks longer, until Emily got a job offer in London, and she asked Bugsy to take an internship at Interpol one of her old associates had sent to her. Twelve weeks learning how international databases worked, even some forensic work for Scotland Yard if she played her cards right.
And she took it; without much warning she took it, even if not to give herself some breathing space from how much her chest pined to be back in Spencer’s arms she had that night.
Bugsy headed to London, and didn’t look back.
2. The one with Maeve
Four Months. Bugsy had been in England for four months.
At first, they had called regularly, almost every other day, except the days she was just too tired to stay up until two am to call him when he got home. They had spent an hour on the phone at least; she had asked about the team, the cases, if he missed her yet which he always told her to knock it off because of course he missed her, and he had asked about London, and what England was like, and how Emily was doing.
Until around two months in when her schedule had changed to night shifts, and they could only ever communicate by texts, at which point he had been the one struggling to talk because he had no clue how to work his phone. She had called the odd time on her half an hour lunch break, but it was always rushed, never consistent, usually ending up with her excusing herself and hanging up on him fast because she was needed urgently somewhere else.
Cynically enough, the only time she could ever call was Sundays. Sundays when he was already busy, Sundays when he was admittedly on the phone, only he wasn’t talking to her.
He was talking to Maeve.
The geneticist he had been ready to tell her all about before JJ’s wedding, who had all but cleared up his migraines within a few sessions, who had asked him three days after Bugsy had flown out what had made his head flare up again and so he’d told her. Told her his best friend moved to another country temporarily, that he missed her and had been looking after her cats for her while she was gone because her new landlord wouldn’t let them have pets. And it had spiralled from there, she had asked more about the rest of his life, and he had asked about hers, and suddenly they weren’t just talking about his migraines anymore, they were flirting.
He hadn’t told Maeve that he was in love with said friend who had taken a great opportunity with both hands and fled the second she could. He couldn’t hold it against her, not when he was choosing his calls with Maeve over the only chance he had to speak to Bugsy, and four months really wasn’t that long in the scheme of things.
That was what he’d tried telling himself at least. He missed her more than anything, and the only thing that he’d found combatted the sting of her being gone was Maeve.
Maeve; who he had never seen, whose voice was sweet and alluring, who got his humour the way girls rarely ever did (besides Bug ofcourse). Who liked what he liked, and could talk his ear off about what she’d been reading, and about her day in the lab.
She was Bugsy in every other font, every other manner, and best of all she liked him. She told him weeks ago she liked him, that she wanted to date him, that he was her dream guy.
Call him a cynic for enjoying having a chance with someone, then that’s what he was.
Life since he had tried pushing away his unrequited feelings for one Prentiss girl had been going swimmingly. He liked their new team mate, Alex Blake, the brilliant linguist who warmed to him quite quickly; he had a girl at his heels who returned his feelings, who was everything he always said he looked for in a partner, even without having ever seen her face, and he was rather enjoying having Nico and Sergio around to keep him company.
But as it always did, the contented limbo he’d found himself in where he might actually be able to get a girlfriend came to a screeching halt on Sunday afternoon when he was stepping outside at three forty-five, readying himself for the ten minute walk to the nearest phone booth for their call at four pm on the dot. He had just about locked his front door, turning on his heel with his scarf draped over his shoulders when he had collided with someone’s chest.
“Oh I’m so- Bugsy?”
“Spencer!” She smiled at him wider than she ever had before, and she threw her arms over his shoulders because he had never protested to her affection before, “It’s so good to see you- I missed you so much, there’s so much I have to tell you-”
“What are you doing here?” It sounded like a confrontation, though he hadn’t meant it that way, just that he hadn’t been expecting her back for another two weeks at least and he certainly hadn’t expected to see her today, right before he was about to go call the girl he was sort of seeing, sort of not.
She bristled at his tone, because he didn’t sound nearly as happy to see her as she had expected. Pulling away, she realised he hadn’t even bothered to hug her back, and she tried to shove away the embarrassment that she’d never ever felt in front of him before.
“I- just- I wanted to surprise you. Interpol said I could finish early since I’d finished all my paperwork and could take the exams online in a few weeks,” She stammered, feeling uncharacteristically stuck for what to say. He flicked a look down to his wrist, his brows furrowed like she was taking up too much time, “Is something wrong, did I do something wrong?”
“No, you just-” He breathed heavily out of his nose, running a hand through his hair, “I’m late for something,”
“I’ll drive you!” She jumped at the chance, fishing for her keys in her pocket, “Car’s right out front, I sort of just threw it there because I wanted to see you,”
“I’m walking,” He said, in that frustrated tone again and she stopped looking at her jacket, her eyes snapping to his as he looked past her like she was in his way.
“O-okay, well then do you want company?” She said, her bag heavy with the souvenir she got him, though now it seemed to be weighing her down.
“It’s sort of personal,” He replied shortly, like she was a stranger selling him something on his doorstep, when really he was just cursing his luck that the girl he’d spent months trying to get over was here in front of him like someone was waving a bone in his face and he was a pup being told to sit. He was cursing the fact that he had spent hours and hours dreaming of the minute he’d see her again and she had showed up out of the blue after weeks of little to no communication like a damn hallucination of the senses.
She stopped then, her face contorting into a frown, “Is everything okay, are you sure I didn’t do anything-”
“You could have called, I’m kind of busy, Bugsy,” Spencer replied, even though he knew he was being unreasonable. It wasn’t her fault she was unravelling all of his progress just by being there. He thought he was finally getting over her, and with one whiff of her perfume, of her shampoo mixed with her natural scent, he was remembering just how in love with her he had been just a few months ago, like Pavlov’s fucking dog.
Her face fell then, into something kicked and hurt, “Sorry- my phone died on the plane, I didn’t even think, I just- I just wanted to see you,”
He faltered, the frustration leaking out of him, but before he could really say much else, she’d taken a step away, swung around to head for the stairs, “Sorry, I’ll call next time, sorry I got in your way, Spence,”
And she sounded genuine, not annoyed like he would expect for someone who’d been spoken to like trash. The guilt seeped in almost immediately, but then his mind ticked over the minutes he had left until Maeve would be expecting a call. Nine minutes now, he would need to speed walk.
He could make it up to Bugsy as soon as he was done with the girl who was almost her but not.
–
Spencer felt like an idiot. He hadn’t stopped thinking about the look on her face when she had left his apartment, nor had he not stopped chiding himself for not heading straight out after her.
His phone call with Maeve hadn’t gone how he’d expected, which would have been the only thing soothing the burn of his scathing tone, except she had hung up rather abruptly after he had suggested they meet up, something that had played on his mind for weeks now.
“Are you being safe?” He asked, the payphone hard and cold in his hand as he pressed it to his ear.
She chuckled softly down the phone, a sound that would have made his heart flutter if he hadn’t been feeling so wound up about seeing Bugsy, “Yes, I’m being safe,”
“Do you think he knows about us?” Spencer dared to ask after a moment of silence, because he could tell it was worrying her too. He wondered if the two of them would be dating by now if it wasn’t for the fact she had a stalker who may or may not turn his attention to Spencer if he realised they were seeing one another.
“No, as far as I can tell he doesn’t,” She said, her voice slightly more rigid than what he was used to. Her voice was always honey smooth when they spoke, and Spencer had more than enough time to wonder if it ever matched what she looked like. “And we need to keep it that way,”
The line went dead, and with it the only thing that he’d been telling himself was worth hurting his best friend even the tiniest bit went with it.
Spencer felt like an asshole. He’d tried calling Bugsy’s phone, then when she hadn’t answered he’d tried asking Penelope, who said she’d gone to visit JJ, Will and Henry since he was too busy.
At least that would have lightened her mood, he hoped, as he walked into the office Monday morning, and saw her at her desk, already chatting to Penelope with Derek’s arm around her shoulder.
She was all smiles today, pretty much how she had looked yesterday before he had all but kicked her out, and the sinking feeling in his chest tripled when she looked past Penelope’s shoulder and saw him. Her eyes wavered for a second, head turning downwards as if she hadn’t properly spotted him,
“Pretty boy! Look who it is,” Derek called him over, even though he was already speed walking and he stopped in front of her, looking her head to toe for the first time fully.
He realised then her hair was slightly different, that she’d had it cut shorter since the last time he’d seen her, that she’d gotten a new ear piercing. It made her look older, more mature than when he’d last seen her, or maybe he had just not seen her in so long. Maybe he just hadn’t bothered, he thought painfully.
“I saw him yesterday,” Bugsy said, and he felt caught immediately, Penelope’s head whipping to him, “He was kinda busy though, weren’t you, Spence? More of a passing visit.”
She sounded indifferent to yesterday’s rudeness, like it hadn’t really phased her despite the fact he’d seen for his own eyes the way her expression dropped.
“I was- I had an appointment,” He said, because he felt the need to explain himself even if he couldn’t.
She smiled at him, something dampened and fake, “I leave for a few months and suddenly boy wonder is too busy to talk to me, what is the world coming to,” She joked, and Spencer felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment, though Penny and Derek laughed.
“No, really, I had an appointment-” He tried to reason, but Penelope stopped him before he could fret too much, his hands wringing and he tried to lie on the spot without getting caught.
“She’s just kidding, Spence, don’t worry,” Pen shook him off warmly, quickly grabbing Bugsy’s arm tightly, the faint scar where she’d had her surgery trailing up her skin, “Now, to my bat cave, where we can talk all about just how good British guys are in bed without the boy germs getting all over our gossip,”
Bugsy laughed, allowing herself to be pulled along, right past Spencer without a second glance, despite the fact he looked like he was about to throw up.
Why hadn’t he thought about that? Why hadn’t he considered for a second that she would meet anyone, if not seriously, then for a one night stand? What if all those nights she was too busy to talk she had been with someone, someone much cooler and hotter and overall more experienced than he was. He was thirty years old and he had only ever slept with two women, one being Austin the bartender she’d told him to go after despite him lingering around her the whole night, the other being a girl he’d met in O’Keeffes after a hard case when he had been a few months sober, wanting anything, anyone, to take his mind away from going back to the little vial of trouble.
How could he be so stupid? Of course she’d be hooking up with other people. She was young and gorgeous and smart as a whip and single. She’d be any guy's dream.
He knew he was being so, so disgustingly hypocritical. He hadn’t stopped thinking about Maeve for months, and yet here he was seething with jealousy at the very thought of Bugsy being with someone who could love her without feeling guilty for loving her.
Spencer swallowed his pride and set his stuff down on his desk, watching Penelope grab Alex and drag her to her bat cave on her way, the older woman lighting up at the fact she was meeting the Bugsy Prentiss.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair, and felt a migraine start to ache behind his eyes.
–
“Alex- Blake, where are you going?” Spencer called, shoving his cell in his back pocket as he jogged toward the woman about to climb into the SUV.
Sure enough, Bugsy had been back in the office for one hour before they were getting pulled into another case, and she was more than happy to jump in to help with her new found skills in Interpol.
It was a gruesome case, which was saying something for all the shit they’d seen. The UnSub was amputating legs off one victim to then put onto his next one. There had been one guy waking up in his hotel room with both legs missing below the knee, then another gentleman had walked into an ER room with legs that weren’t his own attached to his sockets.
It made Bugsy’s skin crawl, but that was simply a day's work for them. They were at the most recent victim’s body; a woman who seemed to have been too weak to survive the surgery had been dumped on the street with her limbs switched to someone else’s. They had at least one other victim they hadn’t found yet, the girl thought darkly.
“Hotch called, he wants us back at the station ASAP,” The woman replied, Bugsy at her side.
“Can you give me a ride to 5th and Main, it’s on the way?” Spencer asked, trying his hardest to ignore the frown the youngest Prentiss gave him, confusion written across her face.
“Uh, yeah sure. What’s at 5th and Main?” Alex asked, also confused as to what was so pressing he needed to side track their case.
“I need to talk to somebody,” He replied shortly, the same cut off tone he’d used with Bugsy just the day before, and Alex faltered.
“Yeah, uh, okay. Sure.” She agreed, not wanting to rock the boat considering she was still so new to the BAU. She looked over at Bugsy, who seemed disgruntled as she headed for the passenger side, Spencer climbing into the back of the SUV with a troubled look on his face when their eyes met in the rear-view mirror.
“You’re coming with us?” He asked, looking on edge when he saw she’d gotten into their car and not into JJ’s like she had on their way over there.
“Yeah, is that a problem?” Bugsy asked, and he shrugged, playing with his fingertips in his lap.
“No, that’s fine, I just didn’t know you were coming with us,” He replied shortly, his face starting to warm when he realised how rude he’d sounded. He heard her sigh, and look out the window with no more protest in her.
Alex didn’t ask questions as she put the handbrake down, perhaps sensing the tension in the car between the two agents, and she didn’t need to be a profiler to tell there was either a lot unsaid between them or maybe even words that no one could take back.
Either way she did as he’d asked, because Bugsy hadn’t actually protested, just bit at her fingernails that said she was thinking too hard, and stepped on the gas.
–
The car pulled around to where a dimly lit payphone sat, empty and looking like it hadn’t been used in years. Which it probably hadn’t, besides as a dog urinal.
Alex stopped the car, and Spencer was already opening the door before she could even put it into neutral, “Do you want us to wait?”
“Uh, you know what, it might take a while, so I’ll just get a cab back,” He said, his tone clipped and leaving little room for questions. He felt Bugsy staring at him in confusion from the front seat, and he avoided her gaze like the plague, even if there was something sad in them that he was being so distant. “Thanks anyway,” He hopped out the car slamming the door shut, and digging through his pocket for change as he headed for the payphone.
Alex drove off, and he felt his chest get lighter for it, because he didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the act.
He hated lying, especially to her. Every morsel of his being writhed in discontent whenever he would lie, like the truth was just begging to slip out one way or another, and he knew he would only feel all the more guilty for it as soon as the case was over and he couldn’t avoid her eyes that haunted him like a wraith or her touch that seemed to have been kept to herself since he had snubbed her hug at his doorway.
He knew he was pulling away, knew she was doing the same thing, and he hated it.
Bugsy sat in the car, her face moody as anything as she glared out the window and Alex took the corner around the block.
“So is it usually like this between you two?” Alex dared to ask, her food steady on the pedal, “The lingering looks, the awkward silences? From what Penelope told me, the two of you are as close as can be,”
“Yeah, usually we are,” Bugsy replied coldly, and within a second she was unplugging her seatbelt, “In fact, pull back around the block. I’m done with him being an asshole without an explanation.”
Alex felt like she had just pulled a pin from her grenade with her delicate question, though she had meant entirely well, and did as the girl told her to, worried just what might blow up in her face if she didn’t.
Spencer had already dialled the number he knew off by heart, with or without his eidetic memory, by the time they pulled around.
His face dropped, knowing the returning call would be coming any minute now and he just hoped Maeve wasn’t too worried about him. But he had no time to think about her, because the second he saw Bugsy getting out of the car he could tell she was pissed.
Pissed in a way she had never been with him, but then he supposed, he had never treated her like that either.
“I’m going to give you one chance to tell me the truth, Spencer, because I’m tired of the clipped responses and the pushing me away,” She said, walking over to him like he owed her money. Which he didn’t. But he did owe her a good explanation as to what the hell was going on with them, “Did I do something? You can tell me if I’m an asshole, I know I can be an asshole, but you have to tell me so I can fix it-”
“You haven’t done anything, Bug, just please get back in the car,” Spencer cut her off, which was clearly the wrong move as he saw her brow raise at him.
“Something’s not right, Spencer,” Alex agreed, though she held back because hurricane Bugsy seemed to be more than enough intimidation for the guy, “What’s the deal?”
“What do you mean? Why did you guys come back?” He rushed, because he could feel his face warming, and he played with his fingertips like he did when he was struggling.
“Don’t answer a question with a question,” Bugsy chided, and he rubbed his palm with his thumb self-soothingly, and that was what tripped him up. Her eyes zeroed on his hands, looking back up at him and he almost went white at the predicament he’d found himself in, “You’re lying about something,”
“No, I’m not, I would never lie to you-” She pulled his hands apart, looking at him with hurt written across her soft features.
“Bullshit, I know when you’re lying, Spencer, or did you just forget that we’re best friends. That seems to mean nothing to you nowadays,” She snapped, and he could only look back at the phone booth, knowing that she would be calling any second now, “Are you even listening to me?”
Her tone was hurt, wounded, because he had to admit he was being inconsiderate.
“A while back, I found a geneticist that helped clear up my migraines, and we stayed in touch while you were in London,” He said, because that was all true, and she couldn’t call him a liar again if he was telling the truth.
“So? What does that have to do with the case,” Alex prompted, her own face scrunched in ire as he hopped around the subject.
“I think maybe my friend may be able to see something we’ve missed.” Spencer rushed out, his eyes puppy like as he willed Bugsy to stop looking so damn betrayed.
“You have four of the best minds I know back at the station, you have a woman with a biochemistry master's standing in front of you who dabbled in medicine for fun, but you need your friend for help?” Alex responded, because there was no way he was getting out of the hole he’d dug himself if she had anything to say about it. She too, as new to the team as she was, had no time for secrets on a job where trust meant everything.
“I know, but sometimes a different perspective helps me think better, okay?” He replied, his hand itching to take his palm back because he knew it still wasn’t the full truth.
Bugsy scoffed, crossing her arms over one another, and shifting her weight to one foot.
“You’re being ambiguous, you always do that when you’re lying,” She muttered, loud enough for him to hear and he gulped, turning his head to the ground.
“All of this begs a bigger question, why did you ask me to bring you?” Alex asked, because she was thinking the same thing.
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Spencer said, but his spine straightened impossibly when the payphone began ringing, and he seemed skittish like a naughty school child.
“You could have asked JJ or Morgan to drive you, but you asked me. You had a problem with Bugsy coming, because you didn’t think she’d be with us, so what’s the deal? Why me?” Alex pushed, and Spencer flustered, his head whipping around to where the high pitched chime continued, and he knew she didn’t have much time before the line went dead.
“Alex, please,” Spencer begged, feeling Bugsy’s eyes boring into the side of his head as he avoided her gaze like the plague.
“Just answer the question,” Bugsy bit out, because she was sick of being ignored all day, of being treated like she was contaminated or like he had never known her a day in his life. Not when she had flown on the first plane back to see him because she missed him more than she could ever tell him.
Not when she had been racing up the stairs to his apartment, her souvenir in her bag, the words on the foreword written in her own hand ready to tell him how she felt.
Because she knew it, after weeks of not seeing him, hours of just missing him and the few texts back and forth, she knew it. She knew she had to tell him, even if they had to brush it under the rug to be friends again, even if it was a shot in the dark she had to tell him.
She couldn’t choke it down anymore.
Only when she’d gotten there, thrown her arms around him, he almost felt like a stranger beneath her hand, almost felt like he never even knew her.
Spencer sighed heavily, looking at Alex because he thought he might just crack if he looked at Bugsy when he said it.
“Because I didn’t want them to know about her, alright?”
And she knew it then, knew it by the way he’d softened entirely when he said her, the way he seemed to melt just by thinking of her, the way he cowered into taking a step back towards the phone booth. It wasn’t just his geneticist, it was someone else entirely. Someone so much more to him.
Bugsy felt a lump in her throat, and she forced with all her might to not let her eyes well with tears. Because friends didn’t feel like they’d been sucker punched in the gut at hearing they were seeing someone else. Friends didn’t feel an all consuming jealousy writhe under their skin at the idea of them being with someone who wasn’t them, feeling something for someone who wasn’t them.
That wasn’t what just friends did.
And Bugsy thought with horror, as he picked up the phone and spoke in hushed, gentle tones that he once did with her, that they might never be friends again.
3. The one with their first date
Things were weird. Really weird. And painful. Really, really fucking painful.
Bugsy and Spencer had never been like this, never been so cold besides the first time they’d ever met, and even then she had warmed him from the inside out. She was sharing her sharlotka within hours of even knowing him, never even knowing he was knee deep in an addiction he was struggling to face alone, and that she had made him feel better than he had in weeks with her smile and her kindness and her quick witted brain.
Things were strange between them, and it was becoming noticeable too.
She boarded the jet behind Alex, the woman taking a seat next to Hotch at the table, the only other seat left being next to Reid, who stopped midway through what he was saying.
“It’s difficult to lure most people from the security of their own homes, eighty four percent of stalking victims have some sort of original connection with their stalkers, meaning-” He paused, and so did she for a fraction of a second, debating whether to sit beside him. She straightened quickly, dipping her head down and looking to the floor, and bristling past the empty seat to sit herself next to JJ on the couch.
He cleared his throat, trying to look like his face hadn’t dropped in hurt, and continued.
Hotch and JJ exchanged a look, the same silent message reading clear in their eyes.
The blonde looked up from her file as the others chatted, Penelope piping up from their computer, and glanced at the younger woman who was unpacking her things on her lap, despite there being a perfectly good table next to them.
“You alright, Bug?” JJ asked, trying not to seem too worried, yet she knew she was coming off troubled by the tense behaviour from the pair of them.
It had been three weeks of this, the silences, the uncomfortable pauses, the avoiding each other at all costs. The only time they ever really spoke was on a case, when they were closing in on an UnSub and their feelings had to be put to one side for the moment. Well, her feelings. Because all of his feelings were occupied as of the moment. With Maeve.
She couldn’t stomach talking about the woman anymore, couldn’t stand Derek’s teasing remarks about how lover boy was getting lucky, or Penelope’s thousands and one questions about the geneticist that she knew had come from a place of care, or Alex’s motherly guidance on his love life. The entire thing made her feel queasy, and she stayed quiet most days in the way he’d always hated, the way he’d always tried to pry her out of.
But nowadays he didn’t bother. Didn’t bother much with her at all, really.
“Yep,” Bugsy said, her lips tight, “Peachy,”
JJ knew not to ask any more than that.
–
Human marionettes were a first for her, she had to admit. They had already found two victims stuffed into boxes with craft paper surrounding them, their limbs almost entirely broken out of their sockets ante-mortem. It was a time sensitive case, with two deaths in three days and no sign of slowing down, and so that meant that of course the two brains of the team were assigned together, even if Hotch saw the way her face dropped when he’d said it.
She was drawing the geographical profile on the board, the squeaking of the marker against the screen the only sound in the room aside from Spencer’s flicking of pages.
“Did you get the first dump site?” He asked, even though he knew she more than likely would have done.
“Mhm,” She said, not bothering to actually say anything, because it was a stupid question she knew he was only asking to fill the awkward silence between them.
“What about the store that sold the outfits, did you get-” He started, only for her to cut him off with a clipped tone.
“Got it, and I got the radius around the store, and I got the second dumpsite.” Bugsy replied, capping the lid to the marker pen and setting it down on the desk beside him, “I’m going to get coffee. Want one?”
Though she didn’t stick around long enough to really hear his response. She simply waltzed out of the room to the tiny kitchenette the police station had to offer, in search of anything that would keep her occupied and away from snapping at him.
What had she really got to be mad at him for? For getting a girlfriend? For rubbing it in everyone's face how happy she made him, how perfectly suited she was for him? Except she didn’t think that last one was necessarily true, it just felt that way because it cut her so deep to hear about the girl who was everything she wanted to be. She had no right to be mad at him for anything except being distant with her since she got back from London.
She still made him a coffee half heartedly, swirling in a tonne of sugar the way she knew he would like, because he never changed being so perfectly him in the time she was away.
She used to tell him he didn’t need all that sugar because he was sweet enough as he was, because it was true. He used to be entirely honeyed and saccharine when he spoke to her, now she was lucky if she got a full good morning.
Bugsy bit her lip to stop it from quivering, and took the mugs back to the tiny office they were stationed in, seeing Alex at the door and hearing half their conversation.
“Is this about, uh, phone booth girl?” Blake asked, and Bugsy wanted to snap because what else would they be talking about. Her name was Maeve, she wanted to snarl, Maeve, Maeve, Maeve, Queen of the Fairies and of Spencer’s heart, Maeve, Maeve, Maeve.
She never hated a name so viscerally, though she knew in deep down it wasn’t her fault. Maeve didn’t do anything wrong, she just fell in love with Dr Spencer Reid and his charms. She couldn’t blame her, really. It wasn’t difficult to do so.
“She wants to meet,” Spencer’s voice was soft and nervous, and it was the most she’d heard him talk all day.
Bugsy froze, and Alex’s jaw dropped, “Wait, you guys have never met?” She saw Spencer shake his head just before she rounded the corner back into the office, feeling like she was intruding immediately, “Aren’t you curious what she looks like?”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter what she looks like, she’s already the most beautiful girl in the world to me,” She stopped at the doorway, feeling like she’d had the entire cup of hot coffee dumped over her chest in a scalding pain the minute she’d heard it.
Spencer called her beautiful many, many times before, both when she’d been done up to the nines and even when she was running away from a damn wedding in the middle of a storm and she looked like a sewer rat.
But that didn’t matter, because everything about Maeve was beautiful to him, and that was where she seemed to draw the short straw. Because who would find her selfishness beautiful? Or her spoiled nature, or how she could be so crass and rude she had been in more fights before she started the BAU than she’d care to admit. But Maeve was nothing like that. She was sweet and gentle and beautiful on the inside.
Bugsy plonked his coffee down harder than she’d wanted to, and he thanked her, pausing for a second as he looked between Alex and Bugsy, the second woman now sipping her steaming coffee freely and pinning maps to an adjacent board as if she couldn’t hear a word they were saying.
“What if she doesn’t like me?” He said, fiddling with his sleeves, “I mean; I slouch, my hair’s too long, my tie is perpetually crooked,”
“Your hair’s fine,” Alex combats back, watching the girl down her drink in a few sips, “Jesus, do you have asbestos in your throat?”
Bugsy turned to her and shrugged silently, “I’m tired, I needed the caffeine,”
Alex watched her with a hesitant eye, as if she was keeping just as close an eye on her as Jennifer but didn’t want to say, before she stepped away from the doorway, “Alright, I gotta run. You kids update us if you find something out.”
And with that Blake took her leave, leaving the room in silence for a moment, and Bugsy heard Spencer thinking too loud with that big brain of his.
She sighed, tacking a map of the city up next to the other one with points of interest noted on, “You’ll be fine,” She said after a minute, and he froze.
“I’m sorry?” He asked, formally like she asked to sit next to him on the bus or to squeeze past him in a store.
“I said you’ll be just fine on your date with Maeve,” She reiterated, using a purple sharpie to start drawing the routes the victims took to work.
Spencer sighed, shuffling papers around his desk, “How can you be so sure?”
She looked at him then, properly looked at him and he felt his breath almost catch. He’d been telling another one of his half truth’s earlier, because he couldn’t very well say just how many night’s he’d thought about Bugsy being all over him, about kissing her and sweeping her off her feet, about squeezing her close to him in a passionate embrace and never letting her slip away again. He thought about all the times she professed how much she loved him and how good a friend he was to her, and how happy she made him, and how he had spent the first year of knowing her getting to know her for that big brain of hers that rivalled his own.
He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything, but he couldn’t have her. He could have Maeve though. He could meet her and fall in love with her and marry her. He could do it. But she still wouldn’t be her.
She smiled at him like she had a secret, one she was willing to share with him, one that came at a cost but she would give it to him anyway because it was him and she was so good to him and deserved so much better.
“What’s not to like about you, Spencer?” She said softly, her expression that of a street dog looking for scraps.
He swore he shuddered when she said his name like that, but he tried a smile back at her anyway. But it was too late, she’d already turned away to continue plotting the points on the map.
Spencer felt his chest swell in a way Maeve had never gotten it to do.
–
He felt stupid. Half an hour of primping himself in the BAU bathroom, worrying and fussing over what he was wearing and if his hair sat right and if his face looked too skinny, he had made it to the restaurant only to baulk at the last minute when he’d seen a guy in a booth flicking his head to look back at where he was sat in a window seat, a red rose potted in the middle of the table and an empty chair across from him.
He had panicked and called Maeve, told her to go home because her stalker was there at the restaurant, and she had done just that with little to no question. Only for him to see, minutes later, the guy he thought was her stalker being approached by another guy and he realised he had likely been looking out the window to check for taxi’s parking outside the restaurant.
Spencer had blown it, the one chance he had at meeting her in person, and he felt more like an idiot than ever.
He didn’t care about the weird rift between them at that moment, he just wanted to see Bugsy, because she always seemed to know what to say to make him feel better. Like she had a talent for it, even when he had not been the best friend himself.
He knew he had to fix it, knew it didn’t matter if it was a little unethical to be on the cusp of having a girlfriend whilst also pining after his best friend, he didn’t care. He wanted to set things right with her just to have his best friend back.
He walked up to her apartment complex, the excuse already brewing in his head that he missed Nico and Sergio, that he maybe missed her a whole lot too but he knew the cats were a sweetened deal way of getting him through the door. Because she would never say no to him seeing the boys.
And then he would tell her, that he’d been an asshole the past few weeks, that he’d been struggling to understand how to balance time between her and his almost girlfriend, because that was a much better half truth than the fact he was trying to bury his feelings for her so deep they couldn’t see the light of day or else his life would be entirely ruined.
That’s exactly what he would say.
Spencer felt a little better than he had leaving the restaurant knowing he’d messed up his chance. In all honesty, he was excited to have Bugsy back, even if his night wasn’t exactly going to plan.
He waltzed up the stairs he’d been on a million times. She loved his apartment, she always said so, but he insisted her TV was bigger and so they usually stayed at hers to watch Dr Who when the newest episodes came out.
Spencer hesitated for a second, hoping his plan worked before he rapped on the door with boney knuckles, his hand fingering the strap of his bag nervously as he heard her moving behind the door.
“One second!” She called, and he chuckled, she had probably fallen asleep on the sofa without pants on, or maybe even just gotten out the shower, either way he heard her scrambling to get clothes on and then-
She swung the door open, and his eyes quickly dropped to her neck that had a long row of hickeys trailing down to her collar bone. His small smile at seeing her vanished like one of those magic tricks he liked to do, and he realised her lip gloss was smudged over her chin, her shirt definitely wasn’t her own and he didn’t actually think she had even bothered to put on underwear beneath the large band tee she’d clearly thrown on in the middle of passion.
Bugsy looked like she’d seen a ghost.
“Spencer!” She said, her voice choked up like she was exhausted, and he felt his stomach turn. He looked away from her, like he couldn’t stand to even look at her, “I thought you were with Maeve- yo-your date,”
“I had to cancel, it wasn’t safe,” He murmured, tugging the strap of the bag tighter around his shoulder.
He felt like a complete loser. More than he ever had being shoved into lockers, being dipped into toilet water, being led around by the librarian and her damn butterscotch.
Spencer felt like his chest was caving in, which he knew was fair on no one to admit, but it was true.
“Are you okay?” She asked immediately, scanning him over for wounds, “Are you hurt- Is Maeve okay?”
He opened his mouth to reply when he heard foot steps and a hand appeared around her waist, tugging her into a muscled body as the door opened wider.
“Who is it, babe?” A deep voice spoke, and Spencer felt his face go green when he saw the adonis of a man who stood behind her, his chest littered with smudged lip gloss and bruises resembling her own neck trailing down to his crotch.
Her face was on fire when Spencer looked back at her, something betrayed in the hazel of his eyes which he knew was entirely illicit to feel in the circumstances, but it was true.
“Fuck off, Renly,” She shoved him back behind the door, looking at Spencer like the friendship between them they were scrambling to salvage hung in the balance with whatever she said next. “You remember Renly, my lab partner at Johns,”
Spencer nodded, the image of her lips on his pubic bone wouldn’t leave his mind, and he wondered what came after that, “I remember him,”
She nodded back, and they went silent.
They’d found themselves back at that stalemate.
--
TAGLIST:
@release-your-sweets @smileykiddie08 @caramelised-onions. @the-tpd-bau @stephthepeach @sunflowersndpeaches @sammy-4103 @starmansirius @yeonalie @delusionallooney @hades-disappointment-child @sadbae-33 @mdanon027 @swag13r @frickin-bats @bilesxbilinskixlahey @mindfullycriminal @mrsbellastyles @nilopillo @imagines--galore @bluejaysaysstuff @imaginexred @flow33didontsmoke @spicyspirit @mywellspringoflife @lovelyygirl8 @pleasantwitchgarden @star-girl-interlud3 @rosylnsworld @jamieolivia27 @halcyonwithletters @waywardhunter95 @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist t @theoraekenslover @niktwazny303 @bliindmattmurdock @alyeskathewave @littlemadamred @yondiii @cultish-corner @lllucere @escapismurmom @stillhere197 @hiireadstuff @amortencjja @queermaxwooo @telengraph @ivyflowers13 @estrela-rogers @greenvita @busy-buzzing
#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fic#matthew grey gubler x reader
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do you write for chenle? if so could i request angry sex with chenle? and plotwise/anything else can be up to you, you always make such creative works 😍
desert island | zcl
boyfriend!chenle x fem!reader (18+ mdni)
summary: a stupid little game seems to be enough to make you speak with recklessness and throw reason out of the window in the heat of the moment. but since you were unwilling to be so easily placated, chenle was decided to talk some sense into you.
a/n: sorry for being so late, anon 😭! ofc i write for chenle, how could i not?! thank you for the kind words, i hope you like it!! 😚
cw: smut, use of 'whore' (only once), hair pulling, slighty spanking, begging, reader is DRAMATIC, chenle is kinda mean, petnames.
honestly, you can't think of a better partner than chenle. he's always so sweet, caring, and considerate, and you could talk for days about every single thing you love about him because you really love him a lot.
the same applies to chenle, who thinks you're so perfect for him. every time he wakes up and looks at you beside him in bed, he can't help but think how lucky he is to have someone like you by his side.
arguments in your relationship were rare, but not non-existent. like any kind of relationship between two people, disagreements occasionally arose.
you generally handle them with a mature conversation about the issue once the dust has settled, addressing the problem and coming to a mutually-agreed solution. however, sometimes, you both seem to be unable to agree on a resolution to the problem at hand. that was the case now.
it was a real stupid argument. you were released from work early and figured it would be a good idea to stop by the studio to see chenle and head home with him. as it turns out, it was a surprise when you showed up without prior warning, but he was happy to see you and it made your visit all the more meaningful.
during chenle's break time, the dreamies were engaged in a light and silly conversation about "who would you take to a deserted island." it was an innocent little game to pass the time and have some fun. when it was chenle's turn to answer, he surprised you by not choosing you, but one of his staff’s. this simple and seemingly harmless choice was the root of your trivial fight.
you didn't react immediately, simply laughed it off as if it was nothing but chenle could tell that something was off the moment you both got into the car. the car ride was unusually silent on your end, and chenle began to brace himself as he realized you were upset about something. he mentally prepared himself for whatever he felt was about to come as you walked through the front door.
"so..." he began in a gentle but careful tone, sensing there was an underlying issue you weren't being open about.
"nothing," you casually responded with a shrug, walking off and towards the bedroom. "it's nothing," you repeated again, but he wasn't fooled by your tone.
following close behind you, he asked another question, "is it me? did i do something to upset you?" he raised his eyebrows at you expectantly, wanting to get to the bottom of the problem.
"no" was all the response you gave him, short and sharp just like before. as you continued into the bedroom and began to tidy up the already clean room, he leaned casually against the doorframe and observed you closely. he didn't say a word because he knew he would just have to wait until the "you know what's funny?" and there it was, your signature phrase for when you're in a bad mood, spoken in a slightly annoyed tone. he knew this would be coming.
"no," he said calmly and crossed his arms, looking directly at you and watching you make some futile attempts to find anything out of place in the already immaculate room. "please, enlighten me," his gaze intent as he awaited the inevitable moment of venting that always ensued after that phrase.
"of course you wouldn't," you replied back, feigning innocent ignorance and even rolling your eyes as you dramatically shook your head and sighed. "i didn't expect you to have kept a list of all the female entertainers you would consider taking to a desert island. so why don't you enlighten me on your priorities?”
for a moment, chenle's eyebrows were raised in a mix of confusion and slight surprise as he heard your words, genuinely believing that you were joking or being sarcastic. then came his soft laugh, as he was almost incredulous that you kept up this attitude with your arms crossed and a serious expression. "baby," he spoke gently but firm as a warning, "you can't be serious right now. it was an innocent little game that you shouldn't take so seriously.”
"oh really?” your words laced with mockery. “an innocent little game? then it shouldn't bother you to explain to me why i wasn't even on your radar. it was a stupid game but your answers just proved to me that i'm an afterthought, even in your fantasies. at least in your fantasy of the women you'd be willing to take to a godforsaken place with no hope for escape. so am i so insignificant that i didn't even make the cut for you?”
chenle pauses for a second to process the situation and your words, running his hand through his hair in an almost unconscious gesture of self-soothing. if he didn't know you better, he would've thought you were crazy, but after that incident with the stupid "worm" question, he knows that you're just dramatic.
he approaches you, cupping your face in his warm hands as he gazes at you.
"baby, please," he pleads, the affection evident in his voice as he tries to reason with you. "look at me," he says softly, using his palms to gently guide your eyes to focus on him. once your eyes meet, the intensity of his gaze deepens as his expression softens and his voice grows more gentle. "this was just an innocent game and you're blowing it out of proportion. please don't be like this. i love you and you know it. there's no other woman that compares to the love i have for you, not in a thousand lifetimes would i ever take anyone else over you. you're mine and always will be.”
even though you could sense the sincerity and love behind his words, you maintained a guarded demeanor, refusing to give in to it until you were completely satisfied with his explanation.
you know, you had a sharp tongue and an even sharper intelligence than some could imagine when you chose to use it. unfortunately, this was a time where the first worked, but the second didn't.
“well, it seems that you just have to be on a desert island to fool around with someone else, right? you just want to enjoy some fun and pleasure while away from the world,” your tone became sarcastic as you continued challenging his words and reasoning. “so who are you going to enjoy it with?”
your thoughtless words brought you to this moment. one of chenle's hands was intertwined between the strands of your hair in a tight grip, pushing your head against the softness of the mattress, forcing you to stay with you ass up. your eyes slightly red, your face puffy and wet, both from sweat and crying.
“fucking. stubborn. whore,” he spit out, each of his words was accompanied by sharp thrusts that made your bones shake and you gasp, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. “can't listen to what i say for not even a damn minute,” he slapped your ass hard, making you whine and your eyes water again.
you lost track of time during this torment. it felt like torturous hours, where he kept teasing, edging you, not even letting you touch him, your ass was already marked by his hands, you felt the sting of each spank he gave, saying that brats like you don't deserve to feel good.
chenle knows you with the palm of his hands, he knows what you like, what makes you melt and he would definitely use it against you. his slow but powerful thrusts hit all the right spots that make you see stars behind your eyelids, his hand slipping between your legs to rub your clit in equally slow circles.
“…. ase…” your tiny, teary voice echoed through his ears. “oh?” he scoffs, pulling you by your hair until you were close enough for him to whisper in your ear. “i can't hear you, say it again,” his warm tongue sliding through your neck, sending you goosebumps.
“p-please…” you raised your tone slightly. “i'm so, so sorry, chenle,” the desperation and pleading in your voice is obvious, as is the remorse that you felt for your actions. “please, please, let me cum, please, just once, please,” the need seeping through every word, begging for relief and satisfaction.
a smug grin crept up his face when he heard your desperate tone. he loved how hopeless you sounded. he loosened his grip on your hair, pulling you into a kiss as he stopped his thrusts to savor the moment. his hand moved away from your clit to held your cheek as his tongue invaded your mouth, completely taking over the kiss.
your emotional state was so volatile right now that you honestly felt like crying. chenle knew that you loved kissing him, and by constantly pushing you away, he knew it was torturing you. your attempts at kissing him were met with a painful slap to your cunt, almost as punishment for trying to force yourself on him.
this simple yet deeply cherished kiss was enough to make you melt completely. you were yearning to feel this level of affection again after he kept pushing you away from him, it was all you were craving since he pushed you down onto the bed and shoved his cock inside your pussy.
as he pulled away from your lips, leaving you desperate for more, he let out a short, breath laugh at your reaction. he found it amusing how you chased after him to continue the kiss, but he was quick to remind you who was in control here by just pulling on your hair to keep you in place, making you whine pathetically.
"well," he purred against your ear, moving his hand caressingly over your body. he made lazy circles on your soft skin, lingering on your belly, you suddenly felt him be a lot more gentle. "since you asked so nicely, should i give you what you want, baby?" he raised an eyebrow teasingly as he waited for a response from you and all you could do was nod fiercely, letting small pleas of "yes, please" roll off your tongue as you awaited his move.
chenle hummed, feigning deep thought as he observed your face. He worked hard to maintain his composure and keep from showing his mischievous, devilish smile as he saw the light of hope that your expression lit up. "okay," he said finally, "i think you seemed remorseful enough,” his words were enough to bring a jolt of excitement to your system, you felt a rush of adrenaline course through your veins and every single muscle in your body tensed up, waiting intently for him to give you what you wanted.
with a light kiss on your lips, he turned you over and positioned you so you were laying on your back. hands that had recently been mistreating you were now caressing your body delicately, as if you were the most delicate thing ever made. his kisses traced your jawline before moving to your neck and breasts, making you think that the wait had been worth it. the punishment had ended here and he made you believe that the only thing you deserved now was his gentle touch and loving kisses.
he straightened his back, the movement causing his hands to move from your sides to the back of your thighs. in one swift motion, he lifted your legs and pressed your knees against your chest, and the sharp sob that escaped your lips was all the confirmation he needed that he has you right where he wanted you.
you felt his tip teasing your clit and your entrance, your pussy glistening from how wet you already were, his hard cock sliding inside you without any difficulty, your warm, gummy walls welcoming him as he filled any remaining space in your pussy.
“you feel so good, don't you?” his eyes fluttered shut in pleasure, and a low grunt slipped past his lips as he threw his head back slightly in a gesture of complete relaxation. he would never tire of this feeling that was almost overwhelming at this point. this applied to you as well, your hands gripping the sheets tightly as you moaned softly, feeling just how deep inside of you he was.
“you feel so damn good,” he whispered in a low, husky tone as he begins to thrust into you relentlessly, his tip kissing your cervix every time his hips slammed back into you, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at the feeling.
he increased the pace, leaning closer towards you. the full weight of his body was now pressing onto you, keeping you down and pinned to the bed but there's no resistance from you as you are simply overwhelmed by his size and intensity.
he had been playing with you for such a long time that it didn't take very much effort at all to push you over the edge. your moaning and whimpering got louder, your body tense and your breathing more shallow. your voice was coming out in a pitch that was nearly unrecognizable, with a few "thank you's" and some other incoherent words escaping your lips, your pussy clenching around him—he recognized this as the ultimate sign that you were approaching your orgasm.
“are you close, baby?” he asked even though he already knew the answer. “y-ye—” you were interrupted again by another hard thrust that made you let out a soft yelp. he grunted as he felt your muscles clenching around him once more, gripping him tightly. “c-chenle,” you mewled his name, “i-i’m gonna c-cu—”
before you could finish your sentence, he was quick to pull out of you, releasing the grip on your legs, making you let out a soft whine in disbelief when he pulled out without letting you finish, and all you could do was lie there as a deep emptiness washed over your body, your walls now clenching around nothing. you look at him with wide, teary eyes and trembling lips.
chenle’s grin widens when he watched your expression, a look of disappointment on your face as you realized you didn't get to cum as he made you think. he was satisfied in the knowledge that he had denied you the satisfaction you wanted and was pleased with how desperate and frustrated you were looking at him.
"aww, is my baby about cry? " he mocked you, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he reached out to wipe away the tear-filled eyes that now betrayed you. his hand lightly traced the curve of your face, moving slowly and tauntingly, as if he was enjoying your helpless reaction far too much. “that’s what you get for acting like a spoiled little brat,” his voice filled with condescension as watched how your emotional state seemed to sink lower and lower as a result of his words.
"you thought i would just let you have it your way?” he scoffed and shook his head at your naivety. "i thought you would know better by now, baby," his voice taking on a false empathetic edge as he leaned in closer. his voice became softer, his lips pressing lovingly against yours for a quick peek. "aww, no, no, don't cry," he echoed the soothing words with another kiss, teasingly brushing away the tears with his finger. "if you beg good enough, i might give you what you want."
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Can you help me to understand the tether between Alina and Aleksander? I've seen people say that it was formed when he collared her but if that's true then why not use it when she's on the run from him? I always thought that's why he got his nichevo'ya to wound her and why he thanked her, because it allowed that connection to form. Am I wrong here?
Okay, well, I'm still re-reading, but...
They're written as two halves of the same whole. They're supposed to be complimentary opposites, that's why Aleksander's waiting for the Sun Summoner instead of settling for just any immortal, why he believes they're meant to be even after encountering other immortals' different worldviews and Alina's refusal to accept her own greatness. She won't only live long, they're bound by the Making, so she's predisposed to ~understand~ (And there are moments, when she does. Only her upbringing, issues and moral police companions prevent her from embracing what's between them.).
The first clear sign of their interconnection's showed during Winter Fete, although from the wording, I've missed at least two earlier ones:
The moment his lips met mine, the connection between us opened and I felt his power flood through me. I could feel how much he wanted me—but behind that desire, I could feel something else, something that felt like anger.
I drew back, startled. “You don’t want to be doing this.”
“This is the only thing I want to be doing,” he growled, and I could hear the bitterness and desire all tangled up in his voice.
“And you hate that,” I said with a sudden flash of comprehension.
He sighed and leaned against me, brushing my hair back from my neck. “Maybe I do,” he murmured, his lips grazing my ear, my throat, my collarbone.
Shadow and Bone- Chapter 14
"... the connection between us ..." suggests it's something Alina figured out exists before this time, so she didn't experience it only once.
Then there's the Collar that gives Aleksander access to Alina's powers, although it's not exactly clear how it works.
I had spared the stag’s life. The power of that life belonged to me as surely as it belonged to the man who had taken it.
...
The Darkling looked momentarily confused. He narrowed his eyes, and I felt his will descend on me again, felt that invisible hand grasping. I shrugged it off. It was nothing. He was nothing.
Shadow and Bone- Chapter 19
Like: Sorry honey, either the power belongs to you both, or you have the upper hand.
I would kill for Aleksander's LOGICAL explanation.
The nichevo'ya bite deepened the Bond, that's why Sasha did it. My guess is it might be something about merzost affecting the Making, therefore the connection formed by it, AND the tiny little detail the creatures might be created with use of said force, but from his own being. He's basically running around donating his body fluids essence to his closest "enemies"... *wink wink*
We don't know more than what he tells Alina, so perhaps he could feel her presence before that. Perhaps Alina's youth and inexperience played bigger part in her use of their connection, than we think. Perhaps her many issues did. (I hate repeating this phrase, but THE WASTED POTENTIAL!) Why tell your stubbornly uncooperating soulmate you have an in-build compass to help you track them, if they left a trail of more profane kind?
#reply#Grishaverse#Darklina#The Tether#The Darkling#Alina Starkov#grishanalyticritical#S&B Chapter 14#S&B Chapter 19#books#quotes#Leigh Bardugo#He's a bit of a spiritual whore.#You've crossed me?#I'll punish you with black goo from my own soul!
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Everybody likes to make fun of Luffy's perception of what a pirate is bc sometimes it just sounds like "cool guy with a dream, no bad mean stuff" but something that strikes me as more nuanced and honestly cooler about it is that Luffy believes being a true pirate involves ambition and risk, and that there's an honor to that. He hates oppressors, because the essence of piracy is about freedom to him, but he also hates men who trade a life of adventure on the sea for a bureaucratic position of easy power and money. It's shown very early on with how he has zero respect for Captain Kuro. Not only does that man treat his crew as pawns rather than teammates, but he's also turned to deceit and unfair methods to give himself a cushy life without having to really fight for it. Luffy sees him as a coward for faking his death to lay low on top of being manipulative and cruel.
It's shown again with Wetton when Luffy learns he used to be a pirate but settled in as the mayor of the town he took over, extracting all his riches from the townspeople in the form of constant nonsensical taxes. This is the antithesis to the kind of person Luffy respects. In his mind, a pirate fights for what they want fair and square, and never just sits back to drain it all out of regular people who can't defend themselves.
Anyway, yeah. Luffy's ideal pirate isn't just "hero" relabelled; it's somebody who's willing to pay for their dreams in blood sweat and tears rather than money, and doesn't need to own anyone else to do the work for them.
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My gifts to you
feitan portor x reader
Summary: You knew him for years for only moments at a time. Yet, you take it upon yourself to love and mourn him anyway, even when the world won't.
tw: light smut, slight yandere feitan, spoilers, mentions of murder, light angst, fluff(?), injuries, cheating, time skips
an: didn't mean for it to be this long. Feitan is a bit tricky for me but oh well :) kind of inspired by criminal minds 'no way out'. 10.8k
“If you tie it like this, it should stay, okay?” You tap the boy’s foot. Although he is smaller than you in height, his feet are bigger. It’s quite comical but you don’t dare laugh. In this blasted city, you’d be bound to die for such a thing. Especially if you laugh at someone with crazy hair and carries a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire.
He says something in a foreign language that you can’t understand. If you are correct, it may be inverted Japanese. In the books that one kid collects, there is a country, Japan, where the common language originates. Since the common language isn’t his mother tongue, it makes you wonder where he’s from and why he’s here.
The boy stands up to his full, but short, height. You sit on random rubble and look up at him, waiting for what he’ll do next. Will he call over Phinks or even bring Uvogin? He hangs out with Phinks mainly but who knows these days.
Instead of swinging the bat at you or calling over his friends, he pats your head awkwardly. You don’t make any sudden movements or noises. The boy leaves right after. A sigh escapes your lips after he leaves you behind.
What's his name again? Feitain?
__________
In your hut, you slightly stir the food that sizzles in the pan you found. It’s rare to come across tomatoes and eggs but you managed this time. The smell is mouth watering. You hope no one else can smell it.
As much as you want to live elsewhere, this is what you settle for at the moment. In another world, you’d be out of this city and somewhere clean and safe. Like the church or something. No, even better than the church. You’ve heard of the outside where there are bright flashing lights and diamonds and pearls on people’s necks. There are flowers of all colors out there. Different shapes, smells, and meanings, they’re all beautiful. You hear that food isn’t scavenged but bought or given to people without a price.
People said they’ve seen the safety of children your age that play without a care. There are parents for the lost kids and doctors for the injured. Clean clothes and showers on the regular. You can even see the sun clearly and the big, round moon that doesn't bring out the wolves in men.
There are pastors and priests that don’t turn people away, either. Hell, you have even wondered if there were schools there that allow everyone to get in. You're sure that you are reading and doing math wrong. How embarrassing.
Finally done, you place the food on a plastic plate you found. You made sure to wipe the grime off the plate and rinsed it with clean water before using it. Even though you can just eat out of the pan, you want to seem sophisticated like the outside. They don't eat out of pans or use dirty plates.
The food steams and is welcoming. Without a lot of utensils, you pick at it with your hands. It burns at first but you’re too hungry. The flavor bursts in your mouth. Even without the proper seasonings, it’s still heaven. You haven’t eaten in a while so you’ll take what you can get.
Suddenly, the boy, Feitan, enters your hut. You gasp and protectively cover your food. He brings his foot out. His shoe, which he stole, is untied again. You swallow the substance and point out, “I taught you how to tie them.”
“Tie.”
“I taught you.” You set your plate down.
“Tie.” You roll your eyes and pat your thighs. He walks over to you and places his dirt caked shoe on your lap. Slowly, you tie them.
“There, see? Come on now, you need to learn. A little boy can’t grow without tying his shoes.”
“I’m not little boy.” You give a breathy chuckle. “Of course you are, honey.”
He leans in close to your face. “I’m older than you.”
...He does hang out with Phinks, who is a couple years older than you. In fact, it is rare to see them apart. Is it possible that it’s true? Is Phinks the type to be friends with someone who is younger?
Curious, you ask, “Then why are you so short?” His eyes widened in shock. Then, strangely, he laughs while patting your head harshly. Studying his face revealed what looks like the beginning of a sinister smile.
He looks at your plate and sits down in front of you. You’re both on the dirt floor.
“Give me.” You scoff and snap at him. “No! Find your own!”
The little beast decided that the two of you should ‘share’. He smacks on his food, making you want to punch him repeatedly. He’s gaunt and bony, but not really bad like last time. His face has a tiny bit of roundness to it.
“Stop staring.” He inhales a tomato. “You look better than last time.”
“Better?” He cocks his head to the side. The remnants of the tomato smeared a little on his cheek.
“Yeah, healthier.” He stares at you for a second. “Thanks.” His accent is thick, and you still can’t place it. Nevertheless, you understand. Afterwards, much to your surprise, he sleeps in your hut now that his belly is full. Satisfied and strangely not afraid, you follow suit. It’s nice to have a friend, however strange.
You are barely awake, sleep still heavy in your eyes, when you see him pop up. Drool is crusted on his cheek, and he rubs his eyes. He yawns and then spots you next to him. Feitan eyes the entry of the hut then back at you. He puts the only cover you have on you then pets your head.
Before he leaves, he places his bat in your hand. Feitan secures the entry as he exits the hut.
_____________
It’s been years since you and Feitan have talked. You've gotten familiar with him but when Sarasa had died in such a disrespectful and gruesome way, he withdrew. In the meantime, you waited for him and studied a power you discovered. No matter the eyes that were always on you, you didn’t care about the mysterious and hidden audience.
You don’t know what it’s called but it started when you witnessed some kid about to get her ass handed to her by some thugs. The man had moved a pair of scissors without using his hands. They aimed right towards her and in a moment of instinct, you rushed to push her out of the way. Unfortunately, the scissors stabbed you in the shoulder.
It was then did you feel the rush of a force so strong, that it knocked everyone away from you. A faint white light that glowed from your skin that only your eyes could see. As you looked around in shock, you saw that same glow coming from that man and his friends.
You were gasping when you fell to your knees. “I-I’m sorry. I can’t be here!” The girl your age ran for her life and left you behind. In a moment of fear, you call out to her to help you. You were so afraid; you couldn't tell if the screams were hers or yours. Given the situation, you were too rattled, terrified and hurt, to focus.
The men shook for a second then got up to face you. The blood from your shoulder wasn’t stopping its flow. Crimson red stained your clothes and the ground. It was all so strange, such an unusual feeling of adrenaline that you couldn’t help but memorize. Almost as if the world had finally made sense. Every single thing became so much clearer to your dismay.
The men came towards you with malicious intent. While putting pressure on your injury, you managed to kick one of their legs, causing them to buckle and hurt his knee. He screamed in agony.
“G-get away!” You try to stand. The press of your hand on the wound isn’t helping. Is it supposed to bleed this much? It hit your shoulder, but did it nick something?
You need to stop it, to heal and get away from them. In this city, people like you are in danger from men like them. If you don’t get away, you’ll end up like Sarasa. She was never really close to you. She was a nice girl who always looked for video tapes, so you'd help her from time to time. Yet, her death scarred everyone since it was so close to home. And now, you no doubt are facing the exact same situation. Wrong place, wrong time.
Same fate.
You fell back on the ground and looked at the sky. It has always been so dirty, just like the city due to pollution. Still so young, you know you won’t see what it really looks like. In the corner of your eye, you spot something green. A small clover with four leaves.
One time, an old man told a story of how four-leaf clovers are a sign of good luck. By the intense feeling and pressure of your eyes, you know it’s not true. Pain in all ways makes tears fall from your eyes. Lips wobbling at how unfair everything is and that you will never see the sun. The outside must really be heaven, and for someone so young who hasn’t committed a sin, you are wondering if you can go.
Suddenly, flowers that you never knew blossomed around you. The soft petals touched your filthy skin and got rid of the aches. The blood on your shoulder faded from view as well as the pain. A soft and beautiful hum whispered in your ear. You truly believed it to be in your head, an imagination of paradise as you leave. Heaven, they call it. You must be close to the outside world then.
This must be it, you thought. There was no pain from a strike or fear. Just closed eyes and peace. Something you know you couldn’t get in the atrocious city.
It ends. You were shocked as the beautiful flowers disappeared. Heaven, would you reject someone?
The men didn’t hurt you. The one whose knee was broken was able to move his leg. His red hair kind of glowed in the sun, and brown eyes were wide. He muttered a soft ‘thank you’ and walked away without a limp. His friends followed.
After that, you had realized that your ability wasn’t anything like scissors or something scary. It was to heal and be healed.
Although after immediately learning this, you didn't go out of your way to find the source of the screams in the direction the people went. First was the girl, then the group of men. After what you went through, it didn't seem like a good idea.
Feitan, somehow, got wind of it. Now in his later teen years you both estimate, he sits still and points to his arm. There’s a gnarly gash oozing blood. You wonder how he’s not feeling this and if he is, how he isn’t even fazed.
You gently pick up his arm and inspect it. He's thin but has clear definition in his arms. You haven’t seen him in so long that you are surprised by his growth. Hell, he’s taller now. Still short, but at least he grew.
In a jar, you take a premade petal. This is a way for you to save energy and reach people when you physically can’t tend to. Acting as a pill, you make sure that people can get infections out. For some reason, illnesses and infections are particularly tricky and tiring for you.
“Eat this, Feitan.” He frowns. “No.” You sigh. “It’s infected. You need to eat this so I can heal it right.”
“It’s not.”
Rolling your eyes you bring his wound to his face. “This, this is infected. It's literally oozing pus.” How long did this go on? Was he really that hesitant to just come and see you?
He growls and takes the delicate petal and places it in his mouth. “Stop pouting.”
“Not pouting. It’s nasty.” He’s not wrong. It has a bitter taste and when chewed, a slimy texture. The color of the disintegrating petal leaves a stain in the mouth as well. If not for the benefits, no one would even bother. They'd be just as offended as Feitan.
The pus stops and clears up. “Alright, this’ll leave a scar.”
You blow on your hand so that flowing blossoms surround him. Beautiful shades of pink and white go through his hair. With a gentle caress, you see the flurries touch his wound. It starts to encourage his own healing.
As much as you want to do the full thing, you’re tired. All day you’ve been working and collecting payments. Not to mention facing the disappointment of them being useless. You want to kick yourself for not getting paid first. But the sight of those grateful people and healed kids softens your heart.
Soon, it stops once the injury becomes manageable. You’re about to wrap it when a hand stops you. “What’s this?”
“Feitan, I'm tired. You caught me at a bad time.” You try to move your hand but he stops you. He's a lot stronger than you remember. “Heal.”
His fluency isn’t the greatest still.
“I’m tired! Just let it heal the rest of the way.” No matter how much you try to yank your hand away, his grip is too strong. “Please, Feitan...”
Surprisingly, he lets go and from what you can see, the subtle white glow appears and heals him the rest of the way, leaving small flames. “Feitan...what was that?”
He rolls his eyes and plops down on a chair. He says nothing and just relaxes, or at least that’s what he’s trying to make it seem like. It has been a while since you’ve seen him, but that doesn’t make you blind to his behaviors…sometimes.
“As a transmuter, I can heal a little by using enhancer,” He looks at you suspiciously. “You know nothing about nen?”
“Nen?” You put the gauze and other items in a black bag. It was found in the safe zone by the church. Apparently, it belonged to a doctor from the outside. The bag had all kinds of necessities. Gauze, medicine, some syringes, disinfectant, a thermometer, all kinds of stuff that you’ve had to use sparingly. What you save in the bag, you make up for with your ability.
He smacks his lips and calls you a ‘dumb brat’. “You use nen but don’t know it?”
Sighing, you ask, “What is nen, Feitan?”
“What you do. Use your aura and stuff.” His arms are crossed, and he looks at you expectantly. You gather that he likes knowing things you don’t. It’s like a weak power trip.
But it is nice to finally have a name and explanation for it. And that’s what he did this time. Visiting you for a moment just to pick with you while teaching you something you should have known.
“Wait, if you could do that, why’d you come here?” He just shrugs.
------
When you see him again, he brings his friends along. You immediately recognize some of them. Phinks, who ran with Feitan, the boy who always collected books, and Uvogin, the giant who was always claiming territory and beating people up.
Feitan should be twenty now. It’s hard to tell since he looks youthful. He points to his friend, the boy with the books, and orders, “Heal.”
“You can do it, Feitan, remember?” You were in the middle of cleaning when he and the rest of his posse pop up. They look flustered and a little worse for wear.
“Heal.” He always does crap like this. You roll your eyes at first. The body they carry tugs on your strings a bit.
“Fine. Put him on the table.” Thankfully, it’s cleaned, and a new wrapping has been placed on it. Gently, the man is put on it. You spot the cross tattoo on his forehead. Ah, that’s where Feitan has been. Lately, there’s been whispers of the Phantom Troupe. Merciless killers and thieves from Meteor City that have been gaining respect over the years. Your opinion of them isn’t the greatest but it also isn’t the worst. You appreciate them for standing up for Meteor City, but their methods are questionable.
You sigh and begin to undress the boy with the cross. “Is that necessary?”
You continue to pull off his clothes, not bothering to answer the question the girl asked. If she can’t understand why you need to remove his clothes, then that’s on her. She scoffs after another female voice answers her question.
You finally see his wound. Feitan can heal himself to a degree, but you don’t think this guy can. The gash is deep and sewed with makeshift stitches. There’s no nen involved, surprisingly. Given that Feitan is an avid user, you thought his friends would be keen on it too.
“He’s a specialist. Enhancer techniques are harder for him.” Phinks spoke. He must've understood your confusion.
“And the stitches?” You gently investigate the area. It’s an angry red around it and, like you suspected, infected. It wasn’t properly taken care of. You begin to remove the stitches. You wonder what the thread is made of and how long this has been going on.
“He,” Phinks points to Uvogin. “And him,” He then points to another large man with long ears. “Thought they could do it. Normally, Machi heals us but they were away from her. Her stitches would have helped him but not any infections.”
“Ah, well this requires more than I thought.” You touch the ground and out comes a beautiful swirl of flowers. Underneath the moving petals is a blooming sunflower. It picks the guy up so he rests on it. The bed of the flower glows softly and becomes warm. His once wincing face is now peaceful. His injury is slowly closing and the red is beginning to turn pink.
“The downside of this is that it takes a while. It’ll be all healed up in about an hour or so.”
“ An hour?” Uvogin, who has abandoned his afro and traded it for long standing hair. “Feitan, I thought you said she was good? We could’ve gone to that one guy and got it done right then and there.”
“She’s the best. Wait.” His hands are in his pockets and he moves. Feitan looks around and touches whatever he pleases. You try not to focus on his compliment. You wonder if the reason he moved from your line of sight is because he got embarrassed. If so, you won’t tease him. The Troupe are killers, afterall.
You start to feel the weight of your nen. This technique requires more effort than the others. Feitan explained it to you but you never did get the hang of it. You just know what to do instinctively. You were proud that you could do any of this without a teacher.
What you’re sure of is that this man, whatever his name is, is giving you a crap ton of money after this or there’ll be hell to pay.
You feel something tickling the side of your face. The wrapper is red and unopened. You take the energy bard gratefully. “Thank you, Feitan.”
A couple of the Troupe members complain about the time. Machi or Mochi or whatever, the pink haired one, especially complains and criticizes for some reason. You have never seen this person before in your life yet here she is pouting.
“You okay?” You see the blond boy with big blue eyes study you closely. He moves closer to your face. A smile never leaves his face. Before you can answer, Feitan, who hasn’t left your side since you ate the bar, answers for you.
“She’s fine. I’m watching her.”
You hear a couple of snickers. Feitan glares daggers at the offenders. You take a deep breath and ignore the friends who decided to crowd inside your hut. The boy with the forehead tattoo lies peacefully. Although you are running out of steam, his wound is healing nicely. One of the women, you believe it’s Pakunoda, comes to you and bends down.
“Can I get you anything?” You discover that your throat is absolutely parched. “Some water, please.”
If you remember correctly, the last you saw of her was when her head was shaved and some outsider kid did it. She had always kept it short. And now, it’s on her shoulders and very sleek. Over the years she’s drastically changed.
You drink the water, which to your surprise, is clean. “Hey, how did this happen anyway?”
“Don’t ask questions.” Feitan quickly shuts you down. Before you can ask anything more, you notice the entire group of friends are quiet.
“It’s nothing for you to worry about, okay?” You nod at the blonde boy with blue eyes and a permanent smile. Completing the hour, the tattoo guy is up. He’s immediately impressed. “My name’s Chrollo Lucilfer. Yours?” He puts out his hand for you to shake.
“Yeah, the book collector-theater nerd-kid, right? My name’s-” Before you can even answer, Feitan does it for you.
He gives your name and how your Nen works. He’s quick with it, too. You side eye Feitan for a second. “Thanks, Feitan. I, uh, really needed a spokesperson.”
“Ah, I guess it can’t be helped then, Feitan?” There’s tension in the air. It’s thick and heavy. By the looks of it, neither one is backing down. “Um, it’s not a big deal that he answered for me, you do know that, right?”
Seconds pass through this. You look around for anyone to intervene with this. Whatever the hell is going on, it’s deep. “Since Fei explained it, why not have her join?”
“Positions are filled.” Chrollo still stares directly into Feitan’s eyes. Phinks nervously chuckles, once again trying to defuse the situation. “Fei, come on. No fighting. Right boss?”
Suddenly, it’s lifted. Chrollo has what looks like a practiced smile on his face. “That’s true. That’s a rule.”
Chrollo takes a glance at you. “She obviously means a lot to you. Clearly, she’s an asset, too.”
“I’m right here, jackass.” Feitan smacks you on the head. “I’ll handle her.”
The others sigh in relief. Momentarily, you’re a little offended. “It was nice meeting you.”
They exit your hut right after, leaving Feitan behind. “So. those were your friends, huh?”
“Watch tongue.” You smack your lips and roll your eyes. There is blood on the floor and on the table. The furniture is in disarray due to all of his friends having no home training. “I haven’t seen you in forever and this is how you greet me?”
He frowns. “I say hello all the time.” You turn to him. “When? I didn’t see you.”
Feitan huffs and kicks the ground lightly. You get up to move the furniture back to place. Your movements are slow and everything seems so much heavier. Everything is swirling right before your eyes. Your head hurts and yet feels so light. Before you meet the ground, Feitan takes you to the couch and lays you down.
“I haven’t seen you in so long, little boy…” Those were the last words you say before you drift to sleep.
Hours later, you wake up at the sound of birds. There is a beautiful blue blanket on you with golden yellow designs. It’s thick and so warm you could stay forever. You’ve never owned anything like this.
Slowly you get up and search for Feitan. He’s nowhere to be found much to your dismay. Last night’s conversation still stays with you. He insisted that he says hello all the time. That he sees you regularly, yet, you haven’t seen him at all.
The blanket, the wind chime, the medical supplies, the various decorations with stones, paint and if you weren’t smart, you’d say gold. Could Feitan have been the one to give you gifts? Silently watching over you and in his own way, saying hello? You have felt like you were being watched for years.
____________
“Do you understand why I didn’t welcome you?”
“No, and I never will. Now please, leave me alone.” You feel convicted by turning a man of God away, but can he truly be one when he left a child to suffer? You were in the cold, wind, and rain, alone in one of the worst parts of the city. All you had was Feitan, and he was there once in a blue moon. After the rejection from the church, you took it upon yourself to care for others as no one had ever cared for you. Although hurt and afraid, you chose not to spread that toxicity. You decided that no matter the size of change, it still works.
However, you will not fall prey to the same people. For instance, that girl you saved and this priest. How can he expect your services with no repentance or atonement? You forgive, but like hell will you forget.
Damn…you were so sure you were over the pain of your past. That the change you made within yourself and how you treat people so no one else suffers like you, would stick. Alas, all it takes is one person to bring it down. You want to kick yourself because of the regression. Then again, the hostility isn’t your fault.
You walk into the hallway with small statues, stone walls, and large windows. The sun shines brightly through them, making the church seem prettier than it is.
“Please-”
“She said no.” Feitan stands with his hands in his pockets, the sun shining on his pale skin. It has been a few months since the incident with Chrollo. You haven’t seen any of them but have felt eyes on you, which you have deduced was Feitan. However, you learned the truth of the blanket. The name stitched on it belonged to an old clan, the Kurta, that was mutilated, tortured, and murdered by the Phantom Troupe. It disgusts you. The blanket is comfortable but still.
Feitan, the boy who you taught to tie his shoes, gave you a trophy of his crime. You wanted to burn it, or bury it in the memory of the Kurta, yet you couldn’t. It’s a gift from the one consistent person in your life. Your protector and giver. So, you folded it and put it in a box.
Now, here he is like he’s done nothing wrong. Defending you and putting the man that’s been with the city for ages in his place. You’re shocked at his behavior.
“Feitan, surely you must understand!”
“Shut up.” Father Rizole took a step back in surprise. Feitan was one of his regulars, if you remember correctly. This must be a surprise for the aging priest.
You hum at the scene. Even though the rumors of what the Troupe has done bothers you, it doesn’t mean you aren’t opposed to the benefits. The priest backs up and sighs.
“If you ever reconsider, please, let me know. We could use your help.”
“I could’ve used it too.” You end the conversation there and leave. Feitan soon follows you. He’s silent on his feet and very fast. Feitan was behind you but his quick feet caught up in less than a second. Now, he walks right at your side.
“So, you just decide when you want to see me?”
Feitan shrugs. “I don’t know.”
Sighing, you turn to him and ask, “What do you need this time?” The lower half of his face is hiding under a plain cowl now. His eyes show all of the emotion needed. “I just hang out.”
The sun is too hot for this nonsense. Sweat trickles down your face and back, becoming sticky. “So that’s why you’re here, right? I’m shocked.”
Before he can say your name, you continue. “Oh! And let's not forget the little massacre that took place, huh? Yeah, being used to heal your friend from that was really fun.”
“I didn’t.”
You roll your eyes. “No, just that one guy. That’s who to you, again?”
“Boss.” You scoff at his short answer. Then, you think about the possibility. “Your boss? Then…doing that to the Kurta, wasn’t your idea, was it?”
“No, not mine.” His hands remain in his pockets. His hair blows in the wind slightly. You realize he hasn’t gotten a haircut in a while.
“If you could, you know, go back in time…would you still do it?”
“Yes.” No hesitation, no thought put into the answer. Just a plain as day answer and a tone that leaves no room for an explanation.
“So whatever he wants he just gets? As long as it aligns with your twisted mind, right?”
His eyes grow darker. “I save you.”
You point to the church. “No, no you didn’t. That guy wasn’t going to do anything to me. I had it handled.”
Shaking your head, you go to leave until a hand wraps around your wrist. “Boss takes nen. I didn’t let him.”
Was that what that was? That tension that day that was suffocating? Remembering that day, you start to form pieces. “Would he hurt you if you didn’t go along with his schemes?”
“No.”
Well there goes that idea. “Nevermind.”
You try to yank your wrist from his grip, but it’s iron tight. “Let me go!”
“I protect you, always. Bad people here, everywhere. I get dirty for you.” His face is indifferent but his words give it away. The plea for you to understand and realize, dare you say, his devotion to his friends. Does this include you?
Is that what it is? What friendship, this connection is? You are aware of the deeds the Troupe do. You understand why they thought it would be a good idea (somewhat anyway).
“Thank you, then.” He lets go of your wrist which was grabbed painfully tight. He trades that in for holding your hand instead. You are shocked at first, but if you make it a big deal, he’ll stop. You don’t want him to right now.
Not when you feel safe. You still want to kick yourself… and maybe throw in a punch.
_____
Apparently, the Troupe have gone their separate ways for now. They don’t cling onto each other for a long period of time after a job. It’s better that way since it has a lesser chance of them getting caught. They still hang out from time to time, though.
For you, you managed to get out of Meteor City after the argument with the priest. Feitan had gone to do another heist with Phinks, if you remember right. You took that moment to skip town. You never wanted to stay in the trash, anyway.
And you were right to! Everything you thought of as a child about the world outside was true! Sure, people can be rude and things can be corrupt, but you’re fed and resting. There are bright lights and kind people. It can be clean and the soap smells so good. Just the other day you got to experience a nail salon. Rather than stealing from you, the lady next to you, Jade, talked about her family. Her daughter is Ruby and her wife is Scarlet. Jade and Scarlet want another child. You offered the name Emerald.
In Meteor City, you would’ve had to fight. Now, you are making friends and offering beautiful names. It’s a stark contrast that is fully welcomed.
The sun is bright and the moon is sometimes round. It doesn’t always attract evil and can sometimes sing such a beautiful melody. There are pearls and diamonds. There are seasonings that make the food taste unbelievably good. It’s all expensive, but infinitely better than Meteor.
And Nen is a secret here. In the city, many knew about it and used it without discretion. Here it’s different. Like a secret identity for a hero. Your nen in particular isn’t used as much as it was before. Your ability was so tiring. Pretty and incredibly useful, but exhausting nonetheless.
It has been a few years since you saw him, but he’s seen you. He found you quickly, too. When you came home from your office job (which you are still ecstatic about, by the way) you noticed a new painting in your house. It was dull and in black and white. The painting is of a few plants that take the center stage. Actually, they’re your nen plants. In the background is what looks like your old city. Piles of rubbish and polluted air in black swirls. There are clouds above and a dark sun barely poking out.
It’s sad. Beautiful, but sad. You have wondered what he meant by it. You open the door to your apartment. It’s not much and one day you want to get a house.
The keys make a jingle when you set them on the countertop. The apartment is still dark, so you scramble to flip the switch. “Why you leave?”
You scream at the top of your lungs. Standing there nonchalantly is Feitan, who you haven’t had contact with in a hot minute. His hair is even longer than before. He wears a new cowl that has a skull on it over his face. His trench coat looks a little too big for him but he wears it well anyway.
“Uh, because I live here? What are you doing here?” You set your bag down and take off your short heels. Although he’s a murderer, you still feel safe with him.
He takes slow strides towards you. “ Why? I looked for you and you weren’t there.”
“You knew where I was. I got your presents,” You point to the painting. He hides his face a little in the fabric. “I like it by the way. Did you do it?”
“Shut up.” You sigh and walk into your kitchen. “I’ll make you something to eat.”
You begin to wash the rice. Your eyes switch from looking down to taking obvious glances at him. Right about now, he should be in his mid twenties. It’s amazing how long you’ve known each other. You remember him as that kid who didn’t know how to tie his shoes and him teaching you about Nen. Time flies so fast when you least expect it.
You crack the eggs and whisk them. The sound of the utensil against the bowl and the sizzle of the tomatoes in the pan is all that is heard. Feitan doesn’t make one sound. He opts to stare at you working and even has a glint in his eye which you think could be satisfaction.
“Do you still like this, by the way? I remember you snatching it.” You try not to smile at the memory.
“I do.” He hovers in your kitchen, just waiting, watching you do all of the work. Stingy bastard. After adding the seasonings, you could have never gotten in Meteor City, you fix him a plate. He happily accepts it and sits down on the floor.
“I have a tab-” Oh, the memory. Allowing yourself to smile, you sit with him and eat off of his plate. “We’re sharing. ”
He gives a slight growl but doesn’t do anything. “So, what brings you by?”
“I say hello.” You hum with a mouth full of food. “Well, hello to you too, little boy.”
He gives you a light kick. The two of you finish the plate. Both full, you just lay back and talk.
“How long are you staying?”
“Not long.” You’ll miss him. “Running from the cops again?”
“Need to hide out for a bit.” You nod, accepting his answer and that your connection will probably always be sweet moments. “It’s nice to have you here, even only for a moment.”
Feitan taps you again with his foot. “I’m always here. I say hello all the time.” You know and are fully aware of what he means. His odd little gifts decorate your house. To bones, to rugs, even a china set he stole. It’s routine for him to give you something, even when you don’t see him.
“Even though you run.” He kicks you again. The more you watch him, the more your chest tightens. He’s the only consistent thing in your life. Everything is fleeting. Your job is new as well as your relationship with your coworkers. But there is a line with them. Feitan is different.
“How long are we going to do this dance?”
“I don’t dance.” You roll your eyes and laugh. “I mean you coming by once in a blue moon.”
He shrugs. “I don’t know.” You nod. “Figures.”
He frowns. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, that this whole thing is tiring. You come and go like some kind of feral cat.”
“So?”
You sputter, “ So I don’t appreciate it.” He takes off his long coat and reveals his chest, next goes his shoes. “I sleep here.”
“You can’t use me!” He gets up and goes in the direction of your room. “Feitan!” You pick up his clothes and set them aside. “Do you hear me? I wasn’t done talking!”
On your bed is a sprawled out Feitan. He looks at you with squinted eyes. “Shut up, I’m trying to sleep.”
Like always, he makes himself at home. You sigh, giving up on trying to talk to him. “Move over.”
He scoffs and reluctantly moves out of your way. You feel him tense up as you lay down. “This is my bed. I can sleep here.”
You face each other as you lay down. Neither of you say anything about how close you are. This is probably the closest you’ve ever been since you helped him tie his shoes the second time. You feel his eyes on you, making you nervous. “Stop staring at me.”
“Never sleep with someone in a while.” You know. The last time was with you, no doubt. At the time, you didn't think about it, if you remember correctly. It's hard to tell since it's been so long.
“The couch is that way.” He smacks his lips. “No, you go.” You open your eyes.
“Like I said, this is my bed.” Feitan doesn’t say anything about your ownership. Instead, he’s honest with you. “I’m tired.”
Instantly, you start to feel a little bad. In the city, no child was ever able to fully sleep. It was too dangerous, especially in the more dangerous districts. Him being honest about his state, you take it as a step.
“If you want to, I’ll be on the lookout.” His hands are next to yours. You grab them, just like he did those few years ago. “You can sleep now, Feitan.”
You don’t know when, don’t know how either, but you two do end up sleeping. His eyes are closed and his breath even. Your eyes flutter open and see that he’s got slight dark under eyes and his mouth leaking drool. Feitan looks peaceful, sleepy, like he hasn’t done this in a while.
The next morning, he’s gone with no evidence he was even there.
_________________
You watch on the tv screen above the bank about the attack on York New, a city not too far from you. The attack happened a few days ago but it’s still in the headlines. You don’t blame them, to be honest. It was an insane event that over two thousand people died!
You cling onto your boyfriend’s arm. He touches your hand reassuringly. His watch gleams in the moonlight and his suit is perfectly pressed. He's the entire package, he’s perfect. A good job, good manners, an honest man, and treats you well, too. He always holds the chair out for you and gets up when you leave the room. Just like a true gentleman.
When you first met, it was a classic coffee shop romance. Then it blossomed into a romantic and expensive dinner, the movies, a nighttime walk in the park, all of the classic dates. In every single one of them he was the perfect gentleman, the perfect man. You like him and how he treats you. How consistent he is. He's the type of man you can rely on.
Nevertheless, there is a bothersome voice in the back of your head that reminds you of someone he just isn’t. He’s not Feitan Portor. You don’t feel the contentment Feitan gives when the two of you sleep. You don’t study your boyfriend’s features like you did Feitan.
Dammit, why are you thinking of him? He’s not around and you haven’t seen him in what? Two or three years? So why think of him now. Plus, you haven’t received a gift or a ‘hello’ from him. For all you know, he could be dead.
“Are you alright?” You wake from your thoughts and look at your boyfriend. His hair is dark, blending in with the night. Eyes kind and green, a Grecian nose, and average sized lips revealing a dazzling smile. Not only is the very essence of him suave, but his looks are also perfect. Tall and handsome, well dressed and a smooth voice.
It's just that one five foot one pest that won’t get out of your head.
“Y-yeah just…it’s all so shocking. York New is literally over there.” You point past the river where more tall buildings reside in the distance.
“I know, I know.” He brings you in close to him. He places a kiss on your head. “Don’t worry, nothing will happen to you.”
Suddenly, the newscaster stops mid sentence and gasps. Before you know it, the Phantom Troupe have been named the offenders that caused all of this. Two thousand people. Feitan, did you really kill that many people?
“I would like to go home. I don’t feel the greatest.” He rubs your arm, you still being tucked into his side. Your excuse was a lie to cover the gnawing feeling towards Feitan and his deeds. Although the Phantom Troupe’s original intentions were from a decent stand point, it seems they’ve lost their way. Feitan has lost his way.
The gifts have stopped coming, him no longer saying hello. After the last time, when you made him familiar food and sat in a comfortable silence, he disappeared. This time, there was something about it that hurt. Like he didn’t want to come around. He didn’t want to say hello anymore. Or perhaps, he died which if confirmed, you would ache beyond help.
“The Phantom Troupe is dead.” The newscaster said. The crowd gasped, shocked that the most feared criminals in the world are gone. Did you jinx it? Curse the little boy who needed you to tie his shoes. The boy who liked your cooking and made sure you rested. Had strong faith in you, never doubting. Protected you from the shadows and held your hand.
Is he really gone?
You hide your face in your boyfriend’s jacket. Tears stream from your eyes at the thought of his grave. With the Troupe, his friends dead, you’d be the only one to truly mourn him. To remember his name beyond his violence.
You clutch your chest. “Are you okay? Does your chest hurt?” He grabs you by your shoulders, making you face him. He’s such a kind, decent man. But he’s not Feitan Portor.
“I just need to rest. I’ll call you tomorrow.” You give him a chaste kiss goodbye. Once he leaves, your chest hurts even more. You slide down as you look around at all the menace’s little gifts. The painting, the skull, the windchimes, everything he’s given you. Why, oh why, couldn’t you stay here long enough for your gift, Feitan?
Wait, what could you have given him anyway? He’s a thief that takes what he pleases and has nothing to wish for.
You lay on your couch and put your arm over your face. The tears refuse to stop for even just a second. You don’t know what you’re crying harder for. Feitan or the confusing feelings for him. Now that he’s gone, you can’t properly tell him. How can you explain it?
It’s heavy on your chest and tightens it. You want to feel his body heat no matter how hot the day is. There are no small flutters in your stomach at the thought of him. No, it's something in your heart. You want to stare at him, to memorize every feature he has. To hear his soft voice that is just a centimeter away from a whisper. Just melt in his touch, his presence. Wait, why is this happening? You barely knew him! Does that fact even matter though?
You slip your hand in your underwear, still staring at the ceiling, sniffling at the news of his death. You imagine the future. Seeing him walk into your house and setting his belongings on the table. Wrapping his arms around you and kissing your back. No matter how long you’ve known him, his stature never fails to amuse you. He’d paw at your body, tearing off your clothes. Feitan wouldn’t hesitate to use his hands for your pleasure.
You trace your fingers in the direction you think he’d go. Curling your fingers inside, thrusting them in harshly, knowing that he can only be gentle in his own way. Your back arches from the couch. You swear you can smell him and the faint metallic scent that he holds. The feeling of his ragged breath on your cheek you could swear is real.
You moan as you take that jump you’ve searched for. Thinking of how good Feitan would make you feel. You're relentless on yourself, still going as strong as he’d be. Adding another finger, going faster and faster on your clit. Your moaning gets louder as the indiscernible amount of time goes on.
‘ The Phantom Troupe is dead.’
You crash on the couch with one last gasp. The dream of the two of you ends in flames. The house, the passion, the years that go by in that home. Maybe even a child or two. Seeing him in the morning with a groggy voice is gone. Rubbing his eyes and saying he wants more eggs and tomatoes is no longer there.
What would your gift be to Feitan? Memories? Sex? Food? Nothing fits. He can have those with anyone.
You slip yourself out from your underwear. It didn’t distract you. Perhaps if you thought of your boyfriend, it would have. But the feelings you have towards Feitan went beyond physical. What is this? What do you call this?
Love? Time stops at the realization. It has to be that. That would have been your gift to him. Love. You cover your mouth as you admit it to yourself.
'I love you Feitan Portor. I won’t forget you. I love your messed up hair and soft voice. For how you didn’t reject me when the world did. I will do the same for you. I’ll look past your torturous ways and miss you anyway. Maybe the world will curse you, but I’ll mourn you. Bury you so no one can spit on you anymore. I love you Feitan.
I’m in love with you Feitan Portor. This is my gift to you. For you to know that you will not be forgotten even though I never got to tell you, to thank you for everything. For leaving the baseball bat with me to protect myself. For painting that picture for me. All of the little gifts you thought I’d like, too. Thank you for protecting me from the priest and the wolves that hunted me every day when we were young.'
You stare at the ceiling till the earliest of mornings. It’s still dark, still heavy with the night sky. There’s some rumbling in the distance, a flash of light in the sky. You don’t bother to confirm anything.
Just as you close your eyes, the window opens with a creak. You move your eyes to see the figure before you. The darkness covers it, only leaving the silhouette. “Why cry?”
You squint, trying to make out the features. “Are you real?”
“Very.” It must be a lie. A cruel humor the world has. “Stop crying.”
“I can’t. Not when you sound like him.” The figure cocks his head, that much you can see with the flash of lightning behind him. “Him?”
“Someone who can’t tie his shoes.” Your lip wobbles again. “I can tie them now.” The moon glows enough to show his face now as he steps up to you. Feitan’s delicate features peek out from his cowl.
You shake your head in denial. “It’s not real. It can’t be. You’re dead, Fei.” Your voice is hoarse from your sobs.
He looks shocked at your words. The man who looks like Feitan smacks your feet off the end of the couch so he can sit.
“I’ll miss you Feitan Portor.” The longer you stare at the imaginary man, the more you hurt. “Well, stop.”
He roughly wipes away the tears. “Ugly when you cry.” His face is close to yours. Since he’ll be gone by the time you come to your senses, you grab his face and kiss him. He sharply inhales, not expecting your sudden decision.
He growls against your lips, “Stupid brat.”
He feels real. He smells real, familiar too. You tell him such and with furrowed brows and a strong grip of his hand, he grabs your jaw and makes you look at him. “I’m real, you idiot.”
“They said you died…” You comb his hair through your fingers. It’s real, he's real . So, what’s going on? Before you can ask him, he cradles you. “Stop crying or I’ll go.”
Your lips wobble at his threat. Rather than listening to it, you hug him. He nestles on top of you, hips placed between yours. He’s light, lighter than you thought so it isn’t a bother.
“You’re so ugly when you cry. Don’t cry.” He holds you closer and kisses your head. Against your ear, you feel his lips move. You can’t tell what he’s mouthing. When the two of you comfortably slept those years ago, that was the closest you’ve been. Now, this beats that record. Face to face, body to body, and sharing breaths.
After a few moments of thunder and lightning, he kisses you gently. Not at all like the desperate one like before. Realistically, you know these feelings you have for him seem fake. You’ve only had a few moments with him. So, why are they so significant? Are they with him too? Is it possible that love can blossom quickly?
Gentle kisses turn passionate, never wanting to separate. Little nibbles on the right places and sucks on all of the best ones. Clothes leave, not wanting to get between the two friends, those who dance around each other. For the first time, they meet.
His hands reach your throat as he kisses you, making sure to give it a light squeeze. His weight is still on you, not hurting in the slightest. Feitan makes sure his hand reaches below and swirls his thumb on your bud. You gasp, surprised you were right about how he’d do it. Every ministration he does is exactly how it was pictured. Your hands don’t compare to it. Not by a long shot.
Despite his size, his hands are still bigger than yours. They reach deeper than you and are thicker too. In no time, you come, the bliss lasting a good minute before he sheathes himself inside. His thickness is more than you thought. It’s a bit of a stretch, but in a good way.
His gasps quicken with every thrust. You can tell that you're being loud, way louder than when you touched yourself. Feeling the rush and strength of his movements has you claw his back in ecstasy. He groans at the sensation. Finally, after this time of passion and intimacy, you both hold each other as you fall off of that cliff.
Feitan looks into your eyes. With a softness that no one in the world could’ve predicted the torturer of the Phantom Troupe to have, kisses you. “Don’t cry anymore. Don’t cry.”
“It’s hard not to when I know you’ll leave.” Silently, Feitan removes himself from inside you. It’s become routine, so you expect him to walk out. He lays back down, his head on your stomach. You run your fingers through his hair. He needs a haircut.
--
You wake up, not realizing that you went asleep in the first place. Before you can get up, you feel pressure on your stomach. Feitan rests on you still, eyes completely closed and his face peaceful. The two of you are naked and the only source of heat is each other. As much as you want to wrap your arms around him, you know he’ll react negatively or at least flinch.
Soon after, he stretches and rubs his face against your stomach. Like before, he drooled in his sleep. “Good morning.”
He grunts in response and sits up on his heels. It takes him a moment to remember the night before. His eyes widen as he looks you up and down, making you highly aware of your current state. You cover yourself with a blanket draped over the couch.
“I have to go.” Ah, right. He’s a cat.
He gets dressed. Once he has his boots on, you see him tie them the way you taught him. “Proud of you. You finally learned huh?”
“Brat.” You laugh a little at him. Once he’s done you ask, “Will I ever see you again?"
He cradles your face. “I come back.” You nod, holding back tears. He studies your face and settles on your eyes. He must have realized that you were trying not to cry. His hands still remain on your face as he kisses you. He lingers there for a minute. A parting kiss, a meaningful one.
Something tells you that this feral cat isn’t going away anytime soon. That he’ll always be constant and you won’t be totally alone. A companion you won’t see everyday and only for a night.
This is the gift you’ll give him. You’ll be home for him.
___________________
Months later, news about the Chimera Ants came out. You had already broken up with your boyfriend and heard he had left town to avoid them. Of course, you followed suit and got the hell out of there.
Without any plan, you moved back to Meteor City, where you thought that they wouldn’t be. Alas, that was stupid. You made a home base in the residential area. Not knowing that Meteor City was plagued by the wretched beasts.
By God’s grace, you managed to avoid them due to you being in the residential district. News that the Phantom Troupe were home to fight them ran rampant. The thought of Feitan made you nervous and you don’t know why.
Suddenly, right as you put away your dishes, the door opened. You grabbed a knife and faced the intruder. Standing there was the Phantom Troupe, who once again, barged into your home like they owned the place.
“What the hell?” You shout. The first one is Phinks with a wide smile. “There she is! Fei, I found her!”
You put your hand on your hip. “Seriously, what are you doing her-you’re dragging in mud, take off your shoes!”
“It’s only a little.” Phinks pouts. “I don’t care! You don’t live here.”
Phinks and his friends grumble as they do as they’re told. The last one to enter the house is Feitan, who is notably holding his left arm. Without being told, he removes his shoes.
“Feitan…” He hasn’t faced you yet. “What happened to your arm?”
“I’m injured too, (Y/n)!” The smiling boy with round eyes whines. You have no idea what his name is. Only that he and the rest are in Feitan’s gang.
“Alright, let me see.” He lays down on your clean table and says, “It’s all over. I need the full treatment!”
“Ugh, fine.” You grumble under your breath about the disrespect and your poor table. Finally, Feitan sits on one of the pushed aside chairs. He says, “I need it too.”
“Big babies.”
You heal the biggest cry baby completely. The blond, whose name you now know as Shalnark, stretches. “If it weren’t for you, I would’ve been hurting all day!”
Rolling your eyes, you turn to Feitan who has been silent. He holds out his arm for you. You take the limb and inspect it.
“Completely shattered.” He grunts in agreement. He stares into your eyes and gives you a familiar slight smile. You notice that his friends are quiet, not a sound or word among them.
“You guys alright?” You ask. The girl shakes her head yes and ‘whispers’ to the rest. “Should we leave them alone?”
“Probably.” A mummy with boxing gloves answers. You’ve never seen him before in your life.
“Uh, we’ll check the place out. Y’know, make sure it’s safe.” Shalnark shoos the little kid out and into a separate room, your bedroom. “We’ll clear this out in case you guys need it!”
You huff and roll your eyes. Feitan’s cheeks are red and he’s glaring daggers at his friends. The girl goes outside with the remaining three to check the area. You and your feral cat are alone.
“What are they checking for? I’m in a residential area.”
“Ants.”
“They’re here? In the safe zone?” You begin to panic until he grabs your hand. “You’re safe now. They’re not in the city anymore.”
“Wha-how? What’s going on?”
He pinches you lightly, encouraging you to heal his wounds. “Oh, right, right.” Flowers of all colors circle around. They begin to smooth over Feitan’s wounds. You take a second to wipe the blood off of his lip, letting there be some room for the petals to go.
“How’s the other guy look?”
“She's toasted.” You smile. “Atta boy.”
He’s healed, the petals and flowers disappear. You lick your lips at the sight of his bare chest. You didn’t notice before due to the audacity of these heathens barging in.
His heart rate quickens. “You leave again.”
You nod. “Yeah, yeah I did. I had to, Fei. the Chimera Ants invaded. I had to run.”
“With your boyfriend?”
You let out a small gasp. “ No. How do you know that?” He crosses his arms and leans back in the chair. “You lie.”
“I didn’t lie to you. I just never said anything.”
“Words of a liar.” You scoff at him. “I did not lie to you. I lied to him. You don’t have any business with our relationship.”
At first, he was looking at his lap. Those grey eyes of his immediately found a new target to glare at. “You’re not with him anymore. ”
“No. Why does that matter?” He begins to tap his foot lightly. “Why did you break up?”
“You hungry?” You start to get up until you’re tugged down. “Why?”
When you don’t answer, he whispers in your ear. “Because I fucked you?” Your face is so warm.
“If we run, we can still make it out.”
“Why are we running?” A small voice asks.
“Because I think they need the room.”
“Will you two shut up?!” You are two seconds away from running out of your own damn house. You stand and his hands hold you by your hips. “Tell me why you leave him?”
“Because of you.” It’s embarrassing to tell him your feelings. Hopefully, he can read your mind or something and shut up. He sighs and stands, walking over to you without a hitch. He kisses you.
“That’s what you get for lying.” He’s not remorseful or even boastful. Feitan takes your answer in stride. “No more leaving. Stay so I can find you.”
“You’ll always find me, remember?”
______________
Time after that, you were stuck in charge of Chrollo’s lover or something. She’s not too bad but clearly traumatized. Anytime you’d tell her to go with you, she’d look shocked. Like she was surprised she could leave. You were suspicious of her relationship with Chrollo. Something didn’t sit right with you whenever he or Feitan came up. She’d tense up. She never talked about it either. From what you understand with the little information you have, is that she was a former member that raised an orphan and that Chrollo loved her immensely. Perhaps too much.
From what you know, there was a big showdown on the Dark Continent and the boat that was taking a voyage to the fake one. The Phantom Troupe were on that one at first, fighting Hisoka Marrow. He was a sore loser that got humbled and decided to attack again.
Amazingly, only a few died. You didn’t want to know the details or anything. You can’t go through that again. So, after that news, you and Chrollo’s lover parted ways. She went on to find a kid she raised. You, on the other hand, decided to settle out of Meteor City. This was almost a year ago.
You have an apartment now in the town where you and your boyfriend lived, right next to York New. It’s basic, not fitting any aesthetic or anything. The good thing about it is that it’s bigger than your first one. It’s two bedroom and has a good price.
Feitan hasn’t reappeared. It tore you to shreds. You’ve managed to piece yourself together bit by bit, but you are a hollow version of yourself. Surviving and not enjoying the little things you used to. You even saw Jade, Scarlet, Ruby, and the new child, Emerald. Even that heartwarming moment didn’t fulfill you. However, it was the first time you smiled in a while.
You stir the food in the pot. Since it’s a little chilly, you made soup. You put the lid over the pot, letting it cook. There’s a knock on the door. You open it and see the man you’ve waited for.
Feitan is in dark clothing and has a large scar on his face. There’s no cowl over him, or a large trench coat. His hands are in his pockets, and he looks at you expectantly. You realize that you’ve just been standing there, you move to let him in. Once again, he makes himself at home.
“How’ve you been?”
“You leave again.” He states bluntly. His eyebrows are furrowed and has a frown on his face.
“Bold of you, very bold.” You move around him. “Why did you go?”
“Because I’d never stay in that city forever. The Ants were gone, the world settled. So why couldn’t I? That place is gross anyway.”
He sits on the barstool and cracks his neck. You ask a question right after he sits. “How long you here for?”
You don’t know why you asked that. He’ll only be here for a moment. A while ago, you had made the decision to accept it as your gift to him. To love and mourn him when the world won’t. When news about the Phantom Troupe hit, you couldn’t bear to hear it. Their trip to the fake Dark Continent, then their corrected course to the right one, ended in a battle with them facing Hisoka and Illumi and everything else over there.
It was too hard for you to think about. That doesn’t mean you didn’t mourn and that you’ve snapped out of it.
“For good.”
You look up into his eyes. For the first time in a long time, he’s smiling with soft eyes. You see that he has a dimple on his left cheek. “W-what about-”
“Done for a while. Maybe forever. I know I’m staying.”
“But your friends, where are they?” He shrugs even though you see the tension. “Separate. We split for a bit.”
He rubs his shoulders nervously. “Can I stay with you?”
“Wow, you’re asking? Shocked.” You tap on the counter. The weight you’ve been carrying is lightened. “Feitan?”
“Yes?” He gets off of the stool and makes his way around the counter. “You know how you give me all those gifts?”
He nods his head. “Well, this is my gift to you, Feitan Portor. You can stay as long as you like.”
He wraps his arms around you. He’s hugging you. This time, you aren’t afraid to hold him back and squeeze. Maybe, just maybe, this is what home is?
If the Phantom Troupe resurrects, at least you know he’ll always come home. That you two will be a constant force for each other. No matter if it does or doesn't, you two aren't dancing but admitting things you couldn't. This is home, a gift for each other.
#feitan portor#feitan x reader#feitan porter x reader#hxh#hxh fanfic#slight yandere#q#phantom troupe#hunter x hunter#hxh feitan#idk what to put here rn
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Happy 28th!
Here are all the lovely fics I read this month:
where we landed | blueskiesrry | [70k]
The leaves were green the last time Harry stepped foot in Holmes Chapel, a stark contrast to the candy apple, butterscotch painting them now, years later. Harry first notices them on the train, gazing out the window with a downturned mouth. A warm something floods his stomach–memories, Harry imagines, of him as a boy, longing for the days when he’d live elsewhere and have to take this very train home for the holidays. He wonders how it’s possible to have once felt eager and euphoric at the sight of changing leaves yet now to feel nothing but tired. He sighs softly, turning away from the trees to look at his daughter, half-curled in his lap, asleep.
or: harry returns to his hometown with his sick daughter and more reminders than he bargained for of the boy he once loved when he left a handful of years ago
MARRIED FOR A WEEK?! | gravitycentered | [20k]
Hi guys :) You might recognize Harry from one or two of my old videos .. I was tagged in the Married for a week challenge so I asked him to be my husband ! We had to live together for a week and take each other out on a couple romantic dates and that, check out the video to see how it went :) Give it a like if you enjoyed and maybe subscribe if you haven't already. Love you all
- Louis x
It's everything else that matters | words_of_my_own | [83k]
At forty, Harry has settled down in London, as a single dad and successful businessman.
Along comes Louis, his son’s new friend, who turns out to be more than he appears at first sight.
Their paths are slowly intertwined as life stories are unfolded and feelings arise.
***
"They may only be joking around here…
…or the atmosphere has just turned slightly flirtatious. Louis' raised eyebrow and quirky smile adding on to it.
It’s fun and exciting, and Harry doesn’t think twice before he throws another glance over his shoulder, just to find Louis steady eyes on him, his teeth digging into his lower lip.
Christ, the bloke really is handsome.
Sexy, even. And this is definitely not how Harry normally reacts to people of the same sex, but…apparently, he is now."
He Was a Different League (When I Was Nothing Much) | AFangirlFantasy | [21k]
Sick of being alone, Marcel is forced (by Niall) to join an online dating app. The idea is well and all, except for the inconvenient fact that he hasn’t moved on from his childhood sweetheart - Louis. If only Marcel could learn to let go, he might actually be able to love again.
Or, an AU where finding that 'someone new' actually leads to finding that 'someone old,' and Marcel is painfully oblivious.
I want to wake up where your love is | marcythesassykitten | [166k]
“Kinda feels like it is, though. And it’s okay to be pissed at me because of that,” Louis' voice was still the normal feathery sweetness Harry was used to, but it had a harshness to it that he couldn’t place until he looked up and met Louis’ eyes. There was so much pain exposed for Harry to see, for him to be able to pick at, taunt or ignore.
Louis was sitting right there, allowing Harry to see all the broken pieces, the sharp edges that had never been mended back together with the love and kindness they needed. In that moment, Harry saw his own pain reflected back at him in Louis’ eyes. He could feel bits of his own heart calling out for him to reach out and allow the two battered hearts to heal together as one.
“It’s not. I’m not… I’m really not,”
or, a chicago-inspired story about lost dreams, unjust fates, undying love and lots of pizza, repressed feelings, cute kids and, of course, cats
Welcome Home | Jelon | [49k]
Louis Tomlinson had to put a stop to his football career for a couple of months and he decided to go back home to rest his mind for a little bit only to find out a really weird coffee shop owner started to visit his mother on a regular basis with just as peculiar but lovely kid named Maxine.
Half a World Away | SilverStuff50 | [10k]
Bothy: A bothy is a basic shelter, usually left unlocked and available for anyone to use free of charge. It was also a term for basic accommodation, usually for gardeners or other workers on an estate. Bothies are found in remote mountainous areas of Scotland, Northern England, Ulster and Wales. They are particularly common in the Scottish Highlands, but related buildings can be found around the world (for example, in the Nordic countries, there are wilderness huts).
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"i want a big titty goth gf" "i want a mean woman to step on me" "omg god forbid women do anything we love nasty girls" "[sees muscular woman] not to be a lesbian but--"
yeah but do you talk to her? do you know her favourite colour? do you ask her how her day was, are you there for her when she's feeling low? would you rub her shoulders after a long day? would you go out to coffee with her?
how come the people who say stuff like this online would never so much as speak to women like us
#wordy wendy#i have a girl who loves me now but i have spent most of my life being 'undesirable'#despite being everything the sapphic dedmographic on tumblr seems to thirst after...#im a baddie in a vinyl dress and heels. i have a whip collection.#im confident and fierce and beautiful#im even butch#and yet i never ever get compliments on my appearance without that annoying 'respectfully' tacked on#and i sure as shit don't get them on my personality#i wish the people who saw women like me at a distance and thirsted#would actually bother to love us up close#i finally have a girl who loves me for me but it took nearly 3 decades of loneliness#and settling for people who only kind of wanted me
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my football team is so hopeless
#not dortmund lol i mean the club i play at myself#it makes me want to quit ngl#there are just so many things i'm fed up with#at times it's not fun anymore#i like playing football but there's just a lot wrong with this team#but i'm mostly just hanging around because i don't want to let my coach down like he cares and genuinly seems like a good coach#the only thing which gives me a bit of hope#and i hate letting people down 😅 that and also i hate giving up#but i have never seen a team more hopeless or felt more hopeless playing a sport 😅#and he apparently thinks i'm kind of important to the team which i kind of get but also it doesn't really make a difference...#we're just so hopeless i can’t turn this around lol#i always start and i hope it continues but there's not much i can do#we just have too many people who don't care last match so many have given up#some of our team just refuse to run or move at some point it's awful#like why can't you try#we always loose so high like what's the point but still don't give up#besides that the endurance (and also sprint speed) of most is awful which could be trained to a point#but whenever the coach tries to do that almost no one shows up 💀#and i usually play wing or outside midfielder but i'm supposed to also be a defender apparently what#whenever we get a goal on my side and i'm not back in defence someone moans at me like that's my fault#i get working back but i can’t be everywhere especially when some people don't move#and i actually try to get the ball foreward or try to get the ball back in the front because i don't give up when we're behind#i want to score goals and not settle with loosing and only sit back to do defence anymore#naturally there will be open spaces when i try to do that but how is giving up better even when it's hopeless we could still try scoring#and i can't be everywhere they should try my position they would never last 90min running like i do#besides i'm already exausted each week from my training before like i do sports 2-3 hours 6 or 7 days a week#unfortunately i have to because once again i'm trying some entrance exam (for sports to become a teach in sports and english hopefully)#asides from that i don't like most of the people at my club 😅 it feels a bit like highschool again and i didn't like highschool#so many are ignorant and judgemental#like the girl i told you about with her comment about the cleaning lady instead of wanting to clean up her stuff herself 🙄
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my last post and the shameless mountain goats reference i threw in there got me thinking about one of my favorite story beats, because it combines a lot of character work and thematic oomph in one: ed being a victim of his own legend and ability to protect himself by hiding in plain sight + codeswitch into the version of himself that best suits the company/situation he’s in, in many ways but often most visibly through his interactions with izzy.
my take on “is blackbeard real or fake” has always been “yes”; blackbeard is pieces of ed filtered and strained and assembled and pruned down in ways that scarred him even as they kept him safe, in ways that are very sad and often stretching the definition of safe as far as ed’s personal definition of murder. nonetheless: it got him to the place he's at, still alive. could he have done it another way? who knows! that was the way he did it, it's the way he knows will work because it did work.
or: he thinks he knows that. but the legend was never all of ed and in fact demanded he spotlight pieces of himself he doesn't like so much a lot and repress a lot of the things that make him feel good, it’s not helping/hurting anymore. it’s just dragging him down.
so ed is sick of the blackbeard schtick; and here’s the rub. if he’d been worse at the art of personal fuckery alongside the pirate type, maybe none of this is happening. the world never knows his name; or worse, once he gets spotted as a man who won't kill they mock it.
that version of ed does not attract izzy ‘ask me about my boner for the sunk cost fallacy’ hands, or does not keep him. because izzy has built his identity around ed’s legend; who is blackbeard’s first mate, if there is no blackbeard? who the fuck even is izzy hands, if he’s not seated at the right hand of edward teach?
now. you would hope, in a better world, that izzy would be like you know, edward, the thing here is: you wanting something different involves emotional consequences for me. i would have to figure out my whole life over again and i am simultaneously con o’neill’s age and emotionally sixteen like the real world me was, so you can see that would be super complicated. i have so fucking much baggage and you are just adding to it, and i do not like that. also: this fucks up my work situation and my home life at once, it makes me feel sad and abandoned and itchy in ways i do not wish to label with words because they would be gay ones like ‘please don’t leave me, i love you and i thought it was mutual’ so like... world rocked, thoroughly and in ways that make me want to rant until past last call, in conclusion this sucks and i think it's twenty mistakes in a trenchcoat, some of them maybe life threatening! i wish you would not.
and then he would step back and let ed make his own fucking choices anyway and either do the work to figure himself out in the same space or finally grab those cds from the car and find his own place to do the same, because a shitty fact of adult life is sometimes people cannot be what we want or need. sometimes that is because they suck: sometimes, it’s just because they can’t or don't want to, and that isn't them being mean or withholding. they don't owe us more than the basic kindness and dignity we all owe to each other just because we put in our hours longing for them to do so. that’s some toxic, entitled shit. understandable! an impulse i share at times! but we should never be That Guy (gender neutral) because the friendzone doesn’t actually exist and nobody deserves to win someone else as a prize for hanging around long enough and driving them to the airport. that’s just called being friends, etc.
izzy is sadly currently stuck on being That Guy. so instead of realizing ed is an adult man and can make his own choices, even if izzy thinks they're bad ones, he fucking panics and starts swinging around and finally runs to big daddy england to make stede bonnet stooooooooop (messing with ed’s brain).
and of course he does something like that! he thinks a relationship is when you metaphorically own each other and when you can only be tender after putting your right foot in and then putting it out before once again putting it in and then proceeding to shake it all about, violent rituals unlock love style. he’s a desperate man in a hell entirely of his own making.
and so is ed, in this entirely different way but stuck in his own fucking orbit as firmly as izzy, only ed is trying to claw his way up and out to see what else he can be, while izzy would do juuuust about anything (including lick the king’s boots) to stay the same forever.
that’s some tragic shit. i love this writing team, the end.
#what if i staple no children to their heads when they're together what then#truly this is some good writing#like: i find izzy fascinating because he was written by the same team who wrote everybody else#he sucks in ways that i want to think about because they sometimes allow me to examine myself#and then sometimes let me laugh at his dumb ass or talk about serious thematic shit#he bears a lot of weight in the narrative because that's in part what a good antagonist should do#anyway yeah the sort of classic tragedy of these two is super interesting since like...clearly the show knows what's up#i maintain izzy is gonna figure his shit out and become a productive member of this pirate society tho#because okay like: in real life i know the best i can often hope for is somebody knocking a specific behavior off#and often they won't ever do that#but if they did the world would be better and they would be better and i would have another comrade#i will always settle for one less enemy if that is my only choice#but i'd rather make a new ally i can trust#and my fantasy is often that the izzys of the world in all their forms don't just knock it off#it's that they start fighting alongside me or become someone i don't mind being around because i CAN trust them now#(hey: i did say it was a fantasy)#so i kind of ask myself: what makes life better in this fictional world#an izzy who can't hurt people because he is no longer around or an izzy who has started to figure his shit out#anyway yes: this shit is sad and well-crafted
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Just thought of something FREAKY in class… Single father Satoru looking for a babysitter and you’re looking for a side income during semester break and the tension goes crazy!!!! “We should’t be doing this my son will wake up” I’M GONNA SCREAMMMM
BLISS, PURE BLISS
a/n: happy new year LMFAOOO. thank you for all the asks btw i promise ill answer them asap 🥹 / @shotorus @osaemu @shidouryusm @mysugu @hyomagiri ♱
wc: 6.4k
warnings: ‘onee-san’ used but more of just addressing reader as an older figure because saying babysitter is kinda weird lol (kind of like how chinese people use 姐姐 even if they are not related), fem!reader, dilf!gojo, age gap (gojo in his late 30s, reader in mid-20s), angst if u squint, bit of slow burn n tension, making out, use of ‘slut’ and ‘whore’, praise, oral (f! receiving) / cunnilingus, clit stimulation, unprotected sex, p -> v sex, multiple rounds, consensual filming, creampie / breeding kink, n*sfw under the cut
“no fucking way . .” you mumble mostly to yourself, standing in front of the largest house of the gated community in roppongi, and while you knew the people here were excessively and obnoxiously rich, you’re never quite prepared until you’re getting a key card specifically mailed to your name just so you could enter.
you’re not even shameful when you take a video to send to your best friends, locking your screen almost immediately because you knew you’d never get to the job on time if you replied to them. with calculated steps, you’re walking up the house that’s designed with a modern structure, yet still retaining characteristics of a traditional japanese home. it’s less prominent at the front of the house, though.
“(y/n)-san, was it?” a voice startles you out of your ogling sessions. if the garden was already this nice, what would be in store for you when you went in? you��ll be finding out soon when your employer himself opens the door to you, a man with striking white hair and equally striking blue eyes that seem to look right into you. he’s dressed in a suit, probably no doubt ready to get to work while you’re out here taking your time. you cringe, immediately walking up to the door.
“y-yes! yes, i’m sorry sir, i was just uhm—”
he holds that intimidating stare just for a moment but then he breaks into a smile that mirrors the bright sun that shines down on the porch.
“it’s alright . . it’s not everyday you’re working at some rich guy’s house, right?” he jokes but that strikes a little ick into you — he’s already ticking the boxes of obnoxious and excessively rich, but you hate the effect he’s having on you.
“yeah . . no, i guess,” he hums in reply before sticking a hand out.
“gojo satoru,” he introduces himself, “call me anything but that sir shit, alright, doll?”
you nod obediently, trying not to let the little pet name get to your head because he probably does this to any babysitter who comes through the house, but either way, he’s welcoming you in and it’s like you step into a world unreal. it’s spotless, the floors shining under the sunlight, a large television in the living room, a spacious open concept dining-kitchen area, and this is just the first floor.
gojo takes his time to show you the house — where his kid’s toys were, where the food was, where the bathrooms and bedrooms were, it was never-ending. every step you took made you feel like you were walking the length of the nile, each turn only revealing more rooms and corridors.
and then, finally, his baby boy.
“he’s a cheeky one, takes after his dad,” even with all the cockiness he’s shown to you, you can tell he has a soft spot for his kid. the boy stirs from his father’s voice, gleaming in happiness as he puts out his smaller hands to be picked up. as he settles into his arms, it’s just sinking in how tall your employer is. he makes a toddler look like a baby with how small his son looks wrapped snugly.
“satoshi, hi,” he whispers, bouncing the kid in his arms, “want to say hi to your onee-san?”
you manage a small wave but all he does is turn to hide in his father’s arms, definitely scared from a random stranger suddenly talking to him.
“she’s going to be taking care of you for the next month or so, you know?” he mumbles, brushing a hand through the matching white hair, “be nice to the babysitter, okay?”
all satoshi does is hum into his dad’s neck before he’s giving you a sheepish smile. “he’s like that, don’t worry about him.” and you return the smile, thinking that he wasn’t that obnoxious that you thought and that maybe he’s really a dad trying his hardest for his one kid. you realise he’s taking too much time, though, and so you sought out to remind him.
“oh, uh sir— gojo-san, don’t you have to go to work?”
although he’s mentioned satoshi to be taking after him, the boy goes right back to sleeping when he’s put back into his bed so you follow gojo as he adjusts his cuffs and smoothes out his collar just outside the room and you make the mistake of glancing upon the mirror on the far end of the corridor — it was undeniable that you looked like a high-end couple who’s newly married and raising a kid. you try to shake off the thoughts of adjusting his tie for him.
“it’s not being late if you’re on top.” he smirks and you resist the urge to roll your eyes; at least you weren’t alone in purging the delusional thoughts from your head, he was basically helping you at this point and you struggle between characterising him as conceited and admirable. “but, yeah, i should get going.”
but he stands at the door with backpack slung onto one shoulder while he continues to explain satoshi’s routines to you, his habits and also had to sneak in a few cute photos of the kid while squealing repeatedly and you’re left wondering how this guy could be the CEO of a company.
it’s been like that for as long as you can remember — bidding goodbye to your parents as you tell them that you’re off to your part-time job over the winter break. they’re happy you’re even leaving the house, shoving your lunch into your hands with big smiles that you’re at least doing anything other than sitting in your room. the train ride to the gated residential was nice, too, apart from the very crowded subways for people going to work in roppongi.
gojo greets you every morning when you arrive, reminding you of satoshi’s feeding times and his favourite shows and everything a father should know but don’t have the luxury to experience with aforementioned kid. it’s a little bittersweet, every time you see him kiss satoshi goodbye that turns into remaining in his room, to holding your hand and saying goodbye to daddy from the second floor, to getting carried by you at the front door.
it’s slow but sure progress day after day, from watching his cartoons, feeding him at the kitchen island, playing with his toys, that satoshi feels more and more comfortable with you, learning that while he was a well-behaved boy, he definitely had hints of your employer in him. mannerisms, words, voice, you wonder whether he even got any part of his mother in his genes.
you’d never ask, though, but it was told. unexpectedly.
“i’m home—” the last parts of his word die down into a whisper when he opens the door to see satoshi cuddled up to you, the last bits of home alone playing softly. by now you already know what happens in the movie so you’re texting your friends and laughing softly to yourself, jumping when your boss steps past the doorway. gojo winces when he checks his watch (“fuck. it’s already ten.”), toeing his shoes off and apologising simultaneously.
“oh— man, i’m so sorry, i had a late meeting with the CEO of our neighbouring franchise, i totally forgot about the time—” gojo’s quick to make his way down to the small pit of the house (he likes to call it the conversation pit), settling down on the side where satoshi had his head in your lap as his eyes linger on the movie. instinctively, his hands reach to pat his leg.
“oh, it’s okay, gojo-san, it’s the holidays anyway.”
“yeah?” he turns to you, one arm propped on the back of the sofa, “and why don’t a pretty girl like you have any plans?”
that catches you off-guard, among the many other times he’s called you pretty or sweets like no care in the world. you’re never quite used to it, too, seeking to fluster you. “you shouldn’t say stuff like that to me, gojo-san . .”
“why not?” he’s turned back to the television, now, and you take his place, staring at his side profile as the scenes of the movie move along his face. “i’m a single dad, aren’t i?”
“yeah but . . you could have anyone.”
“what if,” he turns and you chicken out, head snapping back to the front while he watches you and the both of you cannot deny the tiring dance you perform around each other all the time. the clench in his heart when he sees you carry his baby boy at the porch and the small smile he gives you every morning before he leaves for his job. he doesn’t want to go through with it and sighs.
it’s become hard to breathe around you. it’s become hard to hold himself back around you.
“i worked too much.” he suddenly says, facing the TV again. “i was too engrossed and . .”
confusion seeps in at first. yeah, it was no secret he worked his ass off despite being at the very top. your gaze falls to satoshi, curling more into your side like he’s cold and you adjust the blanket. you nod in recognition.
“we fought a lot. i tried— i tried to alter my schedule as much as i could, driving to and fro whenever she needed me, bringing satoshi to work as a baby when we couldn’t come to a compromise, but it was a lot. for her, for satoshi. he could sense whenever we were about to fight, on edge voices, items clattering to the floor . .”
by now, he’s leaned back, back of his hand resting on his forehead, “and he’d cry like he was interrupting us. cheeky, i told you,” and his eyes close, “we hardly reached middle ground. it was either this or that, hire a nanny or we take care of him, my endless job or the joy of life. i’m ashamed that i’ve prioritised my job more, and still do it now.”
“if you didn’t, i wouldn’t be here, would i?”
that draws a chuckle out of him, “correct.”
“she couldn’t take it, not when she was a businesswoman on top of that. she was out doing herself at every aspect in her job, going to greater heights, and while she accused me of putting work first, she isn’t entirely innocent, either. but that’s . .”
“you don’t have to say anything, gojo-san,” you mumble as you watch the reunion of the characters in the movie before the screen cuts the black, no doubt affecting him in some way at the warmth displayed by the movie that contrasts heavily with his situation, “the fact that you even told me is . .”
the heavy atmosphere is disrupted by satoshi gasping, “papa! you’re home.”
you exchange awkward smiles as you watch the boy fight his way out of the blanket to hug gojo, the latter huffing when the boy drops his body weight on him and you take it as a sign to give them a bit of privacy, standing up to clean up the popcorn and cups. laughter and your employer’s voice resonate throughout the place even as they go up the stairs, a rare occasion where gojo is able to get his son ready for bed.
it’s only maybe an hour later when the house falls into silence. mouth burning from the mouthwash, the heater in satoshi’s room turned to a high setting, one bedtime story was read (which, he fell asleep halfway), the boy was out like a light. you felt it inappropriate to leave without at least saying goodbye, but you also didn’t want to cut into their time together; at least, that’s what you told yourself.
so you waited with your things on the kitchen island, getting a risky text just as gojo comes down, still in his suit from work.
[11:02pm, nobara -> you] BITCH GET THAT DICKKKKK!!!!!!!
and you yelp softly, slamming your phone down onto his marble counter. thankfully, he doesn’t notice, eyes close to shutting from fatigue.
“oh, shit, you’re still here?”
“i thought it would be, weird, if i didn’t say goodbye,” you get ready to leave, slinging your tote bag on, “but i also didn’t want to intrude on your time with satoshi, limited as it is.” well, you did also wish something would happen, but you had too much pride to admit it to yourself.
“you got a ride home?” he yawns and you feel guilty for extending your stay already. you didn’t even need to worry about the front door, he lived in a gated community for christ’s sake!
“um, not really, but i can always book an uber home.”
“i’ll drive you home, it’s unsafe,” is all he says like he’s trying to convince himself, “let me just get changed and we can go.”
gojo doesn’t leave you any room to protest before he’s up the stairs again and you’re left with a pounding heart and dizzy head, not sure what might ensue. you know him to be honourable; you’ve seen him with his child, you’ve seen him interact with his neighbours, but a late ride with your boss sounds sketchy as it is.
but it doesn’t feel like it when you feel the tokyo wind blowing through your hair, a slight gap in the window bringing you the chills of the night as he silently drives you back home. sitting in your employer’s car most of all felt weird, but even more so when he’s reaching your home faster than the gps system had predicted. his knuckles are white.
“you—”
your head snaps to him, “yes?”
his car headlights are the brightest in the parking lot where every car is silent, quiet, much like his clammy hands and red cheeks. gojo satoru turns to you, feeling that familiar tug in his heart and lump in his throat for the first time in a while, and he can’t speak.
but you lean forward like your life depends on it and you leap inwardly when you see that he does the same. eyes trained forward, your stares boring into the other, waiting to see who’d close their eyes first. you just stop short of an inch, met with the hypnotising swirls of raging oceans in gojo’s eyes and you swallow when his eyes flit down to your lips and back up like he wouldn’t get caught.
with shaking hands, your fingers trace over his lips and you sigh when you feel just how soft they are, just like his skin, just like his eyes when they look at satoshi. your heart skips a beat when he just lightly kisses the pads of your fingers, and that encourages you to cradle his cheek, up his jaw, up his undercut.
“let’s just kiss, yeah?” he was afraid that if he spoke too loud, he’d shatter the glass, snap the string of tension, voice cracking until you swallow it, you stomach his nervousness with a lively, strong kiss from your lips to his, and he just melts.
gojo hums into the kiss, leaning forward over the stick shift and into the passenger seat before you counter it with your own movements: hand on his shoulders and pushing until you’re on his space of the driver’s seat and playing the game of tug that’s been going on for the past few weeks. you win.
“god, you’re so . .” gojo whines out when you climb onto him, whispering into your mouth while you get comfortable in your straddling position, cutting him off with a second, rougher kiss and you both moan softly, passion taking over in the evident way your arms scramble to wrap around him while he pulls you flush against his front.
the car is filled with sounds of your kissing, something that definitely shouldn’t be done in his home and yet you risk it all in your home’s parking lot. you break the kiss and hide in his neck, already starting the makings of a hickey there while your pelvis selfishly grinds into his front and he kneads your ass. in the mingling of breaths and moans, he’s left to stop the two of you when there’s a muffled ringtone coming from your bag and you swallow at the insanity of the situation.
“i’ll see you, monday, right?” gojo breathlessly says later, bulge still showing through his sweats while you hang outside the driver’s side, not wanting to leave. he takes your hand, planting a peck on it and then brings you in for another harmless kiss.
“yeah, gojo-san . . monday.”
you lose count of how many times you’ve swallowed throughout the night, but he says something to lift the mood just a bit.
“we just made out and you’re still calling me by my last name?”
you laugh lightly, “monday, satoru. i’ll be there, same time, on monday.”
gojo leaves a farewell kiss to the inside of your wrist, “attagirl.”
but if you’re not careful, it might just happen in satoru’s house.
the remainder of your employment at his house is tiring. it’s so hard not to kiss him before he leaves for work, so difficult not to long for him while you take care of satoshi, so entirely harrowing not to claim him as yours as you watch him play after his work. at this point, you’re hoping school will just start soon and the rush of assignments and readings will take your mind off of it, but you cannot deny the excitement every time you leave your house.
“you’ll bring food and cook every monday, wednesday, friday, and i’ll order food for the both of you every tuesday and thursday, how’s that?” gojo thinks it’s time to introduce him to larger pieces of food, but it’s gone past that by now and to your meal arrangements.
“i’m okay with cooking, though!” you assure him, and plus, you loved your parents’ home cooked bentos that they give you everyday, “do we gotta?”
“sorting out meals is tiring, (y/n),” gojo takes the place beside you, leaning against the counter just like you before drinking out of his cup, “i want to at least help at little.”
“you already are.” you smile, “i can see you making the effort.”
“it’s not enough, though, i could be doing better.”
gojo hates how this scene sets up — like two parents just figuring out the best for their kid — it’s a callback to the memory in the same exact kitchen. at least all you do is kiss and make out, because he wouldn’t know what to do if you moan out his name in that same intimate way that threatens his walls to come down again. he loved sex, he loved the bedroom, but he’s riding a thin line the way he’s doing with you.
“you are,” is everything that you say, and you leap forward to kiss him. you do it so hard that he has to put down the glass to fully embrace you, walking you backwards to the conversation pit and he carries you so effortlessly because he doesn’t want you walking backwards down some stairs.
he hates how you bring him into your lips, he hates how gently he lays you down, and he hates how you accept the kisses down your neck and body. you, on the other hand, aren’t doing so well, either — it’s either a hit or miss with a broken man like gojo satoru, and you’re stepping on glass shards hoping you don’t say anything wrong with him because he’s trying his best but he just can’t see it.
“are you okay with this?” he asks halfway down your torso and he gets lightheaded from how well his hands cover your waist. “tell me to stop, and i’ll stop.”
“n-no . . keep going, satoru.”
he exhales shakily at that, fingers tugging your top up and his hands are so cold you resist shivering, but you do anyway from the sheer fucking craziness that gojo drives you into. one pop of your button, and you’re already lifting your hips off the couch for him to remove your pants but movement on the stairs make you halt.
“papa?” satoshi calls out sleepily, rubbing his eyes and pouting. you can see it, almost, with how much time you’ve spent with the kid, and you hope he can’t see you. “i . . i had a nightmare and i just— i wanna sleep with you.”
he’s started sniffling and you feel your heart break that he knows his papa well enough to know he would never sleep in his room. his job always has him sleeping out in the living room.
go. you mouth, kissing your fingers and pressing it to his lips before he puts on a show — yawning, stretching his arms, already making satoshi feel at ease with his theatrics before he’s stopping at the foot of the stairs to look back at you. you already know gojo satoru has redeemed himself a hundred times over. i’ll see you tomorrow.
funnily, satoshi somehow does have some intervention powers, because each time the both of you attempt to go down on each other, he’s either saying he threw up, or he needs to use the toilet, or that he’s hungry. while you both love him to death, it’s also becoming difficult to hold back each time you see each other. his car in your parking lot is all he has and you dare not to go to his workplace where rumours would spark.
so after a tiring night of getting a hyper satoshi to sleep, you’d at least try. at this point, you know not to expect too much out of it, starting always with some talking. it was easy to talk to your boss, and when you phrase it like that, it did come off a little strange, but it was far from that when your boss in his late 30s looked just like he did ten years ago and that he had crazy blue eyes and insane white hair and was hot.
“thank you for taking care of him for the past month and a half,” gojo thanked you, leaning over to give you a peck to the temple, “it means a lot.”
“he’s a sweet boy, plus, i do need the money,” you giggle, nudging him, “and it did let me get to know you . .”
“certainly,” he mumbles. drunk off your scent, he leans in again, kissing you fully on the lips now. you hum softly, going on your tippy toes and wrapping your arms around his shoulder. swiftly, he props you on the kitchen counter and you yelp in surprise, unable to help the throb of your pussy when he slots himself in between your legs.
jokingly, he puts his hand to his ear. “no satoshi interruption tonight?”
you smack his shoulder, “don’t jinx it.”
he laughs, a proper laugh before he sighs shakily, fingers thumbing your sides gently. “you know . . we shouldn’t be doing this,” you feel your heart sink a little, but he quells it with hovering lips over yours, “he could hear and wake up.”
“then why have you been accepting all my kisses, gojo satoru?” your eyes challenge him, but you know one touch from him would have you submitting to him. his breath fans over your lips, and you can feel his pulse speed up when your fingers go over his neck, to his nape, to his undercut. you run your fingertips through it.
“you have too much power over me, simple.” that sentence has your eyes fluttering close. it’s too much for you and yet you welcome it with open arms, “it’s become so bad that you’re all i think about.”
“is that so?” you pull lightly on his hair.
he nods, foreheads touching now and he’s trying to hold himself back, but, “i’ve been holding back, entirely too much, baby, and i don’t think i can, anymore.”
“yeah?” you whisper, bringing him in with your legs, “show me, then.”
gojo satoru decides that maybe taking the leap isn’t so bad, so he fully gives himself to you, tugging your lips to his in a clashing kiss that has you groaning in pain just a bit. he giggles and apologises and tries again, and this time, it’s got your hips moving against him, whimpering into his mouth. gojo’s hard just from kissing, something that he’s desperate to relieve himself off so — he’s whispering for you to hang on while he slots his hands under your ass and lifts you.
satoru knows his house well, walking up with you in tow and lips still on yours, right into his room. you giggle when he plops you down and he’s already looking forward to ravishing you, but —
“let me check on satoshi for a sec.”
you laugh silently, “of course, satoru, go.”
and once your boss’ made sure his son is out cold in slumber, he’s all over you again and definitely showing you how much he’s been holding himself back. you’re the pure focus of the night, making you chase for more when he pulls away and kissing down your body. he worships it, tongue circling a nipple while his hand plays with the other, eyes staring holes into yours from how intense the blue was.
“s-satoru . .”
“yes, sweets, what is it?”
“feels good—” you whine, back arching into his hold once he leaves your tits and continues down your body. each kiss is like hellfire against your cold skin, and he pops a button and listens out again, both of you sighing in relief and giggling to each other when you don’t hear a knock on the door.
“does it? good.” it’s tantalisingly slow, the pace at which gojo peels your clothes off, but when your pants are finally off, he marvels at your beauty as he brings your legs apart. you’re shy, hiding yourself behind your arms and resisting his hands.
“aht, no, c’mon, show yourself, baby.” he only moans when he sees the dark patch at the centre of your underwear, pressing a finger into your clit and you’re ashamed at how intensely you react to it. gojo continues his torture, thumbing your bud just to watch your face contort into pleasure, “so, so pretty.”
you preen at the praise, even more so when he pulls your panties to the side and sucks slowly on your clit. it’s slow, again, and you’re clutching the sheets so tight when he lays his tongue flat against your pussy. satoru takes his time, savouring each bit of your cunt to make up for lost time, filling the room with the lewdest noises of your sopping cunt on his tongue.
“taste so fuckin’ sweet, pussy’s s’good,” he practically moans into your core, arms wrapping around your thighs to bring you closer while you try to keep your noises down to a minimum. little pants and mewls leave your lips, eyes never leaving the head of hair.
but he’s unpredictable, as gojo always is, so when he’s hovering over you just to give you a little innocent kiss, you think nothing of it, until he’s back in front of your pussy and starts eating you out like a starved man. you let out a loud moan, dragging it out until you’re gulping down your next sounds. it doesn’t help much, though, cause gojo’s slurping at your pussy like it’s the end of the world.
“s-satoru—! too much—” you moan but your hips grind into his mouth, your hands now finding purchase in his hair, “t-too loud.”
“mmf— don’t care,” he mumbles into your cunt, making sure he gets every drop of your arousal on his tongue while he abuses your clit, alternating between flicking his tongue and sucking hard and you think it’s the best head you’ve ever gotten.
“not when your cunt’s so perfect,” you only press his head deeper into you like it would stop his muffled sentences, but that only spurs him to suck harder before he just shifts down a little to plunge his tongue into your hole. you choke out a moan as his nose nudges your clit, clenching around his muscle.
“relax— mmhh, you gotta relax, baby,” he’s massaging your thighs but if anything it does the exact opposite, closing your thighs around his head in sensitivity.
“it’s— h-hard to,” you moan out, already feeling the coil in your tummy that’s approaching oh, so quickly when gojo eats you out like this. he shifts his attention back to your puffy clit, eyes flicking up to make contact with yours and you shrivel under his intense stare, “w-when you’re making me feel s’good—!”
you feel him smile into your cunt but he says nothing, taking note of the drop of your jaw, the scrunch of your eyes, the contractions of your stomach. your legs like to straighten out and shake when you’re close, he memorises. when you start to tighten your grip on his hair, he ingrains it in his mind.
“cumming— i’m c-close,” but it’s like satoru doesn’t even need it when his eyes digest the way he sends you over the edge with just his tongue.
“g— god! satoru!” your mouth falls into a silent scream after, head dipping so much into the pillow while you grind your cunt into his face, gushing all over his face with a renewed spirit and regret for all those times that men have rubbed your left lip thinking it was your clit.
“let it go, yeess . . that’s it,” satoru doesn’t hesitate to get sloppy, sucking up all your cum, gasping for air once he’s done with his meal, “pretty girl just came all over my face.”
you struggle to your elbows despite the words he utters, propped up just to catch a glimpse of him and the soaked bottom of his face that stretches into a smile.
“was that better than all the uni boys who’ve never felt the touch of a woman?” you laugh at that, making quick work of grabbing his chin and bringing him back to your lips.
“much, much better.” and you take the opportunity to flip the tables, trembling, shaking legs trying their best to wrap around his torso to straddle him — but once you’re over, you’re not quite sure what to do apart from letting your hands roam all over the expanse of his shoulders and chest.
“and can she do it again all over my cock?” the obscene words sound almost taboo falling from his mouth that your mouth drops open in initial shock, but it subsides into anticipation soon enough.
wordlessly, you take matters into your own hands, fingers making quick work of his trousers while he removes his top impatiently. the scowl on your face is prominent when you struggle to work his belt out and he chuckles with helping hands, the burn on your face deepening.
“there,” gojo giggles and he pulls you in with a peck-filled apology, “don’t worry, we have all the time in the world.”
you hum, “not when your son could knock any time soon.”
that prompts a giggle that fades off into a loud moan once your warm hand wraps around him, something that he’d never tell you how many times he’s fantasised about. slowly, you stroke his cock, excruciatingly slow just like how he’s done to your cunt earlier.
you’re hovering over him, now, dragging his tip along your pussy and whining softly at the pre-cum that mixes together with your juices. you need him into you as soon as possible, and apart from your soon burning thighs, you’ve been wanting this for as long as you’ve stepped foot into his house from the very first day.
inch by inch, you sink down onto gojo’s weeping cock, getting the luxury of feeling his sensitive twitches with the plunge into your cunt. you’re glad at least he had offered to stretch you out just a tad bit earlier, the intrusion of his fingers already having you panting for his dick; and now, when you have the real thing, it drives your mind insane.
“’t-toru— haah . .” your body curls up from the painful stretch, lips muttering the nickname unknowingly as you grasp onto his shoulders for support, and while he helps you on, he never stops saying the most filthy things, grinning each time you clench around him.
“never thought i’d be here, fuckin’ the babysitter, but here we are,” your oh my god is whispered only for the other to hear, body burning up from the words before he grinds his pelvis into yours and you slump forward in pleasure. your words are a bunch of nothingness, a string of incoherence, “and her pussy’s just so fucking— tight!”
giving you one or two breaths of rest, satoru coos in your face, cradling it and littering kisses all over it before he’s moving his hips and you’re breaking the kiss to whine out, moving your hips to meet his as well. you move sooner or later, bouncing on his cock once you’re more used to him in you and the position only hits all your spots just right.
“f-fuck— you’re so big—!” you roll your hips into him, eyes stuck on how there’s just a small bump in your tummy each time you bottom out. your boss from across you is equally ruined, eyes struggling to keep open with wet hair stuck to his forehead. “feel so so g-good . .”
“yeah?” he breathlessly mumbles, hand squeezing and kneading your ass and trying to help you, but the warmth of your cunt around his length just feels too good. “bounce on that dick, baby.”
and you do, planting your feet into the bed and fingers creating bruises along his shoulders as you impale yourself on his fat cock, switching to relaxing in his embrace and letting your hips do the work when your legs start hurting. there, you indulge in gojo’s lips as you hump him, the delicious friction of your clit against his pubes sending you reeling.
“you’re going to be soaking my sheets from how much you’re leaking,” gojo jests, letting your moans take over his mind while his lips trace down your neck, eyes just peeking over to see your ass ripple from the force. “not that i mind. how’s she doin’?”
“she’s getting,” a choked whine interrupts you, “a little tired.”
and that draws a laugh out of gojo who does nothing but tease you, something he likes to do even in makeout sessions, and he doesn’t hesitate to reach over to his bedsie table to grab his phone, leaning back to bask in your glory. here, your body just looks heavenly as you try your best to move on his lap.
“hang on a little more for me, princess,” with one hand, his larger hand leave chills all over your body and the other points his phone at you, not before making sure you were okay with it, “and smile for the camera.”
you try your best even when his hand make his way to your mouth, pulling it open with his fingers to slot it in. you’re sure you look like a whore right now, but the camera pointed your way only turn you on more, like it’s beckoning you to put on a show. and you loved the attention, so you close your lips around his fingers and start sucking, grinding even harsher on his cock that has gojo stuttering.
“y—yeah, attagirl . .” he grins at the video he takes, “show the camera how much of a cockslut you are.”
you whine, bringing the hand to your clit while you shove two hands onto his torso to really work your thighs out, feeling that familiar curl in your stomach once he starts rubbing his saliva-filed fingers along you bundle of nerves.
“r-right there, satoru—!” you swear under your breath, giving hooded eyes to the camera while you chase your high drunkenly, all sort of coherent thought banished from your head. “love your cock, love it, love it—!”
satoru swears he wants to cum from just watching you use him, and even holding himself back is proving difficult when you clamp and tighten around him until his fingers press particularly deep into your clit and you’re cumming with a loud cry of his name, body convulsing all over the video.
“tha’s a good girl . . cream my cock, yeeaaahh . .” gojo watches, hypnotised, as you lose control over your body, but the pleasure-filled whimper that you merge his name with is just too good, that he spills unexpectedly in you. the video is far from stable, so he only slaps the phone down to relish in his orgasm. gojo pushes his hips up and you gasp at the feeling, back arching when you feel his cum seep into you.
you’ve never even given much thought to pregnancy, but the feeling of his cum dribbling into you fogs your mind that you only want more after a mental note to buy the morning after pill tomorrow.
“n-need more,” you beg, fondling at his cheeks and undercut, “w-want more cum in me, satoru . .”
and it’s like a flip switches in him, because he’s flipping you over right after — he has to see his cum leave your pussy first though, taking the still ongoing video and putting it right up to your pussy, using his tip to smear your mixed juices all around.
“who knew i’d hired such a dirty girl?” he addresses the camera more than you, but he catches your flustered glance with a wink and after poorly setting up the camera on his bedside table (he just was too intoxicated on your cunt), he’s pushing back into you with a loud groan, not even caring for the consequences any more. his cum is just so much, too, spilling out the sides.
“only f’r you,” you mumble, grabbing at his forearms needily. your eyes flutter close as he bottoms out, your legs pushed right up to your chest as he folds you whichever way he wants to. at this point, if he wanted to own you, you wouldn’t object one bit, not when gojo satoru’s cock stretches your pretty pussy so nicely. “a cumslut only for you.”
“yeah?” he starts moving his hips and your arch into his hold, “i wonder how i got so — fuck — lucky.” everything is sloppy and wet and disgusting and you love every moment of it, even after he’s cummed in you the second, third, fourth time, you’re happy to be pumped full of his cum, giving him a tired, glistening grin that he returns.
“think i should be transferring over my life savings for a cunt this sweet,” you giggle at the compliment, but don’t protest when he’s pulling up the app to gift you with a hefty amount; both your salary and bonus, all from making gojo satoru fall helplessly just from your touch — something to brag about indeed.
#asks#anon#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#gojo smut#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x reader#gojo satoru#satoru gojo smut#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo#jjk scenarios#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen gojo#jujutsu kaisen gojo smut#gojo satoru smut#gojo x you#jjk thirsts#jujutsu kaisen#gojou satoru smut#gojou satoru x reader#gojou smut#gojou x reader
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Steve grows up playing piano, absolutely hates it, but is so good at it. His parents aren’t around enough by the time he’s a teen to force him to his practices, so he slowly stops going.
His music teacher happens to be Robin’s mom, who studied at Juilliard, and traveled for nearly a decade with various orchestras and bands before settling down with her husband in Hawkins.
She can see what’s going on with Steve from day one, but knows better than to interfere.
Until he quits.
She can’t stand by and let someone so musically gifted give it up.
She shows up at his house with a violin, her own violin that she hadn’t used in years.
He’s hesitant at first, but decides to give it a try as long as she doesn’t tell his parents. The last thing he wants is for them to find out he picked up a new instrument.
She can’t give him official lessons, so she shows up to his house twice a week and hopes that he practices in his own time.
He’s a natural.
He takes to it like a duck to water.
She encourages him to perform in a local talent show, all kids under 18, most of them not half as talented as he is.
He only agrees when she says she’ll be front row.
And sure enough, for once in his life, someone shows up when they say they will. She’s sitting front row with her husband on one side and her daughter on the other. She smiles as he takes the stage, nervous about people who know him seeing him and reporting back to his parents.
He performs with heart, something he lacked with the piano. He performs with talent, something he may have with any instrument he picks up.
But most importantly, he plays with a smile. He’s having fun.
He sticks around to watch some of the other people performing: Tammy Thompson singing a very out of tune rendition of America The Beautiful, some kid from one of his classes playing piano miserably, and some band performing very loud, very angry music.
Steve wins, and for once, it feels better than when he wins at a swim meet or basketball game.
He spends the next three years secretly practicing, only performing in shows out of town, never saying anything to his parents.
He doesn’t want them to ruin this for him.
He applies to Juilliard, not thinking he has a chance in hell, not with his academic grades.
Luckily, they see that he’s “exceptional with the strings” and “plays with emotion that can’t be trained.”
He gets in.
He goes.
He thinks he may actually be able to do this, use a gift he has to make his life better.
His parents even find it acceptable, mostly because he got into the best school he could have. They still don’t bother showing up for his shows, but Mrs. Buckley always finds a way.
In his sophomore year, Robin gets in, and they both move into a small apartment off campus together. He promised to look out for her.
She tells him that music wasn’t really her passion, she was just good with a trumpet. She really wanted to be an engineer.
In his junior year, Robin transfers to Columbia, starts doing what she really wanted to do from the start. He’s proud of her, but misses having someone on campus during the day to have lunch with.
Until he stumbles, literally, into someone vaguely familiar.
“Sorry, man. Running late.”
Steve pats the man on the shoulder and turns to get to his class when the man stops him.
“Harrington? You’re a student here?”
He turns back and finally recognizes the man in front of him.
“Munson? When did you get here?”
“I got in this year. Kinda fucked up my first audition last year and they were kind enough to give me another shot.” Eddie smiled. “What on earth are you here for?”
“Violin. You?”
“Guitar and songwriting.”
“That’s great, man. I’m just really running late. Catch up soon?”
Soon was two weeks later, when Steve ran into Eddie again while leaving class.
“We should probably stop running into each other like this,” Eddie smirked. “The universe is trying to tell us something.”
“What’s it trying to tell us?”
“Not sure. Maybe we should go grab dinner and find out.”
“Now?”
“Why not? Got better plans?”
Steve thought about how Robin was barely at the apartment due to studying for midterms. He thought about how his only other friend from here was busy rehearsing for their senior showcase.
“Nah. Let me bring this home first,” he held up his violin case. “Actually.”
Steve was on a budget. His parents gave him money, sure, but they thought he was living on campus so the money they sent covered rent and groceries and nothing else.
“I could make dinner. If you want?”
“Steve Harrington cooks? And plays violin?” Eddie fake swooned. “Be still my beating heart. How will I not be seduced?”
Steve rolled his eyes. He remembered Eddie’s dramatics from school and knew better than to feed into them.
“I can make some spaghetti. Nothing fancy.”
“Spaghetti sounds great,” Eddie’s fake swoon turned to a soft smile. “You want some help?”
Steve didn’t need help, usually didn’t even want any.
But something about the way his stomach dipped when Eddie stepped closer, and the way he thought about having Eddie in his apartment, made him agree.
“Sure.”
They walked to Steve’s apartment in a comfortable silence, though Eddie kept tapping the back of his fingers against Steve’s hand.
Eddie fit next to Steve. They cooked together, they ate together, they even managed to clean up together. It was easy to find something to talk about. He’d never clicked with anyone like this, not even Robin.
By the time Robin came home, Steve and Eddie were both passed out on the couch, fingers laced together as if they hadn’t been brave enough to do anything more before they fell asleep.
By morning, Steve’s head was on Eddie’s shoulder, Eddie’s arm wrapped around him loosely.
Waking up to a soft kiss on his lips was something Steve couldn’t have imagined when he first ran into Eddie, but he was pretty glad it was how he started his day.
And almost every day after that, whether he woke up to a kiss, or met up with Eddie on campus for a kiss, he started his day with love on his lips.
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#headcanon#drabble#musician Steve Harrington#musician eddie munson#we love alternate meetings in this house#we’re gonna say it’s a modern au to make things simpler#just go with it
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Seeing stars
Welp, I wrote more porn.
Astarion x F!Tav/F!Reader
18+, smut, porn with plot, porn with feelings, jealous Astarion, soft dom Astarion, dirty talk, fingering, PIV, elf ears and more! Humour, banter and fluff mixed in per usual. Tav failing several insight checks in the process.
I also poke fun at the in-game romance mechanics, and Wyll's Act 2 scene in particular.
This is the last time they have sex before the "I want us to be something real" conversation.
Approx. 2,900 words
“You won’t believe the ludicrous encounter I just had with Wyll.”
You burst into Astarion’s tent. Well, it was ‘Astarion’s’ tent only notionally at this point. Yours still stood, but it now served solely as storage space for your assorted junk. You had effectively moved in with Astarion, having first coerced him into replacing the wooden plank and bloodstained rags he slept on with some sensible rugs and blankets.
Astarion lounged half-naked on one of the bedrolls, reading something by candlelight.
“Oh?” he looked up at you. “Do tell.”
“First the massage you promised earlier,” you said sinking down onto the floor of the tent and stripping off most of your clothes. “My back is killing me after carrying everyone all day.”
“Oh please...” he rolled his eyes. “I recall you nearly walked into your own cloud of daggers, again, and would have if I hadn’t pulled you away in time. And then you blasted Lae’zel off a cliff. It’s a wonder we haven’t kicked you out yet.” He shook his head. “And if you’re carrying anyone, I’m the one carrying you.”
Still, he sat up as you laid down on your stomach.
“Who do you think you’re fooling with this modesty, darling?” he murmured, noticing that you’d kept your underwear on. “Just lose it now,” he added, as he slid it off, leaving you completely naked, before he settled over you, his fingers commencing work on your shoulders. “So what happened with Wyll?”
“I was making my way back here, and found him... performing some kind of jig by the campfire, pretending like he didn’t know I was there.”
“The ‘Blade of Frontiers’, dancing alone in the middle of camp?” Astarion snickered. “Did you mock him? Please tell me you mocked him.”
“Well... I was going to, but then he asked me to dance with him, very earnestly.”
“That scoundrel...” he mused. “And let me guess - you agreed, didn’t you?”
“Oh trust me, at that point it would have been more awkward not to dance with him, I had to play along.”
Astarion scoffed, with a chuckle.
“Do you always go along with whatever people want from you just because it would be too awkward to say no?”
"I try not to – last time I did, I ended up with a vampire who won’t stop sucking me dry,” you deflected. “I figured there was no harm in indulging him. Besides, I don’t see you dancing with me. It was kind of nice,” you teased.
“I hate dancing,” he said.
“Right,” you said. “I’m sure you hate dancing just as much as you hate poetry, flowers, art, cats... What else?”
“Children,” he answered. “I also can’t stand children.”
“No, that one I could see being true,” you grinned.
“So anyway, you two dolts pranced around the fire to the sound of crickets, then what?”
“And then he tried to kiss me,” you admitted, with a sigh.
Astarion’s hands paused for a moment before resuming their work, slightly harder than before.
“Well look at you, receiving the Duke Ravengard’s heir’s attention. Moving up in the world, hmm?”
“I didn’t let him.”
He laughed.
“Is there even a single person left in camp that hasn’t tried to get into your pants, darling?”
You had to think for a moment.
“Are we counting Volo?”
“Sure.”
“Then just Karlach and Withers.”
“Gods, I fucking love Karlach,” he murmured. “Don’t tell her I said that.”
“Why? Getting jealous all of a sudden?”
Astarion was silent for a few moments.
“I just don’t understand it,” he said. “You’re with me every night. I’m at your side every day. They see us. They hear us. Still, they don’t take me – or you and me – seriously. Tell me, is there something about me that screams: ‘Please, go ahead and take my lover for yourself. Come on in and snatch her right out from under me, I don’t mind’?”
Perhaps you’d made a bad judgment call when you thought Astarion would find the absurdity of the situation humorous rather than offensive. Still, you had to bite your cheek to keep from laughing at the dramatics he added to the delivery of the last few lines that left his mouth.
“Stop laughing,” he said.
“I’m not laughing,” you laughed.
“I can feel your back muscles twitching in your efforts.”
“Well, they’re aware this all started as a joke. Perhaps they never realised that it’s long stopped being one?” you offered.
Astarion’s hands had been moving lower and lower along your back. They had now reached your ass and continued to rub, stroke and squeeze, as you let out a soft groan.
“That’s not my back, Astarion.”
One of his hands kept squeezing an ass cheek, while the other dipped to stroke you between your legs. He gave a satisfied hum when two of his fingers entered you effortlessly.
“Maybe if they could see how wet I can make you just by rubbing your back they’d reconsider how much of a joke this is,” he said, his voice low. He continued to pump his fingers in and out – you were almost embarrassed by the loud squelching sounds that came out of you. You moaned and tried to lift your hips higher, but your legs were encased between his thighs, pinned down on the bedroll. “Do you think you’d be reacting this way to young Ravengard, darling?”
“Stop it,” you hissed. “You know I don’t want anyone but you.”
“Stop?” he pulled his fingers out, to your dissatisfied whine. You looked back to see him studying your slick on his fingers. “I should go smear this on his face right now... The audacity to try to get his hands on what is not his.” He licked his fingers clean instead. He turned his attention back to you.
“Maybe if you were more vocal about your devotion to me the others wouldn’t make these mistakes.”
His hand returned between your legs, spreading your wetness and slipping lower to tease your clit.
“I could be... encouraged... to be more vocal about it,” you breathed, trying to grind against his hand.
“Yes... I should make you scream my name, so they all know who you belong to.”
His fingers returned inside you, teasing you with shallow strokes.
“You can try,” you taunted him.
Astarion let out an indignant huff and shifted to spread your legs open with his knees, simultaneously placing a hand on your back to firmly hold you down. You expect to feel his cock enter you, but he continued to stroke you with his fingers, turning his hand to curl them downwards.
“Is that a challenge, darling?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “You should know better by now than to bet against me,” he said, continuing to flex his fingers inside you.
It started off pleasant enough, but rapidly grew into... more. And more. You weren’t sure what he was doing but whatever it was, it was just about making you see stars.
You sputtered as the new sensation started to take hold of your whole being.
“Ast… what..”
You couldn't manage anything coherent, as his fingers continued to dig into you, gradually picking up speed and pressure. You started to squirm to try to get away despite yourself, but he simply put more weight against the hand on your back, securely pinning you to the bedroll.
“Always getting yourself into situations you're not prepared for…" he murmured. "You're not talking your way out of this one.”
His fingers were relentless. You were worried you really would scream and wake everyone in camp. All you could do was bite down on the pillow, hoping that it would muffle your drawn-out moans.
“Let go, darling... I know you want to.”
It's not so much that you let go – rather, all your decorum was ripped from you, as your muscles convulsed, the orgasm rolling through your entire body. You panted and shuddered, trying to keep quiet, your hands clutching desperately at the covers beneath you, trying to hold on to anything like your life depended on it.
Once the feeling subsided, you came back to your senses to find Astarion hovering over you, kissing the back of your neck and shoulders, grazing them with his fangs, almost but not quite hard enough to draw blood. You felt his erection rubbing against your hip.
“Has anyone fucked you like this before?” he whispered hoarsely into your ear, his breath ragged from his own arousal. “Tell me.”
“No,” you gasped, trying to catch your own breath.
“I thought so,” he whispered with a smile, kissing your neck before he sat back up.
You turned back to look at him over your shoulder. He watched you with a self-satisfied grin, his fingers returning to stroke you lightly between your legs once more.
“Do you want me to do it again?” he purred.
A part of you wanted to wipe that smug grin off his face after what he just put you through. Another, much larger part, wanted nothing more than to submit yourself to whatever he would do to you.
“Yes,” you admitted sheepishly.
“Turn around...” he narrowed his eyes mischievously. “I want to see your face this time.”
You flipped around onto your back, under his watchful gaze. His eyes never left yours as he stroked your slit, teasing your engorged clit with his thumb, before his fingers slipped back inside you.
You found yourself mewling in anticipation before he really even started doing anything.
“So eager,” he smirked. “So wanton...”
He curled his fingers again, moving his whole hand to mercilessly claw into a sweet spot you didn’t even know existed inside you.
You tried to relax into and accept this sensation, now that you were familiar with it. A growing pressure kept building at the bottom of your stomach. It was too much. It was entirely too much. You couldn’t take more of it. You couldn’t-
“Let go, I’ve got you...” His whisper sounded so tender in sharp contrast to the depraved way he was handling your body.
You sobbed as what you hoped was cum gushed out of you, your legs quivering.
“Good girl”, Astarion laughed with glee, bending down to place a kiss on your lips, continuing to stroke you lightly, “Your body reacts so perfectly to me... Do you want more?”
“You... I want you...” you groaned, biting his lip.
“If that’s what my good girl wants,” he purred, discarding what was left of his clothes.
You groaned as his cock entered you, rocking your hips against his, trying to find that feeling again.
“So wet and needy for me...” he goaded you. “I’ve completely ruined you for anyone else, haven’t I?”
He held absolutely nothing back as he fucked you, lewd insistent sounds of skin slapping on skin combined with your shared grunts and moans disturbing what was likely otherwise a silent night.
“Anyone awake knows exactly what I’m doing to you right now,” he rasped, voice thick.
Your walls clenched at the thought, making him shudder and sigh as well.
“You like that thought, don’t you..? I know you do,” he continued. “So shameless...”
Despite yourself, you whimpered, clenching again as another orgasm started threatening to overtake you.
“That’s it... Come for me again,” he groaned. “Come for me, my love.”
‘My love’..? Just a figure of speech, you thought. You’d thrown that phrase around, jokingly, but it’s never sounded so... raw. You wanted to hear it again. You wanted to keep hearing it.
“Your what?” you gasped.
He didn’t answer. Instead he caught your lips in a deep, devouring kiss, pinning your arms over your head.
Your body gave in and you trembled under him, caught up in waves of pleasure again.
He released your arms and eased his movements once you rode out your high, but kept kissing you, hungrily, unwilling to release your lips from his.
Clearly, no further words of love would follow, you thought to yourself with a tinge of both relief and disappointment, deciding to let it go.
“You’re so good to me,” you managed, breaking your lips from his.
“Aren’t I just?” he groaned, speeding up again to chase his own release.
You kissed your way up his jaw to his ear, pausing to nibble on his earlobe.
You couldn’t see it, but a ditsy, open-mouthed smile started to play on his face.
Astarion gasped with a sharp intake of breath as you continued further, running your tongue over the inside of the shell of his ear.
“Oh sweet hells,” he sighed with pleasure, immediately grinding into your harder.
You smiled as he tilted his head, just about pressing his ear against your lips.
“Do you like that?” you whispered in his ear, running your tongue over it again, lifting your hands to run your fingers through his hair. You knew he did. You just wanted to hear him say it.
“Yes... Don’t stop...” His words sounded like a desperate plea.
You continued to gently nibble on the edge of his ear, soft moans escaping you from his movements.
“That’s it, take what’s yours” you groaned, as his hips crashed into yours harder.
His breathing and movements were becoming more and more frantic.
“Astarion...” you whispered, grazing the shell of his ear with your lips.
He let out an uncharacteristic whimper, all his usual composure slipping from him, as he bucked his hips, fucking you with quick, shallow thrusts.
“My sweet...” you breathed against his ear.
He came completely undone, spilling into you with forceful, jagged thrusts, before finally stilling. His whole body seemed to melt into yours as he stayed on top of you, trying to regain his breath.
You wrapped your legs around his hips, not wanting to let go of him yet, but he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to lift himself from you either. Instead he trailed light, tender kisses from your neck up to your lips.
You delicately traced the contours of Astarion’s face with your fingertips, running them from his cheekbone down to his jaw, as he leaned into your caress, gazing into your eyes.
Astarion parted his lips slightly, as though to say something, only to seal them again. He tilted his head to kiss your knuckles as your fingers gradually made their way back up, to run through his hair. Eventually he spoke.
“You would really choose me over the more... blatantly obvious options you have at your disposal here?” he asked quietly.
“Haven’t I made that abundantly clear already..?”
“Well of course you have – no one else is this good,” he said with a tired smirk.
“I’m not talking about the...” you blinked. “You know I’m not with you just for the sex, right..?” you frowned, looking into his eyes.
He looked away, slipping out of you and moving to lie down next to you.
“Is that so?” he said softly.
You found yourself suddenly feeling rattled. Was he simply fishing for compliments again, or had you been utterly oblivious to just how deep his insecurities ran this whole time..?
“You have a wealth of other qualities that I... enjoy and appreciate,” you said, somewhat lamely.
Astarion propped his head up on his hand and raised an eyebrow at you quizzically. There was a hint of vulnerability in his eyes despite his outward nonchalance.
Oh for fuck’s sake, you thought. I’m not ready for any serious conversations now, especially not with cum running down my thighs.
You turned away to grab something to wipe yourself down with.
“A gentleman would clean up his own mess, by the way. Not one of your strong points. But you do have some virtues that make up for it. For instance... I can leave cheese unattended around you, knowing you won’t eat it.”
Astarion went to pinch the bridge of his nose, sighing.
“You’re a treasure trove of useless information,” you continued. “But unlike some of our companions you usually keep it to yourself.” A hint of a smile played on his lips at that.
“Your hand feels nice and cold on my forehead when I have a headache.” You laid back down next to him, mirroring the way he was lying.
“You always smell nice, especially for a dead guy. You never hog the mirror.”
“What about my hair, won’t you mention that?” he smiled.
“No, fuck your hair, it makes mine look awful in comparison.”
He chuckled at that.
“I do rather adore the garnet puppy eyes though,” you murmured. “What else... You make me laugh, and, more importantly, I make you laugh – which is great for my ego,” you continued.
“As long as you understand that I’m usually laughing at you,” he countered.
“Prick... Then there’s the fact you’ve saved my life four times.”
“Seven,” he said quietly, looking into your eyes.
“Five.”
“It’s seven, dear, I counted.”
“Whatever. When it comes to battle, you’re silent but deadly,” you said. “Like a-”
Astarion’s hand covered your mouth.
“Do not finish that thought, darling.”
You grinned from behind his palm.
“I think we can be done with this conversation,” he said.
“Wait, wait, one more...” you laughed. “You’re eccentric, unpredictable, often irrational. I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth.”
You smiled as Astarion groaned dramatically, covering his face with one hand.
“Knowing I’ll get to spend another day in your mad company gives me a reason to get up in the morning,” you added, softly.
“Come here, you sweet fool,” he whispered, drawing you against him.
You hugged him tightly. It took so long for him to start initiating these embraces that wouldn’t lead to sex... You relished each one.
Tomorrow, Astarion thought to himself, unbeknown to you. I have to tell her tomorrow.
~~~~~
Follow up bonus scene
This work is part of a series - here is the master list
Next in series - Confession
AO3
Tags: @littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny @spunky-89
@spacebarbarianweird @kittenintheden - hey, I heard you like elf ears
#astarion#bg3#baldur's gate 3#bg3 smut#astarion smut#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#bg3 fanfic#astarion fanfic#astarion romance#bg3 fanfiction#astarion fanfiction
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PASCAL
male reader x karina & irene
part 1 of two roses, by every other name
28k words
It goes without saying that Karina’s reputation is flawless.
Irene’s is remarkably not.
You're not even staunchly a romantic or anything. You just can’t be assed to manage the distinction between desire and distance. So when the dust settles, the best case scenario is the three of you going around telling people, "all of this is actually a true story by the way."
-
You don't need the extra helping of moody and foreboding, but the wind picks up enough to chill you to the spot.
It blows some of the longer, darker strands of Irene's hair into her eyes and she shivers, too, against the cold as she tucks it behind her ears. You’ve got both hands balled into your coat pockets, watching her pretend like she isn't about to say something you absolutely do not want to hear. Then, a sigh - the length of which is probably unwarranted. You can feel the frost on the air burning through your teeth as you face back out toward the taxi stand.
It’s gotten late and you're still waiting on an empty cab - you’re realizing there was never a conversation to be had in the first place.
“For what it’s worth,” Irene says, and there’s an indecent proposal just in the way she glances at you. “I had my eyes on her first.”
It’s all on account of some sort of moral quandary, or whatever nonsense Irene pretends to believe every time it comes up. A gross power imbalance; an issue of innocence and entitlement; a threat of abuse. Something, another thing, patriarchal expectations, blah, blah - she fudges around the details, but never ever cares who gets hurt. Not really.
And it’s doubtful Irene believes what she says, not to mention she’s skeptical anyone is even capable of zipping their way down Karina’s denim, working a pair of hands up the contour of her long legs, and making her pant and gasp hard enough that she forgets to breathe.
Well, supposedly - that is anyone, save the two of you. Nevermind the fact she’s always, always been off-limits.
The bottom line is she's a whole decade younger than either of you. This just for starters - only legal for alcohol by some narrow margin. Because between you and your fiancée there are all these rules: no coworkers, no labelmates, no close mutual friends, no personal assistants, no jealous ex-lovers, and absolutely none of her juniors. It’s in poor taste, among other things.
Also, just as straightforward: crossing any number of those lines has its own kind of appeal.
"Okay,” you say, “then maybe you should be the one to tell her we’re taking her home."
Irene's arching her eyebrows at you like a silent rebuttal. She smiles after a laugh, quick and easy, because it's what she's good at. It's what she knows. “Like you weren’t hoping she’d be here, too."
The ash Irene taps off the end of her cigarette falls to the ground like snow. Hitting the pavement as if it might punctuate the thought. That's a rare first mistake from someone like you, and then a second one from her: she thinks she’ll need to defend herself with an explanation, like she’d ever need to justify anything to you.
“Besides, she’s not waiting for me to ask.” There’s a curl to her mouth - and then, she adds, for your benefit, "she'd follow you anywhere."
The twisted irony is that the two of you could pick up any woman, anyone at all.
"I think it’s a discussion for another day," you tell her, serious. She laughs out loud.
"Which one? Who Karina wants, or that you're aching every bit as much as I am to spread her out on our bed and fuck her? Because I'm pretty sure we can both agree that at this point-"
Your palm curls around the nape of her neck with a touch of on-your-feet-thinking: one of these moments that lets Irene sit with the knowledge of how small she really is against you, her head against the collar of your coat, chin angled just so to look up at your face. And there's only a beat that passes between your fingers in her hair, tugging gently as her hand releases to your waist, her teeth clipping against the press of your lips, before a cab pulls up right next to you. You kiss her hard. It probably looks cinematic.
If for nothing other than to give Karina one less thing to overhear when she comes back outside to join you.
"Really not the time," you whisper right into the subtle twist of her grin. Her cigarette's gone out in the snowy mess, but Irene smirks deeper in response before throwing it onto the wet concrete. She grinds it beneath her boot like a reminder, her hand still firm on your hip.
"What, you don't think it’d make her day? Don’t think she'd want to hear all those kinds of thoughts running together through our heads?"
You pull Irene in closer. “She’s not you.”
-
For context - only so you’re aware how it all starts - it wasn’t actually New Year’s Eve, even though everyone had been drinking like it were.
Also for context, it’s not something you were strictly invited to either. Irene’s company holds this holiday party at the end of every year where all of their employees show up (read: idols; Irene likes to argue about work sometimes - to which you have never contested the value of her labor - but your brain tends to fuzz out in the middle, and instead you mostly just watch her pretty mouth in motion). All of the high-up executives and department heads bring their uptight wives and girlfriends to some restaurant ballroom for a cocktail reception that only really functions for name dropping, or influencing the media, or placing side bets on who is sleeping with the CFO - or whose mistress might show up unexpectedly and meet someone's wife face-to-face for the very first time.
It happens to someone Irene knows, once. You pray every year it will happen again.
Be that as it may, there are a plethora of other terrible ways to spend an evening and a half, but it’s all laid bare in Irene's contract - attendance being mandatory; enjoyment excessively optional.
And sure, it’s taken time, but you have gotten used to it: the industry, all of its excess, the inevitable display, the million and one things required of Irene that you, on the other hand, will simply never be able to relate to.
The machine’s so fine-tuned and tightly wound, like clockwork.
"Yeah, whatever," she had said, leaning her hip against your bathroom sink earlier in the day. Her dress laid out neatly across your bed, already pressed, set with her heels and jewelry, everything set on schedule to the point of absurdity.
And so it goes.
You can hear her brushing her teeth through the open door - and see her profile through the hand-swiped-fog on the mirror. She drags the toothbrush to the corner of her mouth: "And before you even ask, yes, you have to come. That's the deal. That's always been the deal - bored, or busy, or trapped talking to some social climbing board member who’s realized the liquor flows fast and free - I don’t wanna hear about it. You’ll be there."
"Uh-huh," you say, eyes fixed on her reflection in the mirror.
"Look, I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” she adds, spits, and lets the faucet run, “but this one’s shaping up to be a really long night.”
You watch the meticulous effort to pull her dark hair back into a low, neat bun as she turns and comes back into the bedroom, tossing her hair clip onto the bed to reclaim later.
“So I guess, pace yourself or something.”
"Ever the salesman, Irene," you say, facetious.
"Um, saleswoman, thank you." Her words are slightly muffled by a silk tank top pulled on over her head, then down the flat length of her body until it hits the tops of her thighs.
It’s not a matter of opinion that she'll look gorgeous in the stilettos, the dress - those earrings that catch light wherever it dares touch her. She'll smile her practiced grin. It'll probably taste sour after the hundredth person asks how long it's been and she tells them she can't remember. But then look - Irene here, still perfectly disheveled: her damp-darkened hair sticking to the porcelain skin of her neck, skin washed free of makeup. She’s beautiful. In a plain and simple way, simple-but-good. Even with the tight little scowl she shoots your direction. It’s a look she has to know could launch a thousand ships; could start a real, actual war; though you're far too charming to know how to fight - you’ve never seen the appeal.
Irene's teeth tug at the corner of her lip like she knows you'd probably end up dying in it. She puts forward this unassuming, nonchalant, “hey.”
She muses it right into a laugh. Covers her genuine smile with her fingers.
"Hey," is how you answer, always.
You’re noticing, now, the strap of her top has fallen just down the petite slope of her shoulder. You want to get your fingers beneath it. Maybe get her back in the shower. You’re never too picky.
And here: an unspoken demand, the thing that always gets you about her - while Irene stands in front of you, her finger looped between the top buttons of your shirt to draw you close. The bow of her lip perked ever-so-slightly, this soft pucker - all pretty in pink. "Before I slip into this dress, you’re going to push me against something sturdy and kiss me until I'm dizzy," she instructs, calm and methodical.
"A lot," you continue for her. You nod seriously, for a moment. "Dizzying."
She closes her eyes and leans in, and you lean into her, too. "Yeah, exactly," she ends up murmuring under a hot breath. "So, get to it.”
And so it goes, and so it goes.
-
"Have a drink," someone keeps saying.
As a matter of fact, they all do: four shots together - or one old-fashioned, or two vodka seltzers, or three of these mystery concoctions that come in a tall-stemmed glass you didn’t actually catch the name of, and jesus, it fucking reeks of prosecco. You pace yourself, within reason. You really do.
Irene gets elusive under the surface, which is to say, she doesn't change at all - not even at the edges.
And though everyone is here to be seen, only a few actually do any of the talking. Irene has it covered - you do your time.
Happy New Year, sorta. You wait it out.
-
She tastes like everything sweet, strong on her heels and sharper on her tongue - and sometimes, it’s not the best mix, given all you can manage is the touch and scent of Irene without actually getting at the insides of her thighs or that tempting stretch of skin under her ear, her neck, down to her chest.
This much, and she has no complaint - hardly seems surprised or inconvenienced - to you stepping her into the wall like it's a matter of instinct.
She just sighs, a short huff. "Don't miss these kinds of parties," she then confesses, right into your mouth, her warm exhale filling you whole. The sounds of people laughing and champagne glasses clicking nearby, a new song starting up, it's all an unnecessary backdrop, and Irene isn't distracted by a single bit of it.
Character, setting, scene; it’s all rather textbook, no?
You know what the sounds mean, the soft hums, the lingering touches, the firm press of your palm into the dip of her waist or the slender line of her back. She knows where all the cameras are because she knows everything that anyone could possibly ever want to know, such as the fact that this empty stairwell is a perfect place to start, that there isn't a real plan as to where this might go - or when it should end.
And you should know where not to press - or bite or grab or leave a mark - not in some liminal space, nor some vacant practice-room, not beneath a desk, not behind a curtain. No, not here, cloaked in shadow and secrecy, another scandal in the making. Not that the knowledge stops you from testing out the lines, from drawing little patterns up Irene's waist, slipping one hand along the barest skin where her dress has hitched up along her thigh. To a boundary, the low pitch of her voice, some suggestion like, "not here, are you serious?" mumbled across your lips like it really doesn't matter what gets said or does not.
She’s pinned so properly, so precisely, that the discord between her gentle coaxing, and your hard, bruising edge - that sheer incongruity between what you should do and what you should not - can make the adrenaline spike.
She kisses you harder - and harder, and harder. She catches the small sigh you let out. She kisses you breathless.
You can’t shake the feeling that you’re wasting an opportunity, given that you’re both dressed to the nines and are usually more homebody than anything else. Isn’t that the irony of fame? You sign up for an escape, and spend your life running away.
Irene eventually sinks back into the soles of her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist, and she smiles so easy. She tugs at the cuffs of your jacket, sets your collar flat and proper.
"I'm thinking," you hear her say, taking stock for herself, the flush high in her cheeks, the tousled sort-of-curls now bared, "in half an hour, if you feel like leaving early, we could, oh, I don't know - escape?"
Escape to a bed with a door that locks, you assume she means. Irene wants; you deliver - however she'd like.
“Sounds tempting,” you tell her. She laughs against your shoulder. "Are you waiting on someone else to sweep you off your feet, maybe? Another offer?"
"Uh, always," she scoffs. It's the little things, confidence, and certainty, the honest-in-practice; how her palms sit soft and secure, cupping the angle of your jaw, one hand, now, toying with the knot of your tie like she's contemplating just how it might fall off of you later. Irene shrugs, leaning her weight back against the wall.
She taps a finger to her lips. Ends up saying, very solemn: "Thirty minutes."
As if you had any intention of absconding without her.
-
Irene holds true to her word - she catches you on the second to last pass around the banquet room. Some executive with a slack mouth is just launching into what sounds to be a spiel about a merger - it's unimportant, not well-versed, so Irene sidles up to you, and immediately steals your attention. It doesn't bother you in the least. She curls her finger into the cuff of your jacket sleeve, and without really being prompted or asked - and only, probably, due to the clear discomfort she has being there with anyone else - she begins dragging you out of the room; you, her ticket out of hell.
"I'm so sorry," Irene dons the industry smile and is probably charming. It's difficult for you to tell. You follow her blindly. "So sorry," she tells someone else as you exit, just before you both disappear entirely, "We're leaving. But, we'll see you next year, promise!"
A real celebrity.
The two of you suddenly a duo - and for everyone’s safety, the way it should probably always ought to be - here’s how it’s all supposed to go:
You, standing almost amidst a bank of snow gathered at the curb, your coat fanned out around Irene, shivers racking up her slight frame. All hidden just enough that if anyone were to notice where your hand ends up arriving at the narrow of her waist, they might think: 'it's not really any of my business,' and look away.
Her, curled beneath your touch - even the single press of your fingers over the small of her back as a stranger pulls a car up to the curb; or, the pull of you that ensures the driver can't actually see what you're both up to, what you're hiding; the little reach she makes into your pocket for a lighter, smiling appreciatively as she presses her cold face to the crook of your arm, your jaw, the juncture of your neck; a safe space.
“So.” Irene will look up at you, pale moonlight gathered in her lashes. She’ll make another face: this thousand kilowatt grin or her brow raising - sharp, quick, there-then-gone. She'll turn the lighter over in her hand once, twice, and say, “how long has it been since we’ve done anything social?”
You’ll know it’s not what she means, but you’ll offer her the out anyway: "could go downtown - there's a place you've probably never been to. Might even play your style of music, if you're really lucky."
Irene will arch her eyebrow as she raises the cigarette to her mouth, lit up before you know it.
"Is that right?" she'll say, dismissive, a smoky tendril curling up over city neon and catching starlight.
You're no stranger to what’s actually being suggested - an unspoken sort of arrangement. All because Irene sees herself as being above, hiding her intentions in euphemism, tact; in long, slow drags; in lilting lashes - while she's fully and shamelessly aware there's nothing virtuous about it.
Who the hell else could make it sound dignified, pretty even: ménage à trois.
Then, you’ll do your part. You’ll help interpret: another girl, gorgeous and probably unclothed, another bad decision, or two, the three of you finding yourselves back in your apartment where Irene will not hesitate to run her tongue up the side of a sweat-glistened neck, to tilt her head and whisper out a mantra of, honey, sweetie, anybody ever tell you how good you look between a woman’s legs? Or, fuck, let’s get you out of those jeans, let me take you all in, how the fuck have we not gotten our hands on you before?
Which means the question you really ought to be asking sounds more like, “maybe we can invite someone over?”
You’ll meet her eyes as they flick up - a lazy expression, easy to read. "Bingo," she’ll say, blowing smoke and even more caution to the wind.
Almost to a fault, everything she does draws attention. Every fool with a blog and a camera posted outside of an event will have her labeled on-sight. You can already see the headline - because the only thing worse than everyone thinking you're the antagonist is looking the part. The imagery, red carpet, sexy evening dress, sultry, regal. The caption, Bae Joohyun - they use her government name like they really know her - sulking in smoke, or thirty flirty and thriving? below a thumbnail of her holding the cigarette, with your suit jacket draped over her shoulders. She's a total tabloid darling. Irene the temptress, or Irene, ice in her veins, or Irene - "How does she look so fucking gorgeous without makeup?!" or "Do I wanna hate her, or wanna be her? @RedFlavor_ROYAL," or "In every shot I feel like Irene has me staring into her soul."
Add that to the fact the girl’s utterly shrouded in myth.
Everyone running amuck with speculation; she's the girl-next-door, she’s the fantasy-in-real-life, she's someone everyone could see themselves fucking - she’s the heroine they say, the villain, the perfect wife, the one-that-got-away. They never do decide.
Though there’s only one opinion she’ll concern herself with, and only on occasion: yours.
Her fingers will come in the dark to trail feather-light from your collarbone, between the rise and fall of your shirt buttons, before pressing open palmed to your chest to still right there, and she's such a pretty thing in the plain black dress, all yours and very much in the mood - which you'll already have reason to know, in part from having felt your way around her no more than a hour prior, but also just the way Irene's been looking at you from beneath her dark lashes all evening, that subtle predatory gleam in her eyes.
You’ll hold her close. Irene will have the audacity to comment, “love you,” in this delicate little whisper, quiet like it could go either way - affection or gratitude. Maybe a touch of both.
A car will shortly arrive, pulling up to the curb with snow melting under its tires, headlights in your eyes, and then finally, in no particular order, your heart hammering: the click of the lighter, the falling ash, the sweet easy laugh, the crunch of ice under foot as she steps down beside you, the soft sweep of your arm.
You have no complaints about the proposal. A lack of argument or dispute is basically the same thing as consent, isn't it? For all intents and purposes, as a whole, it's really kind of a win-win:
Irene needs variety, which you're well aware of. It's only natural for someone who can have anything they want. And, sure, you happen to be a willing participant when it comes to satisfying the occasional whim.
So - the conversation will follow you right into the backseat of the cab, simply to iron out the details.
“Tall. Beautiful. Soft, soft, soft - like cashmere, a luxury brand," Irene will have one heel off and her knee braced up into the back seat while the other leg extends across your thighs, fingers running along your coat collar to make idle circles against the exposed skin there. "Or, at the very least, someone with a little more bend to their character - you know how those prim and proper types always get a bit lost in you.”
"And wouldn’t you know."
It’ll sound smooth, probably. Irene will roll her eyes.
“So, okay,” you'll return to her, right after instructing the cabbie how to get to Irene's place. None of the implications here are lost on you. “You have anyone particular in mind?”
"Hm, I’m thinking."
You can picture it, roughly: Irene's whole body sunk into the dark corner of the seat - one leg idling over the other. Her foot bouncing at your thigh. She has her heels in one hand, earrings in the other.
She’ll look wistfully out the window; the intermittent flashes of city lights casting her face in different hues. The curve of her jaw; the stately line of her nose; her thick black lashes - composition and subject. It's this kind of attention to detail that the cameras scramble to pick up. It’d be better if they got it for the right reasons.
You’ll pull out your phone. Start the usual scroll from the top of your contacts. The girls you know, the girls you don't, the ones who might be awake or who definitely are, regardless of time of day or night.
Irene will finally perk up, gleaming.
Someone cute, she might say, only because she'd rather not admit, someone like me. There's limits to her vanity insofar as her taste - in all sorts of things.
But she does like the idea of it. Someone young and pretty and impressionable; someone naive, or tiny and helpless; it's never difficult to find the girl who will fawn over her - all wide-eyed and doe-faced the instant Irene floats her fingers across her collarbone, smirking - when she starts at the zipper at the back of her neckline and says, "we’re going to see how wet I can get you," without missing a beat. Someone who will eventually say please when Irene gets a little stern and tells her, "ask me what I'm gonna do to you," in a rasp so smoky that it would make the cigarette seem blasé.
But that, you suppose, is the nature of Irene. A touch domineering. A little more than just a pretty face.
She always takes, but she takes gently - a push here, a pull there, she knows people will give her anything.
It will be more obvious when there's a small voice trembling between the two of you, twisted up in your sheets and simpering with the gentle sort of affection that Irene deals so expertly: two fingers sliding up, pressing down. Curling, beckoning. Slow and tender, without giving up that she's looking for any soft spot; a weak point. Some vulnerability to exploit.
It'll be right after whichever plaything of the hour pulls her lips off yours, off the length of your fingers - or when she unfastens her mouth from the hard shape of your cock with an obnoxiously loud pop: "do you guys do this kind of thing often?"
And Irene, without even an ounce of hesitation, will rip right into the sheer of her stockings, letting out an aggressively casual laugh. She’ll plant a kiss somewhere deep. Say, "oh, honey," as she nuzzles into the crease of her thigh. "We're pretty new to this too."
Everyone, just - believes her. For the same reason you suppose they believe she's perfect. She’s good, really good at all this.
In the taxi, Irene's foot will continue to tap against your leg, until you're stopping her by covering her knee with your hand. As for now, the evening will remain all but written in stone. You'll run a hand through your hair, you’ll lean an elbow against the window - the whole while, ignoring the sudden itch between your shoulder blades at the thought of something else. At the thought of all the other girls who'll take an instant liking to her. Who wouldn't.
The light will change. The intersection will empty. The radio will turn to static.
You'll eventually offer up a name like, "Jennie Kim," among others. Moving alphabetically down your contacts list. Taking you a long while to make it through the 'K's.
"Hm." Irene's soft hum of disapproval, non-committal. "Are you asking, or telling?"
The difference won't matter. "I'm suggesting," you'll say.
You’ll watch how Irene turns the name over in her mouth a few times before smiling - how she knows, there's the smallest part of you that has her held in a certain light. "Maybe," she'll say, tapping her phone against her cheek in the contemplation of whether or not this is a tentative no or a provisional yes - when really what she'll avoid an answer with is, "aren’t we a little tired of Jen?"
Tough to say.
Good, sweet, and just naive enough to get twisted up between you, in her case. Oh, Jennie’s the type of girl - you'll stuff your cock in her pretty little cunt while leaning into her, taking her arms and pinning them to the base of her spine, so she can't reach and can't claw and can't make an utter fucking wreck of herself. The two of you have known Jennie for too long, is what will strike you then. And a moment later, the idea of sinking into her ass from behind with your palm flat and warm against her hip and your voice husky and deep in the way she likes, and saying, god, fuck, Jen, you’d let me do anything wouldn’t you, you’d let me cum in here too.
And - she would, really.
She wouldn't even complain. Her face would be pressed so firmly against Irene's thighs, and she would whimper, not beg. Even though you know it’s what Irene might prefer; how it makes her look real cute - cheeks stained crimson as the syllables roll around her tongue before being forced out into the open.
"I think she's great," you might say out loud, lowkey.
And in a voice that is louder than strictly necessary, Irene will cut in: "she lets you finish in her ass, and then not even three minutes later she'll say it was the best lay of her life, of course you do."
It’ll make the cab driver clear his throat.
"What you’re saying is ‘no.’"
Irene will frown, thoughtful, but not conceding anything - perhaps she means hold onto that thought for now. If nothing else sounds particularly enticing, we'll call it a maybe. "I’m saying: Jennie is. I don't know."
You can hear the end of her sentence: not quite good enough. Not this time around, but someday, sure, someday soon.
"And for the record," Irene will follow, casual, with a dismissive hand wave. "Just because you got to her first doesn't mean she's ever liked you more."
The few that fall afterwards will never make the cut. Irene will turn them all down. Jisoo - no, sorry, look, she's so, so pretty, Irene will be trying to explain, gesturing in a way that's hard to interpret. "But a little too stuck up for my tastes."
You've been speaking in code for years. She means: way, way, way too straight.
"The blonde though," Irene will try right after that. “Daisy, or Lily, oh god something or another, what was her name-”
"Um, do you mean Rosé?”
“Yeah.” Irene will sink back into the leather, sipping down a memory or two and shifting her skirt up the top of her thighs.
You'll consider the angle. Your options: Rosé on her knees right inside the foyer of your apartment, Irene's hands wrapped tightly in her hair, controlling the rhythm. The way she gets her fingers spread under Irene's knees and draws her forward, pushing up with her eager, prying mouth - licks and licks, nosing against the heat of Irene's pussy until she’s gasping and locking her hands around the younger girl's head to steady the jerk of her hips.
Then, you'll laugh out loud. Because you know, Rosie isn’t anywhere close to straight enough.
And the back-and-forth of what-ifs and could-bes will follow. An endless string, a laundry list. Where Irene makes a face for every name, every suggestion: too messy, or too innocent, or too sweet, or too boring, or not nearly shy or gullible enough, or whatever other bizarre caveat she finds to slot between all of her impassioned criticisms. The cabbie will be shaking his head at some point too, because the question hangs over the taxi at large:
What exact criteria could possibly be good enough for the distinguished tastes and sensibilities of Bae Irene?
-
(The truth is: it doesn’t go like that at all.)
-
Enter then, Yu Jimin.
The run-in starts there, downstairs, out standing in a pool of warm, yellow light. The snow flurrying about in the glow of a street lamp - melting into where her smoothed curtain of jet-black hair spills over her shoulder and trickles down her sleeve. She looks a little cold, but not noticeably shivering. There's a red flush to the exposed length of her legs, between a pair of knee-high boots and the short hem of the coat itself. The stockings underneath offer little in the way of wintery protection - nor do the little bows that rest at the the bands of elastic around her soft, pale thighs - though it's obvious to anyone who's looking why she'd choose to wear them.
An assay into form over function. She's never cared for pragmatism.
But the lines around her are pristine, a clean-cut of shadow and substance; you take a step onto the curb, feeling yourself fall right into the foreground.
Look: you know Karina. You both do. Enough to recognize where it’s calmest before a storm.
Irene eventually calls out her name into the silence, and there is a split-second where her fingers reflexively wrap around the crook of your elbow. Almost possessive.
A car rushes by. Karina turns with her ungloved hand holding her cellphone to her ear and she's fucking gorgeous as can be, always pinning you with these big, unapologetic eyes - strikingly and somewhat deceptively innocent beneath her sharp brows. A breathy huff in response; she's otherwise unaffected.
Her shoulders shrug in easy dismissal; a quirk of the corners of her mouth. She slips her phone back in the pocket of her pea-coat. "Oh, how we all doing?"
Not for long, the question lingers.
"Fine," Irene finally replies, though her voice doesn't rise above a disinterested murmur.
"Easier, right? To fight for breath down here than it is up there," she says, pointing her gaze up high into the rafters of the building, and in a lot of ways, you realize, she's just like Irene - sweet, charming, this uncanny ability to make you think she's close, when she isn't actually looking to share anything. When she hasn't exactly decided that she likes you or anything at all.
You squint slightly. Take in where her silhouette appears darker against the backdrop of city lights, blending with the velvety black, bleeding into the ink-smudged night sky.
"There's certainly something to be said for flying under the radar at these things," she continues, taking one step closer towards you as if for comfort. Or privacy - to guard against anyone who might walk by.
"You've still got it easy," Irene says, "that, and everyone thinks you're too pretty to go after. No one even seems to consider the idea, it’s insufferable."
"Jealous?" Her tone is playful. There’s a smirk she’s suppressing - until she can’t hold it in: an unexpected, stunning smile, dimple and all. This incongruously kind face.
Oh, and listen, no one gets it better than Irene.
"No," Irene exhales, hot. “Not at all.” You can see where the thin plume of her breath hangs over her like a cloud for a moment, thinking, before dissipating against the harshness of a frigid December breeze.
"Really." She smiles at you again. Makes a sound that could be a laugh, you don’t know, the wind takes it, far away.
"Are you out here waiting for someone?" you have to ask.
"Loaded question." Karina purses her lips for a moment. Her long eyelashes blink once, twice. "Because, I dunno, aren't we all?"
"Some of us more than others." Irene speaks quietly, moreso to herself than anyone else - but somehow her voice carries.
"Cheeky," Karina says, and this time she does laugh. "No. I'm waiting for a cab. I've had one hell of a night, and no interest in spending the rest of it in some rising socialite's bed, doubters excluded, because - look, I'm happy for you guys, I guess? You're gonna get married," she claps slowly, slow and mocking, slow enough that Irene rolls her eyes, "-or, the two of you will make a statement saying that you are - either way it sounds fucking exhausting - congratulations to you both. But seriously, congrats."
This is sorta how you've always known her.
Faintly-hinted secrets, flirty half-truths. Her love life is an utter wreck, but that’s not something you’re supposed to know. So that's all she gives, which is more or less how everyone knows her. It's the only way to survive, probably, in a world of glitter and glamour, when everyone's vying to look, to feel, to take, and take, and take. Irene knows how suffocating it can be - she doesn’t lie about it, not to you, which is the only reason you're so well-versed.
Point being, no one wants to admit to any cracks in the fantasy; the gold too shiny, the surface too slick, the mirror too smooth for that illusion to slip.
"So go grab a guy with a half-decent smile and get him to buy you a drink about it," Irene suggests, derisive, "arch your back, push your tits out, get creative. I doubt it'll be much trouble at all."
Karina looks down, back up - with a slight chew of her lip, saying, "you just have me beat in all the important ways, I suppose. You got it in the bag, no real competition."
Irene is smiling, but her expression is unimpressed; it doesn’t mean much, really, to be her friend, her colleague, or worse, her opponent. Irene is calm like an evening in July, a low, cool, languid feeling. "I don't mean to be a prick, but, aren't you a little young to be so jaded?"
"Gosh," Karina’s grin doesn’t change, but does turn a touch wicked, like she's biting back. "I'd hate to be around when you do mean to be a prick, but maybe we'll find out - you know, down the line, someday.”
Irene tuts softly. It sounds patronizing. "Please, you'll have to forgive me - for mistaking you for someone more aware of how the rest of us work."
“You're one to talk, Irene."
“Careful,” Irene warns.
"What, you gonna set me straight?"
"Right." The way the word rolls off Irene's tongue, slow, thick, bitter, like molasses; like the coffee she has when she's tired, like the cigarette she swears left and right she’s cutting out and the vodka she needs you to reach for in the upper cabinets, like the person she is after midnight when you've let her keep drinking to find the limits to her inhibition. You understand Irene too well. And no matter what anyone says, you will not have the facts wrong.
There's no kindness to the way she laughs. None.
She tilts her head to you, grinning: an honest grin, her favorite thing - inimitable, unique, and hers alone; her version of cruelty is what will always have them doubting. You hold her gaze as she adds, "of all things, right now - wouldn’t you just love to set her straight?"
-
Depending on who you ask, you’ll get different results.
Irene insists you kissed Karina first, probably out there in the snow - god knows how cliche would that be.
She also insists that it was you who suggested that “there’s a lot more sense in splitting a cab,” and then minutes later, “please, it'd be no trouble, just let us pay. Our place is five blocks that way," and Irene - being Irene - mentioning it's actually quite a bit further, but hey, it isn’t worth splitting hairs over. And it's not worth explaining - she shuts you up with another kiss, pressing her weight hard up against you, the arm she slings around your neck.
Then in a sort of mythologized version of the timeline, it's you who makes the proposition - invites Karina upstairs, with the charm that Irene knows is usually reserved for her benefit alone: that slight tick of the brow, the delicate slant of your mouth, the confidence you seem to have in thinking no one will ever say no, no matter how brusque the invitation-
"You two are unbelievable. Is this really your standard procedure?" Karina asks, once you're through the door, or maybe during a bout of smalltalk in the kitchen. Something flirtatious; and suggestive, and maybe a little offhand. A pointed glance downwards, back up. All it really will take. "You get some girl into your home and they're just so overwhelmed and dazzled and in love, they can't even make eye contact for longer than a second? Because that's quite a line," a soft huff, the exhale that seems to carry the faintest note of a sigh. You could call it wistful. Just this side of romantic; very attractive.
“That’s more or less the gist of it,” you offer.
“You’d be surprised.” Irene is lingering on it, back against the counter beside you, laughing. "Some people are more than happy to be swept off their feet."
"Imagine that. If that's how this is meant to go, then tell me," and Karina lifts her chin, a breath drawn slow and deliberate, "what exactly do prince and princess charming do next?"
Consider that Karina’s interpretation of events is closer to reality: no pretense. She is not drunk, and in this story, she never will be.
But it's the slow-burn thing, the rivals-to-lovers thing, the sexual-tension-through-conflict thing, the white-hot-blistering-rage matter gone awry. Not a series of happy accidents, but a result of intentional circumstance - this slow arc of descent. She knows exactly how Irene is tightly wound, and which thread to pull to make everything start to unravel. She'd flirt with you right under her nose - say things in this obnoxiously girlish tone, pout a lot, lean into so much innuendo it becomes impossible to miss the meaning, or the sincerity behind it.
If you had to guess - Karina’s been pining since forever, since Irene accidentally etched her DNA into the girl upon saying, carelessly, that she’d always seen some part of herself in Karina. Probably around the time Irene wrapped a palm over an expanse of bare thigh, just beneath the hem of her skirt, telling her, you're getting way too pretty for your own good.
Doesn’t matter who you are, that’ll fuck you up for real.
And it's not just how she looks at Irene when she thinks no one is watching either; swings and roundabouts, Karina probably can’t keep the thought of you sprawled out over Irene’s petite little frame, or Irene kissing you hard while wrapped around you tight. Your hand, her hand, intertwined and picturesque, sliding down Irene's stomach. Together - and so very without her - fingertips stroking lightly over Irene’s clit, gently dipping inside her.
Irene is not stupid. She picks up on everything, and there's a lot to unpack:
"Can you believe it? Minjeong just asked me if I've ever kissed a girl before," Karina had said to you once, ages ago, between a workout or dance practice, something or another - she was wearing a loose-fit tank top and very intent on showing off. She seemed then to be taking mental note of the face Irene put on, the look of someone trying to hold in an aneurysm.
“Well,” you played along, because you’re not really without blame here either. "Have you?"
"Oh my god." Karina knew what she awas doing, the playful slap to the chest, the lingering touches she’d have on you every chance she could get - total fucking coquette - anything to get a rise out of you, your fiancée. She hushed her voice down to this strategic whisper that Irene could just overhear: "of course not."
You better believe Irene broke her composure not soon afterwards, after Karina made her exit.
"Do not fuck her," she demanded, firm, "I don't care how good you think she might be in bed, or what she would probably let you get away with."
You remember the knit of her brow.
“Do not.”
You’re sighing, profoundly. The memory - not to mention its shocking clarity - has put a smug sort of satisfaction into your bones, indulging. The nip to Karina's jaw, a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her shoulder. A hand tracing down the curve of her hips, under the guise of helping her settle between the cushions of the couch. You feel like you catch the color flooding her cheeks. Then, Irene, her pretty little shadow: the steady presence over her other shoulder.
"What." Karina sounds defensive when Irene pulls her lips away, but the hand she has buried in Irene's hair doesn’t appear to be going anywhere. "Are we going to pretend for a minute I don't see the way you're both looking at me right now?"
"Don't be stupid, darling, of course not." Irene leans up close again. Kisses up her neck, behind her ear, and coos, "the two of us, you just seemed like you were needing someone, that's all," and then whispers the words, barely audible: "I mean look, who wouldn't want the three of us right now?"
Karina hums. "Ah, so - you think I deserve to have a little fun."
"Maybe," she draws it out a little longer.
Your hands dip below her knees, running over the silk-slick surface, tugging at the frills lining her thighs - feeling up over the outline of where her body curves under her dress. Over the dark pattern printed across the front.
Karina swallows visibly, her head dropping back against the armrest, the couch cushion; by the way she shudders slightly and starts breathing, you realize that it's probably been a while since she's had much experience being in a position this helpless. You draw your fingers lightly across the bareness of her skin, right as Irene finds that sensitive spot just where her neck slopes to her collarbone. You trace along the fabric until you have her squirming beneath you both.
She sucks in a breath as Irene drags a touch right over the obvious seam, across the expanse of her hip, and despite your fiancée being a tad forward -
"Both of you should know I'm not that type of girl. Who puts out so easily-"
"Likewise," Irene practically sneers, not missing a beat and threading her fingers beneath her jaw, feeling her pulse against the pad of her thumb.
"Yeah, well. If this isn't a setup, then, what-"
“A setup.” Irene breathes the word out, contemptuous, which is almost as if she says yes, you figured it out, and she starts to lean in closer - the distance between the two of them now negligible as her mouth tightens with her derision. "That is awfully conceited of you."
"Ha."
You choose right there to run your palm between her thighs and cup at the front of her pussy through the skirt of her dress, squeezing tightly. There has to be an element of good cop, bad cop to this whole routine, and you'd be remiss not to participate in the former. Irene's glare is starting to become pretty intimidating.
"The way I see it," you begin, and it's so gentle. Easy to slip through, but easy enough to grip - no threat, or indication that she should stop rocking forward to the motion of your fingers, toying idly. "There's no catch. Only: Irene calls the shots. If you end up with a crush, or worse, think you're in love," a light squeeze to illustrate the point, the dig of nails, not too rough, but definitely drawing attention. "You've gotta walk it off.”
Karina just runs her tongue across her lips, sighing.
“No strings attached, no special treatment. Or anything."
"Oh." Karina is looking straight at you, dazed - as your fingers work harder, picking up where her hips started rolling a second before. She licks her lips. "You're telling me that I'm going to get fucked so thoroughly here, that it's gonna be a problem."
"Actually," you pull away, pushing her dress up so you can touch up ever higher this time. Rooting between her soft thighs. "I can't make any guarantees. You'll need to convince us first."
There's a laugh, from a spot inside her diaphragm - and yeah, there's no denying the reality here. She's nervous; or excited; or nervous-excited. Karina just lets it pass, an exaggerated sound in her throat, before gasping on an exhale of breath: "convince you to fuck me?"
"Between us, we've kissed our fair share of pretty girls in the heat of the moment," Irene supplies.
Karina laughs. Starts saying, "in that case, can I start by confessing that this whole exchange has left me pretty fucking wet-"
You slip one finger down the rise of her panties, this lacy little number she probably picked out with sordid fantasy in mind.
"Oh god," she says, voice drowned in her throat, husky, and sultry - it’s really hard not to appreciate the girl, like this - and then she closes her eyes, saying it again, "oh, yeah, like - like that. Okay, thank you."
Irene puts a hot kiss into her lips, and a subjugating silence stills over the living room, softening around her small voice, her breathing. Everything comes together so seamlessly, so effortlessly:
The click of Irene’s heels against hardwood, these soft sounds of wet tongues twisting and bodies grinding, Karina's face, buried somewhere under Irene's chin, letting out the cutest moan. Irene's helping the rest of the dress up over Karina's ass, then up past her waist, pulling down the scalloped elastic of her stockings. She grabs hold of her hips, feeling the draw of her curves there - you watch how your other half does the thing she does best, the thing where she strips a girl down to nothing like she's doing them a favor.
"Pretty," Irene appraises her naked body - not her face, not her mind, not her ambition or the strength of her determination, or god forbid, something banal like her personality, but, "fuck, look at you, look at this figure," her palm skates along the plane of her stomach, "so pretty."
It could be the insinuation: Irene is ready to reduce the girl down to a heap of jumbled nerves; to tears, probably - given half the chance. Like she's telling her a body as flawless and well-manicured and sweetly receptive to being toyed with as hers needs to get absolutely wrecked, among other things.
(Fucked so deeply, and to the point of utter exhaustion - the point is that she forgets her own name.)
Irene knows just by looking, her eyes tracing down each and every one of Karina’s curves like they’re taking inventory. It could be as simple as a handprint seared into her ass, a stinging red stain etched into her soft, creamy white skin, marking the insides of her thighs, her beautiful fucking tits - oh, the things the two of you could do.
"How do you want it, exactly?" Irene's eyes are dancing around her face, in her stare, darting down, then back up. "How, baby."
Karina smiles against Irene’s lips like she knows the answer, the perfect one. She must already have the script prepared. It's no stretch of the imagination: "anything, as long as it means you both keep looking at me."
Because maybe it's down to the pure physicality of it all. Something Karina's been waiting to feel, desperate to have, for some time - as you set into action, dismantling any pretense that you weren’t about to devour the heat of her aching cunt, from running touches all over her slick pussy. It’s a strong theory, you figure, from the visceral response you get when you get start to fuck her, when you slide a finger inside: tight and snug, and so unbelievably wet.
“Oh,” she breathes out, and it sounds sated and needy all at once.
You make sure to glance at her face before pressing another into her. All the way past the knuckles. She looks lost to the feeling, the pleasure; her expression gone hazy-eyed as you start fucking into her with a few steady pumps of your wrist - slow and then faster, then faster again - fucking into her with increasing urgency.
Just to keep her gasping, panting.
Like a woman starved for it.
"God," Irene kisses softly into her mouth. Her hand tangled in Karina's hair, twisting strands between her fingers and tugging just shy of something painful, "you're really sensitive, aren't you?"
Karina nods, slightly. It’s all she can manage.
You have a soft spot for girls who will spread themselves open like they can't wait, but still end up flustered over how your lips ghost across aching flesh. Who can't even form the words - asking for this, and that, and a million little things; and look at Karina - blushing, her eyes fluttering closed, and digging her nails into the couch the moment you finally put your hot mouth on her. Her entire body is drawn taut like a live wire.
"Relax," you coax, speaking more to the muscle - her legs tensed, and knees pulled tightly together. You know just where to place your lips to make her go to pieces, but it's worth suspending pleasure - your own, and Irene's, who won't admit that this sorta turns her on too - so Karina's face might open up, so the tilt of her brow can slack, and the twist of her expression can soften. Like it's the only chance she'll ever get.
When you place your palm across Karina's stomach to steady her and look up, Irene has started peeling off her own clothes, down to nothing but the little panties underneath. That garter-belt thing that makes her ass look like she was sculpted straight out of clay - a reminder she's always worth your time, no matter what mood she's in, or whether or not she'll eventually let you take the lead. She's lifting herself on the couch to throw off the little slip of a dress, the high heels. “Baby," she purrs, teasing, maybe to distract from how she’s gone from dragging circles with her fingernails across Karina’s collarbones to kneading roughly at her tits. And she might even insert something she's never actually had a chance to confess out loud, or even consider much, like: she's been dying to know what Karina's face will scrunch up into, or what her eyes will look like, tears stained across her lashes while you fuck her within an inch of her life. The image you’ll find when you find all those spots that drive a girl wild.
Your mouth drags over the slick, her lips, her clit, and down again - as if to illustrate the point.
"That feels - so," she starts, and bites off the rest of the words.
Irene grabs hold of Karina's hands. Presses their mouths back together, and bites Karina's bottom lip. Kissing the words out of her, the sentences that start in half measures and stifled gasps:
"- so, good, oh. Do - ah, fuck. Oh, god-"
-and vanish somewhere in Irene's mouth.
"-oh, do that again. Oh my god. There. Just - lick- please, keep fucking, exactly that-"
And pay close attention, because here now is how she slips: from the image she maintains for the cameras, the audiences, her admirers, her competition, her detractors, the ones who mean it, the ones who don't mean a damn thing; the girl who shies away from anything overtly sexual, or sensual, or remotely hedonistic; and doesn't act as though she too, just as much as anyone else, needs someone to fuck her stupid - as if it's an eventuality of her own humanity, instead of a concept she's learned to scorn.
Irene picks up on the distinction, all too familiar with the look filling out across Karina’s angelic features.
She ghosts her thumbnail across Karina’s nipple. Tries out: "why don't you make her cum, baby, right here, on the couch.” A look at you, a quick tilt of the chin. Then, her tongue peeking from behind her teeth, and her voice dropping, "just so you can tell Minjeong, or whoever ends up asking - 'you have no idea how good they fuck.'"
And just like that - with Karina’s body laid out beneath Irene’s hands, your mouth - you simply fucking ruin her.
You both do.
Until it's only a mess of whines and shuddering limbs and that lovely look: pure agony. So helpless. So utterly exposed.
Karina hiccups something incoherent - you’re doubling down. You’re working your touches through the torrid mess between her legs. Her pussy is shimmering wet and hot and every bit as pretty as she is. Then, the motion of your tongue, the slow, heavy flick back and forth, relentless and constant - dragging back and forth, keeping her right up, riding the wave. Back and forth, back and forth.
"Oh my fucking god." Karina can only gasp, jaw-slacked open.
Overwhelmed and blissed-out and suddenly awash in this searing and wondrous sensation that the only real way she's able to make sense of is by twisting her hands in your hair and pulling you flush against her cunt while she cums on your lips.
"Ah - you're fucking kidding me. Please, don't stop, please don't-" Karina has her head turned. Voice pitched right into Irene's shoulder. You fuck her on two fingers until she’s got the heel of her palm pressed firm into her forehead, and she’s starting to jerk her hips into your face. Stutter her breathing, her words: “I, I, I- fucking - what the fuck, you’re making me - jesus fucking christ."
Like some delicate and intricate piece of her had just been irreparably snapped. Broken. You hear her expletive-laden screams - and think, better her, than either of you.
And all the way through every last part of it, cresting, waning, quivering, the tremble of her thighs snapped shut against your ears, the grind of her teeth, and each little choked out gasp-
“I'm… fucking cumming.”
Karina spends the entirety of her first orgasm between the two of you, heaving.
The look on her face alone, just from what parts you can see, has your lower gut clenched - it goes from anguished pleasure, mouth pulled wide and brows wound high and tight, all the way to calm and cathartic, the pretty bow of her lips settling into something manic. Eyes softening with a luster, half-closed. A mask, the afterglow: blissed-out and smiling dreamily.
How anyone could say no to a picture like this, you're unsure. Though not particularly willing to test the theory, naturally.
"That was mean," Karina finally huffs, letting a moment pass to even out her breaths. "Both of you, so mean."
"You said to," is all Irene says, amused.
Karina looks down; lifts her head just slightly - as you bring your own mouth off her, catching her glance. Not even your palm and your fingers covered with the evidence - it's her lips that give her away, the swollen, pouting, bright pink lips of her pussy, still radiant with her climax.
She breathes, "god. Irene."
It sounds an awful lot like she's begging for mercy.
Irene hums softly. Leans in for a kiss, with her slender hands cupping Karina's face. Manages to say: "you just look so fucking hot when you're struggling. Can’t fault us for that." She reaches down, and digs her fingernail into the line of Karina's cheek - near the center, just short of the outer curve where her dimple naturally settles. She works her lips to a very soft, "ow."
"Listen," Irene says, "is there anywhere else you've been considering going? Because in the event you're looking to stay for the night-"
Karina replies, "only everywhere I still haven't gone."
Her smile looks honest. Her cunt seeping and slick - there's abundant honesty there, too. And you manage to catch the wicked glint in Irene's eye, like she's a bit obsessed with all that glisten, and what it means - that Karina hasn't felt a real, good dicking in ages. Maybe, probably, never. That she's slept with everyone and filled her quota of playing pretend: of someone just going through the motions, dragging their mouth or tongue or cunt along the most obvious, conventional routes.
It’s written all over her face: the girl between you needs to be touched everywhere, and by someone who knows how. Needs it deeper, more. Has to feel the pressure everywhere all over.
Irene asks her, plainly, “how might we get you moaning like that again, hm? We're both dying to know."
She puts her hand under Karina’s chin, tilts her face towards hers, and kisses her long and deep. Until the both of them are having trouble catching any breath. Until they have to break, only so one can take another in: inhale, exhale, and back in her mouth.
"Maybe." Karina lets go of Irene's lower lip. She sounds almost bashful, "you'll need to let me get my hands on that cock of his. Let me get it inside, want it real fucking deep inside. Tell you if I'm just, you know. Really fucking horny. Or maybe I have some hangups about sex I've never told anyone - and we have to work past that," she takes Irene's mouth into her own again.
It's the short consideration of sure, mm, why not? until the next suggestion is: "he should be on his knees, in bed, those hands around my waist, behind the small of my back and pulling me into every stroke."
“Oh,” Irene agrees, “I love that. Should I play with myself while I watch him fuck you senseless? So hard and rough - you'll start seeing stars. I wanna see him completely railing into your dripping pussy from behind, fucking you so goddamn well until you're screaming so loud it’ll wake the neighbors."
Karina sighs. “Well I’d hate to get all the way here and half-ass it.”
You barely catch it, but there's a lovely note in Karina's voice. It’s saying, and don't you dare treat me like glass, like I’m fragile.
All in all, a filthy, filthy way for a girl with virtually no ill-reputation or ill-gotten gains - no record whatsoever - to describe how she wants you to fuck her, until she’s biting down on the consonants in your name, moaning loud and unmistakably clear, and-
“-sorry, whose cock?” Irene has no intention of letting her off easy.
You draw away from the meat of her thigh, licking your lips clean, and insert mid-conversation with a husky-voiced, "hmm?"
Karina just shoots you a sharp-eyed look. "You heard."
"Only," you play dumb. You run a hand between her legs, using your palm as you go, so you can pull more sound out of her throat; the pleased sighs, a hum. Another. "The part where you want it 'real fucking deep inside,' I think I heard."
"I mean, wouldn't you?" Karina looks satisfied with that. Lets out an easy laugh and turns to Irene. "Besides, I need to know if it’s more than just pretty eyes and a handsome smile that you’ve gotten yourself so hung up on."
The tilt of your fiancée’s brow above her is noticeable and apparent. Not a twinge of surprise; more like recognition. It's Irene looking haughty - beyond the usual - wrapped up in the afterglow. It's the confidence, and not at all humbled by the reality that she is no stranger to fucking a girl this downright gorgeous, knowing the danger inherent in allowing that kind of damage, but if Irene has you figured - she's figured Karina even better: someone willing to push through the burn. Someone, she’s betting, with the capacity to handle pain like it's an artform.
“Karina,” Irene says, and she's really leaning into it, "you really ought to be more careful with that smart-mouth of yours.”
It's the absolute worst way to proposition someone; maybe second only to what Irene whispers straight into her ear:
"If I had to guess, it’s your sweet, pretty face that has everyone bending over backward just to let you fuck them, hmm?”
You’d anticipated this much. You watch how your beautiful wife-to-be eases forward and leaves a slow kiss into Karina's throat, before adding the worst, most awful thing she can manage, “they're eating up this adorable, innocent facade of yours just as soon as you let it slip - letting you straddle their waist, and slide right on, and chase some clout out of oh, she must have this tight little cunt, or how good it would fucking feel to ruin a load just slamming these perfect tits, or. The best of the best, when it comes to pretty things with brains and mouths on 'em: 'fuck, I bet Karina has a face like an angel, she's the kind of girl who probably really, really loves taking it raw - filled and fucked as deep as she can manage'."
“She’s insinuating you’re a slut,” you offer on the next beat, down from between Karina’s knees. “Or something.”
"I put that much together." Karina has that teasingly pragmatic tone in her voice, matching Irene's level. "Your point?"
The joke is that even Irene - after she has the chance to drag her thumb across Karina's lips - looks mildly impressed.
"Sweetheart," the corner of Irene's mouth quips, as if the reason is so, so very obvious, "let’s say you’re just like me, total hypothetical. You're going to have to let us know which part feels better: the praise, or the degradation. I know it’s what makes you tick: all the attention. I know you need it. The same way I know that I could eat this perfect pussy out for hours just to get it slick, and wet, and wanting, and the thing I’m still not sure you’d be ready to learn," she tells her, a light in her stare that flicks upwards, eyes going from Karina's cunt and back to her eyes, her own mouth, and then hers, "the really good sex? Isn’t always pretty."
There isn't room for misunderstanding, let alone any mercy in it. Irene's face is dark; dangerous. Like, seriously. Karina knows better. Everyone does. You know exactly what she's doing. You know what comes next, but this time, you can't shake the feeling like-
Like Karina wants you to look.
She has her fingers on her cunt, spread, presenting - and a small shrug; her response is so fucking coy: "I guess I can't really help it. Besides, it’s common knowledge, isn’t it? The brattiest girls always turn out to be the best fucks. Honest, I get so wet sometimes, you know and then god, I can't think straight.”
She laughs at the premise.
“I dunno, what's a girl to do?"
You can feel the room starting to tighten up, just barely: Karina’s breath still heavy, her chest heaving, the way Irene holds her still, how her arm curls across her stomach, palm flat under her tits; that pose in particular, the power to entice.
And maybe it's the fact Irene is still making eyes at you from Karina's shoulder, the cruel bite to her upper-lip, showing how she's working at the soft skin of her neck - a smirk, before pressing into another kiss there. Your insides are running hot, a shudder racing up your spine. There’s no mistaking what she's getting off on, not just some pretty-as-paint newcomer. There’s your Irene, your fiancée - and her beautiful, adorable, awful little shadow.
-
So what if, by some pure hypothetical, this all spirals out of control?
You don't know the consequences of taking home what amounts to a coworker and screwing her with a certain reckless abandon. There’s power harassment, a toxic workplace environment, boundary issues, sexual-fraternization. So on, so forth. It's all relative, but watching Irene and Karina make their way up the stairs and admiring the things that only a woman's hips can do, swaying this way, and that - and, following the path from one tight little ass, the other, all the way up their spines - there are no such qualms to contend with, because there's absolutely zero chance that’s the thing that’ll be keeping you up all night.
Irene laments and hopes in the same breath.
She has two pairs of panties in one hand, Karina’s fingers laced into the other, explaining with a quick squeeze, "don't tell me, baby, I already know," a wink, a laugh. She’s such a sweetheart when she means to be; charming, wooing, the coy girl Karina seems to have gotten so drunk off the idea of getting mixed up with. And yeah, when she drops them on the floor, and pushes Karina gently against the wall. Traces her finger up her jaw, then her cheek, and leans into the crook of her neck, into that same spot from earlier; yes, Karina can count herself lucky, or whatever.
"So, don't stop now, baby-" Karina's huffing - the line of her throat so taut and exposed. "You should really fucking try harder if you want me to beg."
"Honey," is how Irene responds, leisurely.
There will come a point in their intimacy, in all things considered, where this act no longer plays itself: Irene, the seductress, and Karina, a deft and innocent prey; of course you, the hammer to a nail, pushed and pulled in one direction, the next. The moments in which her lips leave the crescent of Karina's mouth - hot, hazy, and half-wet with their own spit, their tongues twisting, the muted click, and the telltale wet drag of a body pushing and straining up against her own-
Maybe in her bones, she is begging for it. Maybe, Irene hopes, she'll have to: eyes turned up, watering, tears coming hot, streaming down her flushed cheeks as she cries it from her lungs.
"I wouldn't have you beg for anything."
It's true that Irene is ninety-nine percent grace, one percent child-like wonder; she's easy to read when the mood hits her. The lines of their bodies tousling, twisting and tangling in moon-lit-darkness. There's some irony to it, only a few steps away from the bedroom. At the base of the staircase. In front of the tall windows covered with frost that serve, now, primarily to remind Karina that she's in a part of town she could never afford, in an ostentatious apartment she could only dream of; but most importantly, that the woman in front of her - with her fingers dipping down between her thighs and up again, tracing over her navel and the rise of her hip and her cleavage - can have anyone she likes, without limitation.
Karina can't deny it's everything she wants.
"Karina, I'm curious." You're easing into that spot, where the two of them have coiled themselves up - you’ve got your cock in your hand and you’re stepping out of your pants - in the hallway, the frame of the door, a heavy, long shadow cast: Karina has Irene pinned now, a wrist over her head, against the other side of the wall where the white paintwork is starting to run thin. "Didn't you say something before about how hard you wanted it? Raw, deep, I believe was how you put it."
Irene smirks. It's just the slightest sneer, until she has her hands reaching over the curves of Karina's hips and pulling her fingers into her soft ass. Spreading her cheeks. Touching up, then down, back in the same groove, this slow rhythm that builds - like they were both expecting this exact sequence of events.
You watch Irene whisper something into the girl's ear, and - fuck - the light catches her expression at just the right moment, head lolled to the side.
"Hey," Karina drawls. She lets it come out breathy - on the note, the middle and upper registers of her voice, hitting something near a perfect alto. "How about instead of having some heart-to-heart, and making me out to be some naive-ass kid, you stop asking questions and get to fucking the life out of my little pussy."
She ends it so charming.
“Oh,” you tell her, feeling how fucking drenched she is right at the end of your cock - sliding her slick up and down the length of her cunt, and knowing the feeling will likely stick to your skin and drip to the floor, all of it - "well. If that's all."
Your hand arrives on the lithe stretch of muscle between her waist, right along the ridge of her hip bone, your cock pressing onto the heat of her cunt. Karina turns her head over her shoulder so you can see it all in profile: that pout. That look. That everything.
"There you have it." Irene squeezes the flesh she's got cupped in her palms, drawing circles. "If only everyone else got to hear that sweet, sharp edge you've got underneath, hm?"
Karina opens her mouth with some clear quip to needle, but stops herself, a catch in the center of her throat, her brows shooting up. The pull of her voice is somewhere out and over.
“God, fuck-” she can just manage to sputter. “You’re- ah, ah - your fucking cock-”
Oh, it has you cursing too. You're pushing so far into her tight little cunt - the soft airy moan, that pretty sound, riding back on every last stroke until you've filled her right to the hilt.
“I know, I know - that feels so good, right?” Irene coos.
You just pull her all the way back onto your cock, thrusting deep. Base to tip. So goddamn fucking deep.
Karina probably doesn’t even mean to whimper, but the press of your hips, slowly snapping in and in, has her lungs constricted, as the pressure slides through every hot, slippery inch inside of her - this glide of agonizing intensity.
“I bet you want to just cream all over that cock,” Irene says, fine eyebrows knitting into something like contentment. “All filled up and feeling full, and just fucking letting it go - he’ll take such good care of you. He’ll fuck you so good you won’t ever get that warm, hazy, blissed-out feeling out of your veins ever, ever again, if he has his way-”
All while the head of your cock works over every fucking sensitive part of her, dragging out to thrust all the way into her soft cunt, the round of her ass bouncing back to meet each stroke. Again, and again, until you've worked through that wet stretch of muscle. And the motion isn't exactly elegant. Karina's mouth hangs wide open, catching short breaths that curl inwards when you reach the line of her waist.
“It’s so fucking good,” Karina’s sighing out. She’s all fluster, no bite.
There’s no lack for juxtaposition in the way Irene dotes on her either - these small beguiling bits of praise like, baby, you’re doing so good, these tits of yours are just, you are - just gorgeous. Mouth quirked into a tight grin as her fingers pull and twist around her nipple. The sharp yelp that comes after. The fact that she's kissing the words into her mouth on the very next whimper: “a girl like you needs the time, and patience, and opportunity to have her insides completely, totally, catastrophically ruined.”
Irene had it exactly right on the first read. She’ll say, “I told you so,” when Karina’s washing the cum off her chest or out of her eyelashes in the shower. It’s the praise; it’s the degradation; it’s you leaning down, your hands finding her hair, curling in, and getting her right up against your lips to say it quiet, low, intimate - like a lover, like she hasn't already heard it before, “such a good little slut for me.”
And the girl absolutely fucking keens.
You grip onto her hips. You pull her hair tight. Her throat bobs under your thumb and you can feel the anxiety start to throb, her pulse hot and heavy in her cunt. How it soaks the base of your cock. Jesus, you’ll fuck a load right into her. So easily. Her pussy is so snug, so unbelievably wet. Perfect enough to know if you fuck into her any faster, any harder - it’ll be just that: you'll paint right up to her cervix; you'll fill her to the fucking brim.
"Fuck, Karina, this pussy is such a fucking dream," is what you're making sure she knows, and at that, Karina just finds that bend. Arches more of herself to you, until her ass is slotted into the plane of your stomach, the head of your cock prodding, testing the limit where her cunt is hottest and wettest. "God, this has to feel incredible. Your ass bouncing on my cock" - Karina goes slack on the force, leaning forward - "as I rail your tight little cunt."
If anything, Irene is there to catch Karina's tearful, thankful gaze when she finally starts fucking crying, a litany of yes, fuck yes, yes-yes-right-there, please fuck, and a wet, dazed little "you're goddamn - you're ruining, fucking - fucking, ruining me," every other syllable broken by her shuddering breaths.
"Aw, you're going to cum again, huh? Baby-" Irene's got her head at an angle - their gazes locked, watching - and maybe Irene really gets it: how much of a big, bad crush this gorgeous fucking woman's had on the pair of you all this whole time, with all that faux-romance, and lust, and envy wrapped up inside her - but if she wasn't so obsessed with the shape of Irene's mouth, the contour of her jaw, the lean and sleek lines of her frame and the soft, round swell of her ass - she’d still be left with the shape of your cock, where it’s pounding her apart. Fucking her and fucking her up.
It's more than worth the breath to remind Karina what she came here for. Irene's fingertips brush the line of her lips, part them just so.
“All over him, baby, let him make a mess of you. Just a total fucking mess. We'll fill you up, and fill you up, until your poor, aching pussy is full of cum," and it's probably as well: Karina does what comes most natural to her - with you three, the whole number. Her eyes flutter and go dreamy. There's not even a moment of hesitation:
"-until it's leaking down these fucking thighs-"
"You're doing so good, babe," is your supporting role in all this, murmuring encouragement straight into her ear as you fuck her to pieces. Your breath fans out against her cheek. And then, your hands make a grip under her thighs, holding her steady, making her mouth fall open - this keen, wobbly, vulnerable thing that exposes the naked girl she is, behind all the makeup, and the heels, and her seductive and all-consuming appeal, everything.
“Just so you know: it’s the best fucking part, Karina. I mean, the look on his face.” Irene laughs with her whole body, until the rich, raspy sound of it fills the hall. “The way he bites his lip when he's close, his eyes clenched - and god, I fucking love when he finally cums. It's so good, watching him. Letting him have his way. Feeling his cock throb and spill into you - hot, and still, and just pumping inside you - just so, so good.”
"Fuck, ah-" the little gasp is like she's starting to hyperventilate.
"Because baby,” is the final nail in the coffin, hammering home, “he’s fucking you just like he’d fuck me.”
"Fucking, please, god-."
Irene's hands have her breasts in their grasp and are playing at where she’s sensitive, then pushing into the soft, delicate space beneath, thumbing the indents. "He's so fucking good, isn't he? Are you going to cream and cream all over his hard fucking cock?"
Then - and because it comes so instinctually to her. Because, actually, your Irene has a slight propensity for evil:
She slaps Karina, right across her tits. "Fucking cum on it."
One.
Tugs hard on a nipple. "I swear, every single bit of you is so goddamn beautiful-"
Two.
"That body is built, perfect. So easy to ruin. And god - what a perfect little pussy you've got-"
Three.
Karina struggles to breathe. Her voice is torn, frayed. She barely manages to utter out a very shaky, very desperate, "harder, fuck- you’re fucking making me so- you can, harder-"
Four.
The cruel contact of Irene’s palm pulls this deliciously hedonistic sound in Karina's throat, a loud moan; like she just hit the sweet spot inside that's all her nerves coming alight. Irene plants a quick peck in Karina's hair. Her temples, the ridge of her brows. Slides her thumb across her eyelashes, brushing them clean from whatever tears had sprung free. You don't even want to try, not at that moment, to try and endure the quiver of slippery muscle all over your cock as she shudders into her orgasm. It's simply too fucking much. She's too fucking tight.
"Aw, shh shh, shh," and then Irene's soft hushes are coming down from the other side of her head. Irene kisses her full, straight on her mouth. Karina is shaking, convulsing and caught and fucked from head to toe - and what she needed was someone like the two of you - to watch her cunt swallow your cock like some magnificent and unbelievable sight, taking the whole damn thing. Irene is telling her, "it's okay. You can let it go."
The silhouettes alone. From the end of the hall, and where the afterimage lingers: the smoke-frosted windows, the dim lights, their bare, beautiful forms - this picture that will stick in the center of your head, will probably haunt you-
"God, I can’t, just- ah.”
“Breathe,” Irene says.
"I'll cum again, it's too- I'm so-" Karina can only plead and sigh.
Irene shushes her one more time. "It's a lot. It's alright, baby. He's going to keep fucking you until he's ready to pull out, until he has a whole mess just painted onto your ass, and thighs, and I'm going to make sure that little pussy gets so wrecked, fucked, stretched on every last inch- until the thought of sex hurts, and then we're going to make you cum again, and again- over, and over-"
You're leaning over her, nose buried into the waves of Irene's hair, the curve of Karina's back, and the flush of skin in contrast. That's when you feel the coil in your chest come loose - unspooling, and bursting - when Karina's lids roll into the back of her head and her lips fall open with a pleasured gasp and a stammer, "y-you're, ah, both, you're so, both- oh god."
You're about to just pull her down and absolutely cream her, stuff her full - a mess.
And she wants you to-
"That feels so fucking good," she lets slip out on the cusp of a shiver, just as her inner muscles are spasming, milking your cock with the pressure from one pulse through the next, squeezing.
She’s right. It does. Her, coming undone. You, at wit’s end.
Another breath, and Karina is managing out between these small hiccups - not as much out of breath, just dumbstruck - simply muttering, "I’m cumming, I- oh my god."
You barely manage it; you unbury your cock from her cunt; you’re cumming all over her ass.
A shot of white that streaks right down to her bare-slicked skin, before it gets painted down into the crease of her pussy, all swollen - wrecked and raw.
Just the way it feels on her skin is enough to earn another hushed moan from her, this sweet little whimper as she can hardly stand up straight. She lets her knees buckle, but Irene is right there, to catch. Her eyes are closed, eyelids clenching, as Irene tilts Karina's face her way, to lay one, two, three soft, adoring kisses on her mouth, the angle all wrong.
“Mmm.” The smack of her lips. The pull of whatever breath she still has to give - right out of her heaving chest. "Sore, that, ahhh- um, thank you."
You fiancée wraps a slender hand right around Karina's wrist, and starts whispering to her, unbridled, "just had to. Had to see how you look-"
It’s wicked, for one thing. More than that, it's seamless:
While Irene still has the girl's voice caught in her throat, she reaches around the curve of Karina's hips and drags two fingertips through the puddle of warm cum that sits right at the base of her spine, glistening all over her ass cheeks and inner thighs, slipping and rolling off her cunt, down the center, running in rivulets. Your cum between her fingers is so filthy, so obscene - dripping hot - right off her reddened skin, and Irene can't possibly help it; not after a display as indulgent as that. The trembling that remains in Karina’s thighs does nothing to hide how her legs now jitter and shake under Irene's touch.
“That’s my good girl,” she whispers as her fingertips hover across the apex of her puffy lips. Over and over again, with more force, and more, until you're almost positive it's Karina that leans in a moment later, kissing the rest of her soft assurances right off her tongue.
Listen to her: this incoherent string of words pouring from her mouth, like they can't move fast enough, tripping over each consonant, "are you, oh, oh - oh, fuck."
No one else could make that kind of overstimulation feel so heavenly, you figure, the way she just properly melts. You take a step back, just to let Irene work. Just to watch. To appreciate the craft.
You absolutely get it.
How to touch, how to tease. Firsthand experience has you know she'll ride your cock until you're throbbing and spilling cum and she'll just shh-shh, let you have it - it's okay, sweetie, just let go - until she's rolling her hips just right, or reaching a hand back to massage your balls, or stroking your inner thigh in that exact kind of spot; some method that keeps her all the way on the end of your cock, but not quite off the edge, and your cum leaking down your shaft, spent.
She’ll bite into her smirk. She’ll tie up her hair. She’ll get that serious look on her face because she knows: you’re all hers for the taking.
So she'll sink onto it, again and again, until she's fucking you with the slippery friction only your own spill might provide. "Just a little more," she'll tell you, which is absolutely a lie, "come on, just a bit harder, I'm so close." Irene does this thing - she's had years to refine and perfect - and her voice gets a husky edge to it as her teeth graze the shell of your ear; she makes a small, pained groan into the curl of your hair and breathily hums it: 'I'm almost there.'
Who stands any chance to resist?
And she's always asking you - the same way she's coaxing and promising Karina the world with just the movement of her fingers, this delectable in and out, in and out, pushing that filth up into the red-soaked lips of her pussy - "now, what did I ever do to deserve someone like you?"
Karina blinks, once - a sleepy-lidded draw that leaves her lashes, lush and long, and fanning her flushed cheeks.
The sound between her legs is wet, squelching with your cum, with hers, the barest hint of slapping her tender skin. The beat of Irene's wrist against her thighs - like that's where she needs it most - a deep, primal rhythm, like the last thing she wants is to take a breath. It's fucking hot; her head is tilted, her jaw clenched, and Irene has the tips of her fingers twisted between Karina's legs, swirling your cum right back around in her slick cunt - those plump pussy lips that you've watched stretch out on the first press, the first and the second and the third, as Karina finds what gets her there fast, fast-fast-fastest-
"You can cum for me too, baby."
It’s not a suggestion. There’s nothing but expectation in Irene’s voice.
“Just cum.”
You watch it knock the architecture right out of Karina's legs.
-
Indulgent, just isn’t quite the right word for it. Careless, reckless, clumsy even-
Look - the tumultuous tangle you three make is all over the fucking place.
One moment, you're at an angle, moreover twisted-limbed with Irene bent over her dresser, then propped up on top of yours the next, your forehead landing against hers, feeling the soft cradle of her shoulders, her legs around you. She has her hands wrapped in Karina's, in that muddled in between: it's a collision of sorts.
There's the chair in the corner of your bedroom that really has only ever known one purpose, a plush rug, all these surfaces, horizontal and vertical for you to take the two most breathtakingly beautiful people in the world on and let your bodies settle into the shape they've needed to ever since your fingertips met Irene's in the cab, ever since she blinked her heavy lashes at you with Karina in-tow, just shy of smiling.
And boy, do you learn that Karina likes to watch herself get fucked in front a mirror. Specifically, the tall one beside Irene’s closet. It's hard to blame her. When you hold her hips tight, and really, truly fuck her, you can’t keep your eyes off how her face twists with the pleasure; or, when you drill the length of your cock into her sopping wet cunt: the wide, glossy rim of her pretty lips pulling back into a wince - and your eyes dropping past the reflection of her shoulders, her collarbones, down to her perfect tits.
The back and forth, the up and down, the way they fucking wobble in their beautifully buxom blur.
Though the eventuality remains unchanged, spread out across your bed. Karina takes a moment, hand pressed to the mattress experimentally like it's all running through her head - this is where Irene gets all that fairy-tale-inspired romance from, really - a quick pause where your future-bride is up on her elbows and staring, watching - your finger sinks in slowly, between where she's soft and warm and wet. She's thinking, you can just read it off her face, 'oh. So that's what you'd do, huh?'
Just for demonstration’s sake, you fingerfuck her in all kinds of ways - show-off and performance and dirty and mind-blowing. Because even better than the whiny, gut-wrenching moan it gets out of Irene, Karina can't get enough of how it’s all presented.
"Ugh," she slides up next to you at the foot of the bed, helping you turn Irene on her side, "why does she have to be so pretty, it's annoying, she's- she's like, made it so fucking far by playing the girl everyone wants to wife, huh?" She's talking directly to you, even while Irene rolls her neck to press her head against the pillow. "Inspirational."
You're drawing circles into her clit. Thumbing the dip, circling in the opposite direction. Karina has her nails biting right into the crease where your knees touch. In tandem, you’ll help your fiancée reach the top of that first wave.
Karina presses, all cheek - a very dry, "cute."
It’s so simple: you eat Irene’s cunt. You hold her down. And Karina slides her tongue lazily against the tight pucker of her ass.
The three of you know she deserves nothing less.
“Oh, christ, you have no idea,” Irene is murmuring into the pillowcase, head tilted at an awkward angle, looking at the wall, almost distant; but her legs are split wide and her hands are reaching forward to rub a circle into your cheek, "you know how sensitive-? Yeah. Like, really, super. Super, super fucking sensitive, okay? So - if you'd keep doing, uh, oh- oh…”
Simultaneous, then slow, and easy - kisses landing right onto Irene's clit. So much so, you can't help but turn a little, smiling right up at your girl as she digs her toes into the duvet and threads a hand into Karina's hair.
The thing is, with Irene: facades fade fast.
Karina gets to measure that fact up close - where the details of Irene's composure are not only sharp, but also readily and openly and emphatically pound to dust by the time the last loose curl of Irene’s hair falls over her collarbone; she ends up on all fours, spread out over Karina - pressed along the length of her stomach, spread over your duvet and fitted sheets, your hand at the base of Irene's waist and tightening into the divots. She’s so small beneath you that when you bury your dick inside her-
“Fuck.” Her cunt is so wet. Her breath uneven - and her words are starting to slur. There’s the gooseflesh on her back that lets you know it’s all already over for her. “Okay,” she tries to steady the ache in her stomach, “okay, okay, just- right there.”
The drag through her pussy is fucking extraordinary. It knocks the wind out of both of you; so soft to the touch, like velvet - she’s unbelievably tight. You pull her hips into you and it opens her right up. Then when you end up balls deep inside your girl a second, third, fourth time:
She simply shudders apart.
Even though you fuck her so slow, so easy - her cunt clenches and squeezes on you like Irene detests the very idea of letting you go. You don’t even need to rail her lithe body to complete and utter ruin just to feel the familiar pent-up tremor starting to build in her muscles, how she rolls her hips back just so-so. How your hands fit that round and pert little ass of hers so well, and when your fingers finally sink in, you’re pulling it all apart to get a good look where your cock shimmers with her slick before disappearing right into her tiny cunt.
Karina mutters something in her ear. It pulls on some thread, somewhere - you feel her wind like a spring, further, and further; your cock edging her so close. The smirk Karina saves for you over your fiancée’s shoulder makes you think she’s figured her out-
“Irene, look-”
Well, at least she’s tuning in on all the right frequencies.
"Aren’t we all about being thorough?" Karina raises a perfectly trimmed brow. She drapes her arm across Irene's neck, their lips sliding together again, and that kiss is drawn-out and languid, albeit needy. "So, say," it gets muffled against the seam of their lips, and comes up, and comes out like a slurry, "are we gonna use everything else too? Your mouth, your perfectly tight ass?"
Irene can hardly muster out, "fuck- fuck- yes, fucking, god," as she takes it, so deep. There’s enough there to make both of you cum, you’re sure.
“Who could’ve guessed - like there’s ever been a more perfect cocktease than bae-fucking-Irene," Karina coos, all lips. She plants a row of kisses along Irene's exposed throat. The tilt of her hips, as she pushes closer - as you press the head of your cock as deep as it can go. "Go on. Cum, baby. Be a good girl, a good hole to fuck, just do it. All over his big fucking cock. Let him fucking have you."
Which is probably about the same time you realize that you, Irene and Karina are all well enroute - becoming this one mind, a single unit. This plurality you know there’s no coming back from.
You look down, with a little more focus, and Irene is being pulled apart in every which way - your cock stretching her out, over and over - Karina’s fingers right under her clit, every circle making her whimper. She’s all sharp edges and delicate angles, but manages to be soft for you in just the right places.
“God, you’re so fucking tight,” you tell her, shifting your hips; pulling her ass flush and filling her completely. Your grip tightens on her waist and she doesn’t flinch a bit. "It's so goddamn easy to cum in this needy little pussy of yours. All wet and slick, and, hah- just pulsing-"
Irene lets out this wanton sound, desperate.
“Oh, right there, huh?” Karina asks. It’s not quite mean, but it’s getting there, fast. “Is that how he’s going to make you cum?”
You thrust on the same angle again, the same depth - you’re hitting all her nerve endings, all her sensitive spots. There isn't even room, now, for some imaginary head-to-head, some verbal volley, the banter; what comes forward is her tiny, broken moan.
How many times had Irene done the exact same, after all. Fucked you without holding back? Fucked you over? The flood of sweet-nothings as you started to approach: honey, you're so perfect, we can go slow, you just have to ask, and if you feel uncomfortable at any point, if you want me to stop-
“Just say please, doll,” Karina tells her.
If Irene told you a quarter of what made it out of the side of Karina’s mouth, you’d have never believed it. "I can't wait to feel what that arrogant mouth of yours will do when he cums inside this cute ass-"
You watch Karina spank her. Hard. There’s a red stain in the round of Irene’s cheek, and her skin is so pale that the imprint of all five fingertips looks stark, glaring.
"Just," Karina presses the rest of herself against Irene's skin and steals a quick glance at you - this half-coy smile pulling on one corner of her lips, "thought I'd do that in the name of-"
"Mmph," Irene’s groan is long, loud, "yes. Fuck, yes- please-"
Karina immediately looks away. An effort to hide the smug satisfaction. She fiddles with the auburn locks behind Irene's shoulder.
You’ll finish the sentiment: "-being thorough," and drive your cock to the hilt. Irene collapses forward onto Karina’s lap.
The sound she makes you swear is a sob. See - for Irene, it’s only about getting control in so far as it is about getting off; she’ll take whatever comes her way so long as it’s directly to her benefit - the theatrics of being pinned, the willingness for surrender, for subjugation, for the sake of telling you, yes, push my knees, spread me apart, hold me there; look at the things you do to me - it's the Irene everyone imagines, when they see the dresses, the gltiz, the glamour, just the brief flash of her grin, or the way she holds her fingernail between her teeth. Everyone wants to put her on her heel and feel a bit powerful. To have you watch the supple arc of her neckline bend, to hear the humility slip off her lips: the notion goes beyond simple kink-
It steps out into pure necessity.
She really, really needs it, and it's written into every muscle and tendon - it's on her breath as it shudders through her whole body. The beautiful, harrowing sound. "I love the way you two fuck me," she murmurs, head buried into the crook of Karina's neck. It's the sort of line, coming from someone like her, you know could raise a few blushes - if either of you was still in the business of such things.
"Honey," her voice wavers. Then, it falters: "please."
The desperation is thick, husky, almost. Karina seems like she's breathing her in, nose tucked against Irene's forehead.
You watch how she runs her nails up Irene's sides, a hot whisper sliding over her skin. You feel it, and so does Irene, this white hot pleasure singing up from the tip of her clit and spreading throughout the soft curves, the sensual lines of her body, this tangible current, a hum, a whine. You see her strain the lean stretch of muscle connecting her neck to her shoulder.
Until her face is tucked under Karina’s jaw, with a hand reaching back and hooked around your wrist and keeping you fucking, filling her, your hips drawn tight against hers, like a second home.
In and in and in.
Fucked-out and outright to the extent she goes completely silent. Almost completely still. The moment she cums all over your waist. Mouth hung open, like she’s in pure disbelief.
It doesn’t really matter, how often or how precisely Karina has imagined the whole thing. It's still a fucking revelation the first time she gets to watch Irene cum.
“No way,” she’s almost laughing, holding Irene’s jaw with both hands. “No fucking way. All the times you- what? No. Nuh-uh. You better fucking explain why this face, you- it’s not fair, the perfect face- I swear, even mid-fucking-orgasm, you are such a fucking doll-"
There's the sheer intimacy - Karina holding Irene's lips open, dragging her thumb down along the center. Quiet and sordid curses slipping from her mouth. And the obvious, her free hand already running down the curve of Irene's spine, her ass: all this sensitive-touching, admiring, appreciating-
"Hey," Karina says, voice raspy and drunk on the sex, the premise, "do me a favor, and tell me this feels as amazing as it looks. Or maybe, for once - just for the sake of fucking argument, is it actually better for the both of us, hm?
Her eyes are half-lidded, heavy, sultry. She's arching up into Irene's warmth - until her palms are spread out against her chest, thumb sliding right over everything sensitive, and she leans right to pull the other breast to her lips, and start all over again. It's clear what she means, spreading her legs as far as she can, pinned beneath the orgasm you're still fucking into Irene. As much as her petite frame will allow.
And in case you missed the point:
"So. What are we waiting for," is what she says a breath later, matter-of-fact, not at all expecting denial. “Or am I not as fuckable as our princess here?"
There's so much wet spill around the base of your cock, and the sound Irene's pussy makes when you finally draw free - all her creamy slick mixed into your mess just fucking leaking around your shaft. Karina holds herself open for you like that, spread wide. All your attention to her pink, raw cunt; you slip right inside.
Karina lets her arms go slack on the mattress, her chest shivering, lips locked around Irene’s panting breath.
And so it goes, and so it goes, and so it goes.
-
(To anyone taking notes - chemistry, by definition, is the sum total of a certain process; where and when energy becomes matter becomes another.
More relevantly perhaps, it is that race and rise you feel inside your chest.
Nothing about the sensation, it seems, is too exclusive either - Irene, and now Karina, the pair of them equally devastating, all over and again. It has you in communication with a different kind of contentment: to fall apart inside their embrace in particular, and kiss them with enough breath and time to waste until the morning.)
-
“Jesus,” Karina laughs out loud, “you really believe that? You corrupting me?" she makes another scoff, both hands buried somewhere in the pockets of the sweatshirt you've lent her. "At least do me a favor and cut it out with the solemn tone."
You're leaning over your apartment’s balcony, watching an emergency plow make the slowest grind of progress up the road. It's late. And cold. Or actually - it’s early. The sky is the kind of dark midnight navy you see after all the snow and stars have run through the horizon. Time ticks on, and Irene’s inside sound asleep. A woman that small has no right to snore like heavy machinery.
So,
You and Karina happen to be two things at once: very tired, and very awake.
"What I mean is: I'm sure your manager, or your parents - fuck, someone - would fly off the handle," you say, pulling a cigarette from the pack and offer it begrudgingly. She takes the end and slips it between her lips, a little unsure. You then draw a lighter and offer it, too, and Karina puffs with all her strength. She's no expert, but it looks like the end catches and turns bright.
A bit of color.
"My parents?" Karina flouts, sucking at it, pulling deeply from her chest - smoke pours from her nose.
She finishes with a cough. And says again:
"Um. Your girlfriend had her fingers in my ass - your cock down my throat - and we're worrying what my parents might think?"
Well. She's got you on that count.
"Not to mention: who the fuck thinks they're so virtuous-" a small chuckle as she passes it back. The cigarette is lit, bright. You take a drag. Watch her tap her feet on the snow. "That they need to do that to begin with. It's more trouble, telling me what to think and feel, as if that hasn't just the opposite effect."
“Irene’s protective, albeit in her own sorta peculiar way. So, you know, by extension, she worries-" you pull, and exhale, the smoke blowing past Karina. It gets caught in her fringe, in the wisps. You offer it back when you see her shiver. "That some shit happens, after."
"Your concern is heartwarming, truly - if you want to let me think on it, I might go and write a nice little diary entry tonight. It'll have sparkles and glitter - if you're that worried."
Karina reaches in. Lets her fingers graze yours. Her skin is cool.
“Besides, I don’t need a lesson in image from Irene of all people. She’s her; I’m me.”
She holds onto the cigarette between two long acrylic fingernails, tapping the end so the ash flits out onto the ice. You're caught staring, probably - the dark hair framing her face, all messy and soft, falling about her cheekbones. How that pretty pink blush in her skin seems to never go away.
Your eyes drop to where her mouth is red, a bit swollen - well-kissed; it is snowing again, after all. And it’s easy to be kind of transfixed.
"You're not, I dunno, say embarrassed?" you ask, after a beat.
"Nope." Karina swallows. Brings the cigarette to the pucker of her lips again. You watch how she holds the inhale, holds her wrist up and slacked, head tilted back a little. This exaggerated fashion-model exhale follows, all smooth.
“Because I'm not the type.”
The heavy stream of smoke then blown right into your face.
"Really, I think - sorry, I have always wanted to do that. It felt like a movie. Look," she coughs on the next breath. "I get your dilemma. But also, um-"
There are some quiet moments too, here and there: the heat between your thighs, her pressed up close. She smells like Irene's shampoo and bodywash and that just confuses your head some.
"Who’s to say I’m not just looking out for you," you offer. Every good lie is rooted somewhere in the truth.
"Don't bother," her words hit you square on. "It's about getting off right? You invite me to your bed; I’m so starstruck and enchanted by the very concept of it - Irene and her charming, intoxicating husband. Fuck, I dunno - the way the two of you kiss, look, feel: the experience that you will let me be a part of," she stops and makes another face of amusement, so fucking confident, "you let me play, too, just once, and we're all just a little happier. My version."
“We’re not married,” you correct.
“That’s the part you’re hung up on?” Karina leans over, her upper half across the balcony, staring right up at the sky. “Same difference.”
The moon finds her smile bright like nothing else. It's something infectious. Immediately, it reminds you: of Irene.
"Trust me," she goes on to say. The cigarette slips back into the space where you are connected - the lines of her fingers, her knuckles. "I had a wonderful time, but the sun will rise here, and I'm not gonna stick around to blow you while Irene burns three omelets and finds a spot for me in her fucked up game of house or whatever."
She makes you laugh, free and easy, like a gust of cold air. Something genuine and natural. And as the laugh shakes, Karina makes it impossible not to crumble farther. Not to fucking simper there like an idiot.
“I really thought she was going to make me call her mommy or something, I swear-”
"Hey, I'm sure if you had asked." A spark catches you. The flash of her canine, and those eyelashes. “She’d have done you the favor.”
"Oh, shush." The touch of Karina's fingertip against your hand is delicate, careful - unassuming. But, god, everything with her is just the right amount of heat - it melts you; and when it stops, her touch: that feeling is so cold that you just chase her out of impulse.
"What about New Year's?" you ask. There are still boundaries you really shouldn't be crossing, but here you are, straddling yet one more.
Karina's grin cracks like an old fault line. "You're not allowed to ask me out like that," she insists, batting you away - trying her hardest not to lead with the obvious. You look out on the view, watching a guy in a parka trudge over to a garbage can, a handful of newspaper bundles, then a glance back-
The slightest flush has bloomed up Karina’s face, right underneath where the makeup's been rubbed bare. It's utterly irresistible. "Go wake up your fiancée and ask what her New Year's Eve looks like. Doubt it involves me and my dumb friends."
She’s probably right.
"Karina," you start, watching her push open the balcony door with her foot and walk slowly, lazily, back into the apartment. The window rattles, and she looks back over her shoulder. The bob of her ponytail, the sweeping lashes, that perfect slow-burn smile. That’s how you end up with a title as ridiculous and reductive as ‘original visual’ or ‘the human cg’.
"You’re really going to let them in on what we all got up to?"
"Oh," she makes this low, delighted hum - it sounds so dreamy, how her voice gets the richest sort of rasp, "every last detail."
-
On Monday: the holidays are officially over.
There's a bunch of stuff on the to-do pile. A lot of loose ends you have to clean up, a ton to catch up on. Irene is judiciously ignoring all of it. She's wearing her glasses - the ones with the big round frames that should look entirely obnoxious - which means she's already decided she's not leaving the apartment; Karina's still wrapping the world at large around her finger and has everyone convinced that she's all femme, no fatale; and you - well, you're back to thinking about how to climb the ladder and maybe how to stay there.
You head downtown with a cup of coffee in one hand and a musing mood in the other.
On your phone, some more choice text messages arrive in the late AM: had a great time by the way, stay out of trouble, this sweatshirt is actually just mine now, duh.
The selfie alongside it is pretty suggestive, but just vague enough to flirt with indecency.
She sends one more at lunch where she's gotten out of the shower, or a hot pool, or maybe a long workout - her breasts squeezed between a towel and an arm - she has the camera all zoomed in and framed tight, almost full body. If her intention is to mess with you, that's what she gets. The texts: ah, fuck off and did you have a nice date with your left hand then, thanks for reminding me, the hotel wifi is shit lmao.
The messages just keep on coming and there's really no better descriptor.
And Irene, later, in a way that's neither diplomatic nor nuanced: jesus, don't let her catch you by yourself. For simplicity’s sake. She interprets being alone with a handsome boy as carte blanche to do absolutely whatever she wants and she's vapid that way.
There’s a chance it fizzles out into nothing. An even greater chance it all goes sideways. You'll have to see what becomes of you three.
-
Okay, right - new year, new you. The resolution for the past couple remains unchanged, and unfulfilled - less takeaways and eating out; more meal prep, less calories, healthier decisions.
Irene has this cute little apron over her sweater that is fixed extra tight, the belt trailing down the tops of her jeans to accentuate her nice round hips and slim waist. She knows the nature of her charm, her sex appeal. How it occurs, almost, as if by accident.
You say something that will get right under her skin like, “looking real domestic, Joohyun,” as she slides a chopped onion from a cutting board to a bowl.
She presses her hips out just a smidge, just enough. Turns a bit as she opens up the fridge, and the smirk she has for you, that sidelong glance-
“Don’t you Joohyun me,” is her lightest rebuke.
She twists her way onto her tiptoes to fetch at the highest shelf. The crochet corner of her sweater rides up a couple of inches, flashing a hint of the fair, bare curve of her lower back. "You can help me by grating the parmesan, hm? Into that," she gestures back at the table, pointing with the bottle of olive oil.
And so you're ten, fifteen minutes into helping with dishes, with the grunt work - with the realization that Irene is going to chop her fucking fingers off if you leave her to it unchecked.
"Actually, here," you say, "can I?"
She tilts her head, skeptical - still, a quick nod of permission - and her slender fingers surrender the knife and wooden chopping board to you. She's tapping away at her phone, finding the playlist you're both always secretly listening to.
"Wow," Irene says, low, as you start dicing mushrooms, a stalk of celery. "So brave. There’s no way I could do that. Is it safe? Are we, like, in nuptial bliss now, do you think? I fancy you, I fancy you-"
It's always this sorta-delicate dance with her: how much should you step up; how much should you put out of hand; how much she accepts versus how she pushes you aside and gets through you all the same. You're too proud, really - both of you - but fuck. She's adorable; the apron adds insult to injury; and it makes the switch in your head simple.
“I always forget how much I love this song,” she’s saying; the rolling pin she’s grabbed is a reasonable surrogate for a mic. When she’s through singing a verse, she shoves it in your face. You don’t know any of the lyrics.
She doesn’t really care.
You have to laugh at everyone who's ever wasted the effort to theorycraft who she is behind the smoky lashes, the lowered chin, the downturned glance. All the characters and archetypes she'll wear and cast off as she needs.
"Here." She sidles up and tucks her hair behind her ear, the side of her hip grinding into your thigh until she’s pressed firm into the line of your leg. Because she needs to tell you that's way too much garlic, and she's not going to kiss you if your breath is trying to kill her first. She uses the word "pungent" a number of times, just for good measure. Go on - she’s murmuring - taste; right off her finger. If anyone caught this you’d be embarrassed for weeks
“I think, definitely, should open a bottle of wine-”
That’s how you earn all the responsibility for getting the both of you fed; she gets distracted looking through the recipe book.
But there's the way she looks up at you from the opposite of the kitchen island, face held up between her hands, fingers folded underneath her chin. "What?" she asks.
She’s totally caught you staring.
The truth is: Irene only looks this gorgeous when it's just her. When she forgets that she's supposed to stick to a script.
You tell her as much when you end up fucking her right there on the counter.
It's so slow, atleast at the onset. Her panties pushed aside, jeans spilling off an ankle - the fucking apron managed to make it to the floor but her sweater got kinda stuck on the way up. So you're reaching through some overpriced fabric blend to pull down the wire of her bra and get your palm where she most prefers it.
"Say it again," Irene sighs into your neck, clutching to the back of your shirt - white-knuckled at the seam. "Come on, you can be so charming when you want something."
"I wouldn’t push your luck," is all you choose to tell her.
You're hitting all the spots she wants you to hit anyway: her pretty pink cunt, slick, all wet for you already. Everything clenching as she arches her back, until she's hanging off the edge of the marble. You find it’s just enough leverage to fill her completely with your cock - stretching her out and open until her thighs bracket around your waist at the perfect angle.
"Or what?" Irene is out of breath, but hardly at a loss for words. "I know. You'll have to remind me how much smaller I am than you, right? So easy to keep pinned."
Well, if you really wanted: "Hah, ah - right." You get right next to her ear, muttering the words as deep as your chest can go - then take hold of her waist to put her in a spot she can't escape. And, by Irene's usual logic, once that happens, that's as much a victory for her as it is for you. You're being compliant, aren't you? The in and out: fucking her, filling her up, pulling your messy cock out of her pussy and slapping her clit just so she can hear how fucking soaked you make her, merely as a reminder-
"I wonder if she was even half as desperate," she moans against your jaw. "Her heart probably stopped the second you, ah - told her, what? About all of this?"
You stop fucking her, halfway.
"I’m sure you wouldn't be referring to Karina, right?" is where you glance at her. “I remember us both agreeing to chalk that up as a total absolute mistake. That was that.”
Irene just swallows, looks off somewhere over your shoulder. No one wears a blush better than her.
But she won't say it. Her honesty is such a privilege. The prodigy-type. Or at least, that's the word Irene chose. Then again, there’s you and your uncanny ability to turn a blind eye.
To the vice, the virtue, and everything in-between.
"So, can I ask," you press your lips together, finding the point of her chin with a gentle tap - you have her looking you straight back at you. The moment could let you drive back inside and fuck her brains right out, right there, like that - right through, instead: you watch her try not to squirm.
The tension in her upper chest, the rising heat that settles between her thighs, her weight struggling where you spread her knees, as far open as her body can allow. “How long exactly," you choose your words, careful and pointed, "are we going to pretend that she isn't texting both of us?"
You bury the question deep where she’s practically molten - hot and wet and so incredibly needy.
You do, again, and again. You pull her against you, watching that pretty brow scrunch and un-scrunch as your cock bathes in that soak. And hell, Karina had sent her a selfie today, is what she's explaining when you slow down enough - a bit of red, on her cheeks and her lips, and a lot of black, all the rest - the part about a midnight flight that's on hold until tomorrow morning. And then another, an hour later. To you both: her tits, the lace lingerie - so heavy, and soft, and easy to see yourself getting lost in-
Irene gasps at how fast you find all her favorite spots, then repeats - twice and again - hey, Karina said you're "such a cutie," and she sees her as the perfect mistress-material, don't you think? Wouldn’t it be ideal? The perfect fantasy? The perfect toy-
Obviously, that is morally bankrupt, even for the two of you. And you’re making sure she hears about it.
You ask her, point-blank: "are you really so selfish? So callous." It's ground out, slowly, against her hip, into her cunt. You've got Irene dripping wet, she's running everywhere, and you're telling her, "and this is your roundabout way of asking me to validate your twisted little ego?"
Don’t get it too confused: Irene lives for this shit; that sharp, hard-hitting tone - it drives her up the fucking wall.
"Duh. Tell me - just a guess," she presses her hands further back, arching into each push. The slim curves of her chest are bouncing, just under her sweater. "You like to feel so guilty and morose but I bet-" she chokes off mid-sentence, you know exactly how, the exact motion that has her wanting. She gets a leg over your shoulder with no effort at all, and your fingers find their place, digging into her hips as she locks into your thrusts.
Like fucking her is the only thing the two of you ever do.
Your whole body buzzes, it hums in resonance with where her gasps conflagrate to moans - you're pulling her slender frame down into every sloppy thrust and she takes you so fucking well.
"I bet it all sounds like, ah, the prettiest fucking music - in your head-"
“Fucking god, Irene-”
“Mhmm?” she fucking coos.
Because the things she wants to hear never actually leave your lips - your girl, fucking relentless.
Because the line between you fucking her and her fucking you becomes less distinct every time she rocks back and takes you deeper. Or when her mouth catches your next kiss a bit lazily. She takes over to swivel and slide her cunt up and around your length. So good that you have to keep her there. Hand locked onto her throat, digging a bruise or two in her collarbones, fucking her senseless against the countertop-
"Irene, fuck.” Your voice comes out thick, like gravel, and practically as an aside, “you’re going to make me-.”
Irene cuts you off, nodding, shh-shh’ing you into silence. “I know, baby. I know.” This total sigh of agreement - a hushed yes, or maybe uttering something she knows will sink right into your core, two words that sound a lot like “good boy.”
What, is that tacit approval? Probably. It’s hard to think straight.
So you bury yourself inside her, instinctually. Irene tips her chin up when she feels you paint her fucking womb. Every throb - with a fistful of her ass and your face pressed against her chest, sucking and biting and marking her anywhere, everywhere - right through her sweater. Fucking her so full that your mess is dribbling out all over the fucking floor, drip, drip, drip, and-
"Hey, I want you to know that I" - she sounds so amused as she cards through your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead - "really couldn’t ever ask anyone except you."
(All is fair in love and war, is an adage Irene takes to its logical extreme, tangled in your sheets or with a dress puddled at her ankles. A silk stocking rolling down her leg, the crochet thrown into some dark corner.
You never say yes. You never really have to.)
This all before setting her down, off the edge, back onto her feet and taking another half-step forward and having the awareness not to completely flatten her under the full weight of your body, so she can run a hand down between the two of you and her fingertips can start gathering up all the cum you've pumped inside her. Irene tells you in her sweetest lilt to pay attention as she leans back up against the counter and gathers as much into her mouth as it will allow-
The sight alone.
When her head tips back, tongue passing over her knuckles, and she swallows-
"You are so," you sigh into her temple. Her cheek. You've settled the rest to the space in between. “Absolutely unbelievable."
She reaches out and trails the tips of her fingers lightly along the rise of your cock - her softness up against your hard lines. Her eyes flash when you twitch on the fucking spot. It's so tender all coming from her.
And there, a moment or two more. You can see it in the way she has her lips tilting, dreamy. You've always known what you were signing up for - how she's thumbing the nape of your neck - what her ideal outcome was, is. There's nothing and no one in front of either of you to bar the way.
You’ll make your vows like any other.
"Well, hey," she finally says, slow and husky and curling toward you with a smug self-satisfaction.
You push her hair behind her ears, the dark brown locks. Some part of you understands, unequivocally, that she is the absolute limit of how far you would go for any other person on the planet. No questions. In a heartbeat, without hesitation.
The kiss to the corner of your jaw is unironically chaste - before she’s telling you, "shouldn’t we get a move on it, chef? There’s food to eat, recipes to ignore; aren’t you fucking famished?"
-
The bolognese reduces down to a scorch in the cast iron. Too much heat, or too long, you got too preoccupied, who knows - there's a moral lesson to ignore here if you're so inclined. So it ends up being over a tray of sushi delivery that Irene explains to you her working theory like it's high-stakes political intrigue.
"Listen," she's got her chopsticks pointed at you, "for one, Karina, to her core, is a total seductress; and she's told me already, more or less to my face - she gets off on the chase, and hates the other shit. To be involved, or invested."
“Okay then why all the go-around; the wait-and-see; what’s her endgame?”
“What’s anyone’s endgame?” Irene shrugs. “Validation." She slips a tuna roll into her mouth.
"I think you might be projecting."
"Or, I'm simply an extremely empathetic person," her sarcasm hits harder through chewing - she almost gets you, and finishes swallowing to say, "look, she's like us if we were pretending to care, okay? Just more, like - explicit about her lack of intention. So. Doesn’t matter if it's to piss her manager off. Or it's like a revenge-slash-extortion-thing against someone she either had or is having an affair with."
"An affair," you repeat, skeptical.
"It's not like it’s an unheard-of workplace hazard, come on," and then the final confirmation: "she’s just into it because it sounds dirty and sexy, okay, like everything else-"
"And you figure we should be the ones to dole it out."
"What I figure," Irene says, doing that same mental calculus she did the first time: how, where, why - it's clear. A dozen different kinds of naked are an old, tired song by now. "I want us to fuck her. However she likes, whenever she likes, for however long she likes. Let her think she’s won something, or think she has you totally fucking hooked - I don't really care. Because it would be so much more satisfying to hear you tell me about it - because the idea of you two being like that for me. It's," her words pitch up a touch.
"That's the fantasy."
And Irene dives into the details. She explains what it could look like, all the more raunchy and ridiculous. This very specific arrangement. It makes no real sense, the conversation alone, and that, you decide - what can't be rationalized - is how she'll take it: by fucking both of you. That's the objective fact. That's the demand.
You listen until it feels less and less like the decisions have already been made.
“Okay, babe,” she’s presenting her case. “Hear me out.”
And she keeps going until you both can see it materialize: "if Karina thinks she can handle both of us, then both of us it'll be." It’s how her fingers end up buried in your boxers and around the throb of your cock. You hear the gentlest laugh Irene has as you start fucking softly into her grip, and she runs her thumb over your weeping slit until she finds you that much more malleable to the suggestion. Effortless almost, she lures the primal part of you from its confines and teases and prods at its wants and desires. Which is also how some charged vocabulary gets thrown in for good measure. Because no, no, no - she's murmuring into your mouth, tipped back, plush lips right above yours - it's not a cuckquean situation, or an open relationship, or anything like freeuse or whatever else might justify the concern. It's not even cheating, Irene’s explaining, strictly speaking, because who said you and I wouldn’t be doing it together?
(Lying by omission is the story you both live - and the difference: she's pathological. You’re just now getting the hang of it.)
"Fuck," is what you exhale out as she opens her fingers, offering. Her thumb glides across the expanse of your head, a trail of pre-cum drawn underneath a nail. And you know all the things her nails can do - can rip your heartstrings. "I mean. God damn. There has to be, like, terms."
There's still sushi sitting on the coffee table, and Irene is placing these kisses into the slope of your shoulder, your sternum, making a show of the movement, how she's traveling down, downward - to her knees. Where she finds the seat between your thighs and tugs your shorts, the fabric gathered down your leg-
"Let me handle it," she tells you, and there goes the cut of your t-shirt, shoved up to your chest. Her grip runs flat, down from the rise of your hip, fingers wrapping around, touching - the flat of her tongue laving across the tip of your cock until she decides to lower her jaw.
"Just think right now. How I want to fuck her and how I'd want you to fuck her, too-"
Right in her warm, wet little mouth.
Jesus, her tongue too-
She has it gliding up, around and against the swell of the underside. Rolling to where you need it, the places she knows you’ve died before. Lapping up the mess she's already gotten out of you-
Like this, Irene's looking at the way that the idea strikes: you and you and you; the only person in the whole goddamn world that can handle her; you fucking know it too - it's the most perfect, hopeless kind of thing. Like the feeling that catches at the apex of your lungs. It burns in your stomach and grips in your gut. She's gone and cut out the nerves - there's the crown of your cock caught in a velvet grip between those pretty pink lips and her fingers twisting at the bottom.
She breathes deep. Sinks her lips so slowly to the base. Anything, everything you want: to put your hands to the side of her head, to weave your fingers through her hair, and coax her, fuck her mouth like it belongs to you, all slow and hard and measured.
To hear all those wet sounds she makes as she chokes on the end of it. The gags as you force your cock into the back of her throat, holding her head tight, her hair pulled up into a fist, to have that mouth hanging around the length of you, tongue stuck to the bottom of her chin as you move her, your fiancée, your toy. To be looking her in the eye and watching her look the fuck back while she revels in every filthy second of it, not a single damn drop of hesitation or doubt.
"Really think," Irene urges, and she's all innocent when she tips her head to kiss her way up your cock.
She’s trying for some grace or finesse, or both - trying, you think, to make a point; instead, you end up watching her gulp and spit into her palm, just to obscure the sensual curl of her tongue with the sloppy-hard rhythmic stroke of her fist. "How hot it would be if you watched us both choke on your cum. Her face fucked stupid - the perfect little fuckdoll, is that not an image for the ages-"
You get a glimmer of that catlike grin - the one you would kill for a picture of. Something for the wallpaper, or the wallet; you've never met a boundary she hasn't challenged. The most depraved ideas in her head are just, as she is, a masterpiece. And so the answer has never changed - there has never been anything she's not been allowed-
"Trust me baby," she presses her cheek against your shaft. You feel her turn and run that mouth all over. The tip of her nose. Her eyelashes. The wet heat of her breath as she nuzzles the length. "Karina's all ours to share."
Her pout, right there, waiting.
You can't stop yourself from grabbing her face, the crook of her jaw, her neck and the tips of her shoulders. Until it all comes with a good, hard pull. The sound of her mouth on your cock, the blowjob she's been perfecting for years. It's starting to fill up the room, her lips wrapping your shaft - the sound of her being so obedient, the most receptive, sweet, pretty thing: letting you guide her pace until she has a steady motion going. Taking the thick base in her hands and working it over between her fingers. There's only enough room for that before you’re all the way inside her, in and out, again: the tip of your cock brushing over the softest curve of her throat.
When you take her at face value, it's fucking wild: your fiancée kneeling before you. Her chin and neck wet with her effort, lips wrapped so pretty, stuffed, used-
There are no questions. This is simply Irene, doing what she loves.
She pushes a hand between her legs and holds herself together as your hips tilt forward, meeting her halfway-
Just letting you get yourself off in her mouth like it's no big deal. It's her throat - it's her goddamn cunt and ass, and whatever else - because you fucking asked, right? Because you gave her the permission, the choice, the agency.
"Hey, where should I?" you’re muttering as you push the hair out of her face, already half-drunk on her slick lips and realistically only a few seconds away from doing some real damage.
There isn't a need; but you want her to tell you, to use her words. In her mouth, on her face, in her palm, you’ll go without thinking. You’ll cum straight onto your own stomach if it’s what Irene says. Even if she’s acting like you already have.
"Make sure you give her,” is what she garbles out around the hard line of your cock, and it’d be impossible to understand if you didn’t know every nuance to her, if you didn’t - you know - fucking love her. To have and to hold - to hold on tight and for better or worse, and this is pretty much as bad as it gets.
The syllables come in-between hollow breaths, all wet and sticky. When Irene wrenches the fuck out of it, the base of your cock- “hm, that same sort of courtesy when, agh, I'm not around-"
Because the image alone is what matters. There, getting your cock sucked like you've earned the privilege - it doesn't have to be real, it just has to look like it's a new truth to believe in. The little motions in her wrist are just - hah, fucking unreal - and the way she sinks down lower on her knees for each stroke, from base to tip - lips pressing over the knuckles she has wet, and squelching, and twisting up and down and up-
She places a hand under your balls, the gentlest cradle, and something of your restraint finally breaks - it snaps - her insistence is ruthless.
"Yeah, god, okay- I’m just gonna go ahead-"
There are these images in your head, of Irene: the upturned brows, the hollowed cheeks, and that slutty-as-shit smirk - and then of Karina: doing the exact same thing. Fuck, your cock is heavy, absolutely leaking cum: you can feel yourself leaking into the press of her mouth. It fills up her cheeks as she blushes into the fuck. Her lips become flush and go soft against the ridge of your shaft - her jaw slack in anticipation.
"Your fucking mouth, Irene" you breathe out, “I'm going to cum-”
Just at half the sentence, you're there, sunk into your fiancée's throat. Fingers across her ears and into her hair and watching her own hands pulling you, guiding you-
It’s all flexed in your back. Every muscle. Every fiber.
Irene hums onto a simple, satiated note. She always does, when she tastes it. When you dump a hot load of cum all over her tongue and straight into her throat.
(And yes, some might claim this is the death knell for all kinds of reasoning, but you’ll go ahead and admit it’s so, so worth it.)
"How thoughtful," she says, low and slow, once she's through swallowing the entire fucking thing.
The corner of her mouth tilts up. Because you're finished: two steps left in the brain from falling out of consciousness, a mess on the couch. You get to watch as she pulls you into sorts and slots each piece back to where it's meant to sit. The underwear, your pants. It's with such careful attention. Your soft cock gets cleaned with a tissue and wiped dry. A tiny parting kiss for the tip, her mouth full-on puckered, like she's kissing out anything you have left.
Though it's a pleasant daze. She prefers you soft like this, really.
All you have left to say is: "fuck me, baby." It sounds sloppy and open-ended as hell. "I guess I'll leave everything to you."
If that's a cue or sign for the evening, the only right thing: it isn't exactly misinterpreted.
-
The actual logistics don’t arrive for a handful more weeks. You find it surprising they ever happen at all.
// Karina 10:41 pm > i'm bored.
// Karina 10:42 pm > suggestions?
// 10:49 pm > have you tried looking into an incognito tab?
// Karina 10:58 pm > lol, and what is it i'm supposed to be finding?
// Karina 10:58 pm > help a girl out here.
"Send her a picture of your cock," Irene says, like it isn’t a joke. She looks up from the smutty-dash-of-romance-porn novel she's got herself wrapped in, with her best faux-serious expression. The pair of readers that usually are in her top desk drawer have made a new home perched low on her nose. "God knows she hasn't stopped leering since she found out what I'm marrying into."
"Please," you tell her, because she's full of shit. "I'm not sending her a dick pic."
Your laptop is warm on your thighs as you huddle on your side of the bed. That's the point of balance where it feels like Irene isn't trying to look. Though she clearly is. You flick up through a couple tabs just to drive the point home.
// 11:01 pm > sorry. i'm not in the business of just handing out freebies
// Karina 11:07 pm > really
// Karina 11:07 pm > thought we were making progress here
// 11:11 pm > you're funny
"Ask her if anyone's home with her." Irene dogears the page she’s reading and sets her book down. "Or ask if she's, like, tied up or something. Something edgy."
"Something edgy," you deadpan.
"Do you want me to put the readers away," Irene offers. She's wearing the sort-of smirk you always need to be wary of.
"No," you say. “God, no.”
"Ask her where she keeps her lingerie. Tell her she should be thinking about what it'd look like: all naked except a thong. With the straps digging into her. Tied up all nice and pretty-like."
// 11:13 pm > u alone right now?
"What the fuck?" Irene slugs a pillow at you. "That is the creepiest way you could've sent-"
// Karina 11:13 pm > yeah. i am :/
You and Irene are both struck a little dumb by that.
“Sheesh, she must have had her finger hovering over the reply button.”
"Yeah," you say, eloquent. “Who could blame her, though.”
"Uh-huh." Irene exhales, staring a bit pointedly.
// 11:16 pm > cool if I come over?
// Karina 11:17 pm > and… do what?
Irene nudges you with her heel, a questioning glance: the window has just been left there wide open and hanging. She whispers like Karina can somehow hear her through the phone, "you are terrible at sexting."
“Can you fucking leave it-”
Irene rolls her eyes.
// 11:18 pm > do you need ideas
// Karina 11:19 pm > got a couple. i wouldn't be against hearing something that lets my imagination fill in the gaps though
"Text her that you're into her throat and want her to show you her tits," and Irene actually cracks a laugh as she has the audacity to make the request. She's in good form this evening; in nothing but her favorite silk camisole - the navy blue one, which pairs great with all 5’2” of the rest of her. Like the soft curves she wears and everything else isn't bad for your heart. "Seriously, I want you to-"
"How am I supposed to end it?" You ask. The tone is purely sardonic. "Babe. Baby. My future wife. Tell me. You do realize you're basically asking me to bait her, right?"
Someone will eventually put their cards on the table, and Karina, Irene, and ostensibly you will realize you’re all currently having a mental break from reality. Or something along those lines. "I mean. Could that really be a negative," she wonders with an eyebrow quirked and another gesture of her arm like she wants to showcase the night sky beyond the bedroom windows.
"How, what - babe."
"You could promise to let her sit on it."
"Is the cockslut routine an act? Like," you lower your volume, "do you really have a playbook, here?"
"So mean." Irene reaches a hand over. She has her head propped on an elbow, the rest of her sprawled and comfortably positioned on the bed. And you wonder why the fuck you feel compelled to argue a point that so obviously has already been lost. "Just go fuck her already, god damn, I dunno."
Right. So. This was the part that was kind of inevitable - and Irene's impatience aside, you probably were about to win a lottery when you showed up at her door - that golden little interaction: "hey it's me, your rival at work's future ex-husband, I guess - I'm so horny and I think you're so beautiful and wouldn't it be so crazy if we, like, boned, haha, what?"
"Just- have sex. Tell me about it after."
The novel beckons Irene back toward it. She makes herself the picture of someone perfectly comfortable with you walking right into the next most uncomfortable predicament.
The sigh. That long, heavy thing. A leadup you do so often.
The simple idea of sending Karina that sort of message sends heat, low - just under the band of your sweatpants, and right where you've got yourself in the palm of your hand and you're already wondering how this is the result, why your cock is coming to a rise already - god damn - why every thought of Karina's face, and Karina's ass, and Karina's everything, every moment her lip is caught in between those teeth is becoming impossible not to touch. "Okay," you huff, "fine. I'm getting up, I'm going now- I mean it, right now, just give me a minute, I am putting my clothes on."
"Wait," and she's saying, "wait. Wait."
And when you turn around, Irene has this cat-that-ate-the-canary grin all stretched on the canvas of her face. She takes off her readers - her elbows thrown into her lap as she goes to the very edge of the mattress, pulling your shoulders for balance. "Babe-"
"Mm."
Irene likes to get you at a low simmer. The way she runs her thumb pad along your bottom lip. And all those questions - a look into her eyes - it's hard not to fold or break - when she's holding onto that sort of expression, unwavering; no matter how her mouth seems to get soft and curious.
Her lips move onto yours, asking - a push. And your eyes - a brush against a shoulder and you've already gone a whole mile from anywhere decent. There's the touch of her tongue between your parted mouths.
"You'll be good right?"
"I mean, sure," is what you manage, watching her lips close.
"You'll fucking wreck her, and do it exactly how she needs it done." And her brow, knit. She can tell your brain is busy jumping ahead to a hundred different scenarios. "Stop worrying."
There's a brief nod of reassurance. Her fingertips dust down your chest and the rest of the way. You hear Irene tell you to-
"And give her an extra hello from me."
"Okay, I love you, but also you're insane, like certifiable."
"Shush, I know you," and Irene gives your hair a little tousle before pushing you out the door.
-
You're standing there at the front door of Karina's apartment a little after midnight, bathed in dim, orange wicked fluorescence. Like it knows your sins - past, present and future. There's no obvious answer when you go knocking, and for a half-moment, you're thinking, okay, it's alright, this is how I let someone down easy-
Until she answers and leans out, pulling open the door. It takes you by surprise-
"Well, I'd normally let you in," you hear Karina say, and a smug smile starts to cross her face, "but..."
It's about the degree to which she looks hot and a little off kilter in this tight t-shirt - a snug pair of panties around the sway of her hips - that almost sends you spinning. There's not an ounce of self-consciousness; it's like a punch to the gut.
"Aeri's date went south and she's drunk. She's passed out on her bed, like, right now, I don't think-"
There's no bra. It's hard not to get fixated on every detail. Like her nipples, practically standing out. You have an irrational desire for her to take a step back, further into the room, further out of your vision's reach-
"Uhh," you croak. And you do have the mental faculties for, uh. For telling her. "Maybe, you know, later, could be better, yeah, maybe call me."
Though, unfortunately, the suggestion falls short on delivery.
"No, no." Karina has her hands searching up and underneath your sweater. Her fingers dance flat up, right over your stomach - teasing as she hikes you back inside. Right past the threshold. Your mouth is half-caught and stupid under her, the gentle hum and pressure on her lips. "It means we need to be quiet."
She drags you another step forward, with just the hot flash of her gaze.
"Shut the door behind you?"
"Locking it too," you tell her.
The laugh she makes into it, this one little scoff - it's an acknowledgment: an agreement. It's one of the worst fucking sounds, and the whole damn thing gets to you. Like her ass wasn't the perfect fit for the palm of your hands- like you don't want to trace your fingers under the elastic of her panties.
As if it wasn't fucking clear enough. It's the tongue in your mouth and the hands in her hair. She's kissing you soft, she's kissing you deep; her weight rests and pulls back with each swell of your ribs, pushing her fingertips down until they're skating, slow, low into the grooves of your spine. Like she's getting familiar with you again.
"Okay," you breathe. She laughs on your lips and presses forward - pulls you back, farther- "uhh. Okay."
She must see the confliction you're in-
"Hey." Karina keeps going until you've got her backed against a wall, until your thigh has pressed into the crux of hers and your hand is in her shirt. You don't miss how she lets her head tilt back when her eyes shut. It's her. There's no disputing the reality. "Whatever you want to do to me. That is all I've been thinking about. Do it."
"I- don't really-"
She makes a decent show of crossing her wrists and tugging her shirt right over her head. Tosses it someplace safe enough. "So are you just gonna leave me in suspense, or do you need my explicit, enthusiastic permission?"
Your lips draw themselves a blank on anything useful, while your heart rate accelerates.
"Here try this: you’re going to fuck me until I beg you to stop. Then you’re going to fuck me some more. Or whatever- then we can go somewhere, I don't care," she offers with a half-whisper. In all her goddamned glory - barefoot, almost bare chested - it's not like it could be any other thing.
-
You’re not exactly supposed to end up on your knees for this.
This isn't quite how you pictured-
Okay, fuck, Karina's making the prettiest noises where her spine is curling up against the wall; those sounds you couldn't even make up. How it feels like the easiest damn thing, because there isn't a question to why. Every inch of you is pressed to every inch of her. You know what you'll taste on your tongue, which of these breasts belongs in your palm and the fingerprints in the dips of her waist - her lips on the curve of your jaw - every mark and bruise on her skin, every hint of it is real; it's fucking you up because you're kissing the woman that Irene picked, the woman you met - it's how you pull yourself away-
Karina, for the longest few seconds, is shocked into stillness.
Because you could, of course, decide to give this one last shot, your head between her thighs and eat her out until she was so fucking wet your cock wouldn’t even enter the equation. This is not actually a new idea; the possibility has run through her mind enough times already.
"Yeah. That would work."
Like it's no big deal-
"Do you need instructions? I can get a bit graphic."
"Actually, you know what?" you choke a little, and - "trust me."
You stand straight up for a moment, a second, an extra fraction. You slip your cock inside her hot cunt, and, yeah. She collapses right into you. You’re holding up her just enough to fuck into - she's starting to breathe deeper, harder; you've got her pinned like that - a hand on her neck, fingers sinking into everywhere she's softest: her tits, her ass, her waist, her throat, and there is nothing that isn't some version of fucking glorious about Karina's weight grinding, heavy onto the tip and onto the ridge and down the thickest length of you-
And her face, jesus christ, her fine brows upturned, the tears heavy in her dark lashes, the little gasping-sobbing sounds that spill across her wobbling lips - this is the both the easiest and the hardest part: seeing her get absolutely fucking ruined-
(You know, god help you.)
-
Irene doesn't even have to ask. There are hickies and bruises shadowing in on your neck, your chest - these marks you never remember Karina giving you, and a ton of scratches all up your back.
"You know I was going to offer to make you breakfast," Irene says, smug, "but I'm wondering if Karina got to you first."
"What the hell do you think?" you say, dumb.
There are eggs burning on a skillet that are never going to be salvageable, no matter what Irene says. She has no respect for the process. And her voice is full of that infuriating smile: "was it everything you hoped?"
"God," you mutter, trying to mask the embarrassed laughter in your words. You can hardly move an inch on her behalf.
"At least tell me something fun, you insufferable tease," she presses her nose into your hair and tickles the spot on your side, just to be a pest.
You lay it all out for her. Everything she wants to hear.
-
Surprisingly, there’s still plenty to learn about each other; days to weeks to months. The first real thaw of the year comes, and you’re quick to fall into this odd rhythm.
Karina won't actually join Irene on set or production very often - too much heat. It shouldn’t have taken so long to figure out the two don’t belong in the same room together, and if they’d asked you, they’d know - but no one ever really does ask you. However she does spend more and more time around the apartment. In and out of your personal spaces. And maybe a bit in between, or a little underneath too: how she seems to slot herself right into every possible fold whenever Irene’s away.
Always traveling for this reason or that.
And god, the perfect powder keg Karina is - ticking, short-fused, all ready to explode. It’s ironic, you think, she’s drawn to scandal the way Irene will do anything to avoid it, and here, she's found her ultimate indulgence.
The quick lay, the time and place you know you can be patient in pulling her apart, the everything in between.
In fact, you’ve taken to calling her "babe" just so she doesn’t think twice when she gets your cum pooling deep in her cunt, all hot and sopping. Looking like the picture-perfect centerfold. The fucked-dumb face - all twisted in your grip, flushed-red; and the musky scent of sex; the noises and her presence alone. You fuck her, and fuck her, and fuck her, rubbing a thumb across where the mascara runs thick.
To be the gorgeous girl, cock-drunk and fucked-out in your lap - so simple - so natural: Karina finds her way over more often than not.
After your shower, after your nap; your work, the bar - Karina’s never more than a text away. And you'll keep a hand around her waist as she stands around in the kitchen, stealing Irene’s leftovers out of the fridge. Karina ends up straddling your thigh right there at the breakfast table, holding onto the wood for support as she cums all over you.
The long and short of it is:
She's fucking you. She's fucking your fiancée. She sees no problem in having her cake and eating it too. The only caveat is: Karina thinks neither of you know what's actually going on.
“You gonna say hi to Irene for me?" she's teasing one day, snapping her bra back into place. The t-shirt pulled over all that glossy-dark hair, the shimmy of her hips just to get back into the world's tightest jeans. She presses a fleeting kiss to the corner of your mouth. It's such a stark, clinical goodbye - ending with a flick of a thumb across a screen. "And oh, let her know if she ever wants me to teach her a trick or two. Anytime."
“Yeah, I’m sure she’d love that.”
Karina does the most insipid thing. She fucking winks. “I’m sure she would.”
-
"Uh, are you kidding me?" you ask Irene.
It's late one night, and Irene is standing in the kitchen in her pajamas with a welt the shape of Karina’s lips kissed right into her jaw. A couple drinks in your system have given you both a false sense of clarity, and also an ill-timed desire to solve all your goddamn problems. You lower your voice. "In her ass?"
Irene has that all-triumphant and dopey grin that makes your heart ache for her. There's a soft curl of her hair loose, thrown across a shoulder. "I’m serious, pull her hair right, hold her wrists until her back has to be arched. Pin her to the bed," she continues to illustrate, "it's all in the finer points of how much. Tell her to count, even. I'm not joking-"
She takes another spoonful of yogurt between her lips.
"-she'll let you do anything, promise."
“That’s fucked up.”
“I know.” Irene wags the spoon at you. “It’s great.”
-
It's not only the hypothetical-homewrecking that gets Karina so torridly wet for the whole affair; when she's pinned beneath you with her legs spread and her toes pointed skyward, or perhaps later - the same day even - riding Irene's face in a locked dressing room and crying out - "ah, hah, jesus, please-"
In her head, she has you both at her beck and call. Forget semantics - Karina is a fool to her own illusion. Because in her head, not only has she managed to go toe to toe with the industry's reigning monarch, she’s managed to win.
-
You don’t exactly know how Karina ever intends to keep it casual. Because things are damn near constant:
It’s a weeknight, and the moon is high above the windows, casting a crisp rectangle onto the hardwood; it doesn’t actually matter, as far as Karina is concerned.
Irene’s on television again, the sequin in her dress clinging tight, and she’s found the gaze that never breaks for the cameras. Found the flash of her most practiced smile - that little chime of laughter she has that sounds like striking pure gold.
Then Karina: sitting cross-legged at the very end of the sofa. One leg thrown over your thigh, she’s got these nylons on her feet and she’s poking a toe into your ribs. "Isn't she stunning," you hear her muttering, "honestly. Doesn't it, like, turn you the fuck on?"
Her foot grazes your lap, all casual at first; the impossibly soft-curved heel of her sole. There are so many ways she'd prefer to pass the time and they almost all involve getting under your skin, if not just outright getting into your pants.
“Elaborate.”
"I mean listen, in your case, just knowing your fiancée is up there looking like a total angel and at the same time, thinking about you; how she’s got to be considering every which way she’ll unwind just after the showcase - at least, that’s what I’d be doing." She licks her lips, teeth. "Hell, I’m only imagining how pretty her eyes are when she can barely keep them open, and that’s enough to ruin my panties."
"Are you really."
She shifts her weight. Puts that ankle to good use. Rubbing it into the crease between your legs. "Tell me," her lips curl. She’s looking at you dead-on. "How does she usually prefer it, hm?”
Like a wildcat, you suppose, your Irene - a pretty, little predator. You could tell Karina everything, but you don’t. Instead you let her wander into the lair of her own making. Her eyes: light and curious; it’s written in the lines of her face how she's picturing it all so plainly.
“I’d guess she lets you go slow. Or hard. Or maybe a little rough and then you make her cum, and then maybe, just maybe, after the teasing; after the edging, I guess, that's when she comes in hot. I would hope."
Karina twists her foot around, swings her weight onto your lap, and sucks in a sharp breath when you reach out and grip the lean lines of her hips. It’s as easy to hold her still as it'd be to drag her across the couch and under the rest of your body, fuck the goddamn tension until there was no longer any room left for the pretty smirk in her lips. And her gasp would probably sound a hell of a lot better - than all the needling quips - a much louder and much less-pretend whine when you could throw those thighs open and really pound her wet, aching little cunt-
“Easy,” she chides when you end up taking two handfuls of her chest. "Shouldn’t you be more supportive? For god’s sake, it’s your fiancée’s moment in the spotlight, you know-"
There’s nothing stopping you from popping off the buttons of her dress, one by one by one - and kiss right there, into the swell. Your voice feels all the rougher when you respond, "and what a moment."
Her fingertips skim over the places she's been kissing you, where she's been marking and claiming and trying to, at least, to stamp you like her personal property - when the look is that serious. All cold-burn. Right through to the bone.
“So.”
You can feel her touching into your pants. The heat in her soft, silky thighs; she sits above you, keeping a leg on each side. A part of you feels trapped; another is confused why you aren't turning the tables right now - flip her and ride out her cunt on the couch. Some passing thought, or just a fraction, the only one that matters in that particular instant, wonders what Irene would do, will do - has done - in your situation. How her hips would roll. How Karina’s moan might sound when she dug a nail right into a sweet spot.
You push Karina's skirt a little farther up her body and try to gauge the moment she's finally decided she doesn't mind.
“How about you keep your eyes on her, and I'll suck your cock while you do," ends up being the short and not-so-sweet of it all. “-or maybe you can get off between my tits.”
She wraps those fingers around your base and pulls gently. It's not a decision, but merely a continuation, a culmination: a gesture made entirely to pull the response: the hitch to the throat. Her nails skim that ridgeline as her eyes track across the cut of your features. It makes you groan into her next kiss, to say, "if you wanted it so bad, babe, you could’ve just said. Would save us a lot time-"
"Are you complaining?" she husks, pulling your pants down your thighs. Your cock is in her hands and she smiles like a cat - licks her teeth when it twitches at just the slightest touch. "Yeah, I didn't think so," is how the breathless laugh leaves her lips.
You catch the quirk of her brows, her tone: straight-up, like nothing. You’re almost buying into that until she's got your shirt on the floor, those lips of hers in the divot of your collarbone, and her tits wrapped around the base of your cock, and, well, fuck-
She actually wastes no time - none at all. A couple feet away, Irene covers her laugh with one hand. There's a brass award in her other. And the television casts this soft, pale glow.
Karina tips her head, and a curtain of her dark, silken hair spills across the ridge of her breast. She runs those big eyes over you, all wide and round and vaguely-deviant. There's the perfect amount of motion, of squeeze, just a light-bit of pressure, and she's got a face smug-arrogant in an instant, knowing. Fuck, her hands on either side start pushing into the line of her cleavage as she bounces and rocks and draws every inch of your cock up through her soft tits and back down again.
"Fuck," is the harshest exhale she's ever dragged out from you.
She hums a low sound, all self-satisfied when it's her own namesake: your body wants her, like you know the full weight of her needs, your touch, how badly she's fucking craving to get off and still not admitting to anyone it might be more than sex. Like it's really as easy as her next breath, the flutter of her lashes: Karina wants your eyes, the weight of your attention and she's not going to beg for a fucking thing. The feeling, you think, is mutual.
"Irene," she says, her smile as open as it could ever get. "She's just so gorgeous, right?"
On one hand, she’s speaking between the lines. A perfect tincture of deceit - the bawdiness-by-nature: watch me, look at me - is what she might as well say - look what I can fucking do, the whole lewd display. And, god, how she knows every way to make a guy want it, like she wants you to remember it.
Because on the other, the movement is so, so direct.
Karina twists herself in an upward tilt, just an easy, practiced thing; she lets her tits spill around your cock and through her fingers, full and soft - and her lips part, mouth slacking alongside yours, matching the sounds out your chest with her own. Like she knows exactly which slide of slippery friction will make you moan, or which pull and drag will send your teeth straight into your lip.
"Isn't it crazy," she lolls her head a little, letting her own saliva drip down the center, onto your weeping slit. "How much I want your cum filling my cunt, even knowing she's the one you'd rather put the ring on," the drag and drag and drag - her tits are fucking incredible, and she knows it. She pushes up with her fingers and gives you a long draw right through the press, right where the nerve endings run electric, right where she keeps moving, up and down, and up and down-
“-it must be hard, I mean, jesus christ. Here I am, needy and hot. Begging you to wreck me and my only sin, hm - the sin of being second best, right-"
"Holy fuck, you're-"
"Obsessed," she says, and drops her tits against your waist again. "I know, I know. How could I not be?"
You're left muttering into the titfuck alone, watching her rub your precum up between their soft shape, feeling the slight give, how her skin goes warm. The act itself: such a simple-thing-bordering-on-the-absurd that you notice how you coil and flex beneath her curves, how she feels so soft and warm. The slight pucker of her lips every time your cock escapes her cleavage does little to help. It's probably the fault of the brain-fuck but the wet of her mouth is practically everywhere you look. You could eat her alive right here, spread her legs on the coffee table and finish with a bit of screaming, groaning and tearing, and no one would ever stop you.
But instead,
"-it's a good color on her, really; but then every color is a good color on her, isn't it so unfair?" She's taking your cock into her tits, deeper on every rock forward and back, holding them close - a gentle lock of those long manicured fingers keeping it all together. "Even wearing no color at all; you must just love how all the freckles are so easy to see," she murmurs, squeezing tight. The sound is wet, messy. A filthy chorus between her dirty words and the dirtier action, and just that glimpse of friction when she strokes down again is maddening. You're all slippery. So sticky-slick, so tight.
Of course there's not a fucking inch of a reaction out of her; you want to get off so bad-
"You could close your eyes," she tells you. "She would still be there. The sound of her laughter. The image. In that dress or not," and her mouth furls into a half-smile before she pauses. Reaches down, pulls her tits around you impossibly tight. "Just so damn pretty-"
You cum just like that:
"Babe," is what you let her have. The soft, undercurrent hiss. "Fuck."
You shoot clean up, all thick, hot splatter.
Well, mostly up - along the expanse of her neck and throat, coating where her breasts sit so pretty against the lines of your thighs. Across her sternum and the hollow of her neck - her body's covered in your shared mess: slick-filthy-hot, all strewn across her perfect tits.
"Jesus, Karina, baby you’re-"
"Completely covered in you." She's still smiling. That deep-cut and perfectly symmetrical curl of her lips. The gorgeous fucking shade, and her chin, how her cheeks flush, just a little - they've always turned pink in the most specific places when she gets fucking cum-soaked. “I know, just look.”
And her hands slide across her chest, trailing a path through the thick of your release, spreading the glaze all down her front. Making it messy, making the exact look a guy sees once and is driven to the ends of his sanity - just to spill his load out onto her. To get her all used, and trussed up: just how she likes.
(Sanity is being generous, considering.)
You can't do anything other than what's expected: take her up in a kiss, breathe into the mess you've made on her skin. The gasp is full, surprised - just enough, maybe, to count as genuine.
Such a mess - she murmurs - um, come on then, you can do a girl a favor. Bath bomb, bath towel, bath robe - and really it doesn't have to be a suggestion.
You’ll pin her down and fuck her right over the lip of the tub if that’s what she really wants. Just being in her company is indulgent and excessive and begging you to make a terrible habit of it. Have some self–restraint, she has this tone in her voice sounding more and more like a dare. There's just enough there in her hands: one reaching for you and the other reaching into the porcelain, swirling up the lather - and that look on her face, as if to say, can't believe you have me waiting, like some desperate, depraved pervert - only it’s more explicit than that. Only it feels worse - and her mouth is moving again, speaking into the air that already feels stifling hot, words cutting through the steam: you're not very nice, I mean really, it should come as no surprise how she turns out, having this jerk for a fucking boyfriend-
Nevermind. Not a dare, it's a challenge. She was right the first day you undressed her, the brattiest girls always have the worst kinds of fantasies, the darkest little tendrils of self-destruction. How she's laying there, asking and telling, pushing and pulling; and how she thinks she's so clever too.
Though that is no reason, she laughs, for you to think she won't love having her pretty cunt cockwarmed and spoiled for an evening or more.
-
And so it goes, and so it goes, and so it goes, and so it goes.
-
(Really, to Irene’s credit, she had Karina pegged right from the jump. A character study in, well, herself.
She's seen as an ingénue by the press, and an outright savant to the executives. They know her as the obvious successor. They give her the runway, they watch the leggy-girl-turn, the model-posture, chin held high and aloof, looking down at the gathered throngs of photographers.
The protégé, the goddamn heir-apparent:
But her favorite game - that bit of innocence served on a platter, ingenuous when it comes to spinning a flaw to gold, and the deception too - Karina loves and loathes every second she spends upstage from Irene's own, hectic, international production. Because if anyone asks her, that girl would claim it's never been a competition in the first place.
So you see, if you and yours have both decided to ruin her-
It is a disaster-in-the-making, isn’t it.)
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The scent of being mine
synopsis: lately your husband has been staying deep in his thoughts as if bothered by something. It's only natural you want to figure it out and help.
pairing and characters: Neuvillette x fem!reader
tw: established relationship (marriage), tiny hurt/comfort, draconian features (scenting, growling, implied sharp nails)
word count: 3k+ words
“Beloved, you are brooding. More than you usually are.”
Your comment snaps Neuvillette from his thoughts, long lashes fluttering in surprise. He blinks, primordially beautiful eyes finally focus on the document in front of him, and the man makes a frustrating discovery - he’s been staring at one single line of text for who knows how long.
“Beloved?” Your sweet voice soothes the momentary disappointment, and Iudex’s undivided attention is on you in a second.
“Yes, my dear? My apologies, I didn’t quite catch what you said. Could you be so kind and repeat, please?”
You lower the book onto your lap, and the man can’t help but relish in the sight of you comfortably lounging on the sofa in his office at the Palais Mermonia, with your shoes neatly put near one of its legs and your legs hidden under the light embroidered plaid. Your back and side sink into multiple pillows, half of which he fetched for you previously from the second sofa, and you look pleasantly relaxed within the walls of his work space, knowing very well that he has no meetings scheduled for the day, and the only people who can enter his office are the melusines with document delivery. And who would be uncomfortable in the presence of their own ‘daughters’?
“I was saying that you are brooding. And It won't be superfluous to note your sour mood too,” you nod in the window’s direction, where the sky is cloudy and gloomy. It has been this way for a couple of days already. “I wasn’t bringing it up since I thought you were simply a bit stressed, but after observing you for some time, I am sure there’s something on your mind that’s been bothering you immensely.”
Neuvillette exhales deeply. How could he ever hide anything from the woman he’s been married to for so long? Not that he ever tried, but subconsciously he sometimes tends to push his own worries aside not to make you fret. Besides, usually it’s not something of a big deal…
Watching the thoughts overtaking his mind again, you grab the bookmark from the armrest and soon the closed book takes its place, at the same time as you push the plaid off. Not caring to put the shoes on, you make a quick way to the grand doors to turn the key left in the hole from the inside. But changing your mind a little, you take a hold of a handle instead and crack the door slightly open, enough for the melusine at the reception to hear you.
“Sedene, sweety, Monsieur Neuvillette is taking a small break.”
You can’t quite see her perking up in her booth, but you know she is aware of what that means.
“Thank you for informing me, Madame. Would you like anything to drink or eat? I could send someone to put an order in whatever restaurant you’d like.”
“Much appreciated, but we’ll be fine.”
You hear her hum in understanding and only then close the door and lock it, turning the key two times.
“Now…” glancing back at your husband, you slowly walk back to your previous place of resting, but making it past the sofa and then around the desk, stopping right at his side. Neuvillette lifts his head, looking at you, and immediately pushes the chair back to make room. Gloved hands take a hold of your waist when you step closer and help you settle down onto his lap. One stays gingerly on your hip, the other is placed upon your knees, as you adjust your position, turning half-around to face him. Mesmerizing eyes with slitted irises stare at you with hardly-veiled adoration, and for a moment it almost fools you into thinking that nothing is wrong. Until he inhales and white eyebrows furrow slightly.
“Neuvi, what’s going on? Is it something I can assist you with?”
The man leans forward, pressing his face to your neck, silky locks of his fringe tickling you when he releases a breath. Your fingers find the back of his head, softly scratching the scalp, making him groan in satisfaction. His own digits flex, and you think you feel the claws digging slightly into your flesh through the dark material of his gloves and the skirt of your own clothes, and you let the dragon be a tiny bit greedy in expressing his affections.
“It’s not something I thought would bother me,” you hear him murmur into your neck. Instead of rushing to ask him to elaborate, you encourage him to take his time with a soft touch, gently following the pointy shape of his ear with your fingertip. The man shivers, but quickly relaxes, leaning into your body a bit more.
“Why logically I understand I’m in the wrong, but on an instinct level it doesn’t give me rest. Remember the celebration Lady Furina threw three days ago?”
Ah, of course you remember. It was a nice little feast the Archon organized to mark another successful staging of hers, to which your husband and you were obviously invited. You can’t, however, recall anything particular that could upset Neuvillette. He wasn’t offered anything to taste he didn't enjoy - had his own supply of fresh water even; he had no cases to worry about, having finished everything rather important beforehand, and he was not engaged in any interactions he could potentially be uncomfortable with. Maybe it was something related to you? However, you can’t think of anything: most of the time you spent conversing with Furina, discussing her next outstanding and grand performance, or dancing with your beloved, happily twirling in his embrace. Sure, other people approached you too, but…oh. Wait, there was something.
“Do you mean the celebration during which that opera performer from Li Yue was flirting with me?”
Immediately his body tenses and a low sound, kind of sounding like a growl, escapes his strained throat. He quickly composes himself though, once you drop your hand from his head to his back, drawing circles there.
“...I apologize for that.”
“Please don’t, I don’t mind a bit of jealousy,” you assure him, and the man finally leans back, looking at you with those fairytale eyes.
“You think it was jealousy?”
“Well, maybe right now it was just a bit of frustration, but back then I think it was jealousy,” Neuvilette hums, lowering his gaze, processing the information. You meanwhile decide to ask more. “But what sparked it? You know I am yours and that no human will ever be able to steal me from you.”
“Ah, my love, I am fully aware of that,” gloved palm leaves your knee and cups your cheek instead. “I know all that, but…but what I felt is hard to explain in words.”
“Try,” you encourage, turning your head and kissing his palm, “I’ll get it.”
“Alright,” with a sigh he lets his fingertips outline the contour of your jaw and travel down the side of your neck, sending a pleasurable sensation down your back. “I suppose I should start with what happened before, when we were still back home. You looked so ravishing and regal - a true gem to an eye, - and I just couldn’t help but let some of my scent linger on you.”
Which is absolutely fine, you love doing the same for him.
“Keeping that in mind I felt all those strange emotions wringing my heart, as he was giving you compliments, especially about the scent, not realizing it’s mine. And then more and more.”
As he doesn’t find what more to say, you stare at him, trying to analyze the information. After a couple of minutes of silence, during which you absent-mindedly braided a little braid out of his straight lock, you decide to summarize.
“So… If I understood you correctly, it felt upsetting that, basically, he caught the whiff of you on me, yet didn’t stop his attempts to hit on me. Am I right?”
“Exactly,” a small smile graces his pale lips, and Iudex presses a delicate kiss to your shoulder. “I could not have worded it better.”
“Hmm… Now I see why you are torn. It is annoying for sure, but it’s not like an ordinary human could know of draconian peculiar properties.”
He nods, thumbing at the pulse point on your neck, staring a little bit past you. His state is saddening, really, even though a tiny slither of pride infiltrates your heart - knowing your husband wants the world to know you are his as much as you want to claim the same about him… Would’ve made you purr if you were a feline.
You shiver when Neuvillette brings his face close again, soft lips pressing to the side of your neck.
“You are so dear to me, my love…” he breathes in a way that makes your heart skip a beat, voice full of unbridled devotion, something not many can hear from this stoic man throughout their whole life. “There are days when I can’t bear the thought of you not being close to me, I overcome with desire to be in your presence, to hold you in my arms, to listen to your divine voice… When you call my name, I want to bring everything I have to your feet.”
“But you already do so,” you cup his cheeks, kissing his forehead. “You don’t have to say all of it - you sound like you are apologizing, like you are trying to excuse your natural behavior. Don’t do it, please. You are so precious to me, I’d be damned if I ever felt unnerved by something like this.”
“I apologize if it sounded like this,” he sighs, long lashes flattering close, when you proceed to kiss over his eyelids. “I just meant to express how thankful I am that you chose me.”
“Oh, Neuvi,” you chuckle, kissing the bridge of his nose and when the tip of it. “I adore when you are so affectionate in private. As for the public display, if we return to the topic of scent… I think I could figure something out for the both of us. If you trust my judgment, that is.”
“How can I not?” Those eyes are staring back at you, bottomless pools swirling with wonder and elation. “Only if you truly want this.”
“I do,” your lips hover dangerously close to his. “And I will find the way.”
Soft thuds rhythmically yet quite leisurely cut through the lofty noises of the Court of Fountaine, catching the attention of the passersby. One hit of an elegant cane against the pavement equals two steps of yours, as you and your husband walk through the main square of the city. Your appearance - no matter together or by yourself - always gathers attention, and you could bet that if Fontaine didn’t have a law prohibiting photography of executives without their permission, your picture would’ve adorned tomorrow’s copy of The Steambird.
And you are a sight to behold - your hand resting in the crook of his elbow, gloves matching perfectly his today’s cravat of choice, jewelry specifically picked to mirror the beauty of their wearer’s partner, clothes tailored to clearly be a ‘couple outfit’... It is pretty evident that this outing is planned, if the Iudex’s absence from the Palais Mermonia didn’t serve as a clue.
You hold no conversation, rather relishing in the warm rays of sunlight (you did though tease Neuvillette upon stepping outside that his mood seemed to improve). Despite looking like it’s you who is clutching onto the man and him leading you somewhere, it’s completely vice versa. Your beloved has absolutely no idea what kind of ‘surprise’ he is soon to experience, but your previous words keep his mind at rest - you found a solution for his concern.
As a result, his high spirits are pretty apparent to the people who know him well. Or the melusines, if one is being accurate, who approach you two along the way with warm words of greetings and cute waves of their hands, which brightens Neuvillette’s features more evidently.
“I think we should soon visit the Merusea Village,” you suggest after bidding goodbye to Tristane. “And do a little gathering for our girls who work here, in the city. I am sure they have many stories to share with us.”
“I would really like that,” Neuvillette's smile is a heart-warming sight. You can only hope that you’ll get to see it more after today. “How about we start planning tomorrow after work?”
“That would be wonderful! I can’t wait to write an invitation to every single one. And to the village too.”
“Then it’s on you as always,” he agrees without objection, leaning a little to subtly kiss your temple when you turn the corner. Letting out a soft chuckle, you give him a fond look, and then focusing back on the street.
It’s barely a couple of minutes later when your partner sees you perk up. Trying to pinpoint what caught your eye, the man scans the signboards of the shops and boutiques lining up at both sides of yours. Jewelry? No, he doesn’t think so - you adorn each other with fine gemstones regularly. Clothes? Doubtful, given you’ve just received a couple of new outfits a week before. Maybe it’s-
You disturb these wandering thoughts, tugging on his elbow to catch his attention. Looking at you and then following the direction of your raised hand, Neuvillette lifts his eyes to read the signboard above the shop you’ve stopped in front of.
“Palais des parfums”
“So,” you start when he gives you a questioning look, “it’s a perfumery, yes. And my suggestion is the following - let’s choose a scent we could wear together. Before you get concerned about it becoming too popular, because we will use it, this shop has an option of creating something personal. We can just pay a little more to make it exclusive.”
“The same…scent?” Your husband hums, touching his chin in thought. This actually sounds quite good - created by a human master, it is to be perceived by humans, and by utilizing one fragrance on you both it will be made clear that the two of you are spouses. Not to mention the newspaper that will spread the fact for others to know. “My dear, that’s a marvelous idea.”
“Really?” A wide smile lifts the corners of your lips.
“Really. I like it a lot,” he assures you with a smile of his own. “And I do favor the possibility of making perfume specifically for us. How did you know though, my love?”
“Have done my research. And already spoke to the vendor before. Furthermore, I think we can order the creation of two perfumes. One for every day, and one for grand events where our presence is required.”
“I see you’ve done your research indeed,” his words are soft and gaze is full of admiration. It’s so hard to resist and not kiss him right in the middle of the street, yet let your fingertips gently scratch his forearm.
“I promised my husband a solution, didn’t I? Couldn’t disappoint you.”
“You can never disappoint me, if anything you astonish me every single day of our lives. Shall we get inside?”
“We shall. Just please, beware, there are a lot of fragrances mixed in the air. I am afraid your nose will be assaulted just like mine was.”
“I can bear with it, beloved. I would be a coward of a husband, if I turned back after the amazing work my wife did,” your cheeks heat up at his praise and you lightly dig your covered nails into his arm.
“Oh, stop it, no need to be so sweet, I already understood your appreciation for this,” your eyes motion to his hand resting on the hilt of the cane and fingers joyfully tapping against the wood. With a barely audible chuckle, the man unhooks your arms, wrapping his around your waist, and steps forward, reaching for the handle.
A soft chime caresses his ears, as the maddening mix of scents hits him right in the nose. Glancing to the side to check on you, he notices how you instantly switch to breathing through your mouth and follows your example. It, thankfully, gets better.
The shop owner is not hard to find, a sweet lady in her late 50’s welcomes you with a glint in her eyes upon recognizing you, which soon is replaced by the look of surprise when she sees your companion.
“Good afternoon, Monsieur, Madame, how can I help you?”
“Good afternoon, Mrs Deschamps,” you greet her with a smile, “I came by two days ago, remember?”
“Yes, yes, how could I forget our dear Madame? You were curious about my perfumes and if I do personal orders.”
“Right! This is my husband,” you motion to the man still courteously holding your waist, who bows in greeting.
“Pleasure to be meeting you.”
“O-oh! How could I not know you and your husband? Your wedding was the event of the century!”
“Haha, you flatter us,” you chuckle merrily, covering your mouth. “We are here to put in an order. We’d love to buy a newly crafted perfume. However, we have a couple of conditions…”
It’s almost evening when the doorbells chime again, marking your departure. Once again walking side by side and with arms linked, Neuvillette feels an almost primordial satisfaction. These hours spent in that stuffy, smelly box of a shop will be absolutely worth it when your order is complete. While he does feel the inevitable approach of a runny nose after test-smelling way too many fragrances, and it doesn’t feel like he left work today at all, as he was handling legal documents relied to the exclusivity of the product, he doesn’t regret a single mora spent and to be spent in the future for this.
Soft thuds once again cut through the sounds of the city, and they are gently lulling your mind. Maybe your head hurts just a little bit, but it pales in comparison to the invested state of your husband and how much evident fun he had in meticulously choosing the right aromatic notes to your future shared scent.
You can’t wait to help him apply it every single morning to come and get the same treatment in return. This is going to be a new, hopefully a long-staying option to your usual scenting routine.
taglist: @meimeimeirin
#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#neuvillette x reader#neuvillette x fem!reader#neuvillette#genshin impact smut
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Champagne Showers ft Jihyo, Sana
length: 20.8k words ✦
Jihyo, Sana & Male Reader.
Special Guest: Lee Gahyeon (Dreamcatcher)
Queen of Hearts Sequel.
genres: dom! Jihyo, sub! Sana, threesome, double blowjob, bi, oral sex, dirty talk, voyeur, creampie, public sex (Gahyeon), bathroom sex (Gahyeon), sextape (Gahyeon), facial (Gahyeon) ✧
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✦✧✦✧✦✧
"Just promise me you'll be okay and send me lots of photos," you told Dubu.
You and her were holding hands in front of each other, next to the line of people who would check in to take their respective flights. It was summer, a direct synonym for vacations. You had no plans of any kind, but Dubu was joining her family in Hawaii, leaving you alone in your apartment with a few free weeks ahead of you. Or so you thought.
"Honey, I'll be fine," she squeezed your hands, "And of course I'll send you pictures, or do you just think you'll never see this pretty face again?"
With a little smile she moved forward and gave you a small kiss.
"If I stopped I'd probably die," you said, kissing her back, "God, I'm going to miss you so much."
"And so do I, but hey, cheer up! You won't be alone all this time."
At that moment the line moved forward. Dubu released your hands.
"Huh? What do you mean by that?"
"Bye honey! I love you!" She blew you a little kiss as she left.
"I-I love you too! But what the hell do you mean?!"
She didn't respond to you anymore as she started talking to the airport staff. You stood there for a few seconds, making sure everything was okay until she finally passed the checkup. She turned once again, smiled at you in the distance and disappeared down a hallway to the right. So you turned around, asked for the taxi back home and left the airport.
The big answer to your big question came to you when you opened the door to your apartment and walked into the living room. Sitting very comfortably on your couch was Park Jihyo, who looked up when you showed up. Behind the sofa you noticed the handles of a suitcase. She smiled and leaned forward, one elbow resting on her knee and her chin resting on her fist.
"Ready for a hot and exciting vacation with me?" she asked with a mischievous tone.
"I'm only going to ask this once..." you sighed, "whose idea was it?"
"Mine."
"Sure, I imagined it," you nodded.
"I can go if you want, honey," she made a move to stand up.
"No! I never said I wanted you to leave. I just, you know, don't like not finding out about things before they happen."
She pouted.
"It was something that came out as an afterthought, sorry baby."
"It's fine, it's fine," you did a gesture with your hand.
You went to sit next to her and looked at her. As always, you were struck by how incredibly effortlessly attractive she was, with her short messy hair tied in a bun. The sleeveless crop top that she was wearing not only highlighted her tits in a hypnotizing way, but also showed off her toned shoulders and arms, a product of the gym sessions she had been doing for months.
"Can I make you forgive me somehow?"
She hugged your waist and rested her chin on your shoulder.
"No need, I've already forgiven you."
Jihyo smiled, she surely expected such a response. She had known you for several months, after all.
"No but, I want to make it up to you somehow baby..."
She buried her face in your neck and began to fill it with kisses that made you weak in an instant.
"You said this vacation would be hot... how hot?" you gasped.
"Why don't we find out?"
Jihyo settled down on the couch, her face hovering over your bulge. She pulled down your sweatpants and boxers and gave you a perfect blowjob to welcome the summer. You came in her mouth, so there was nothing to clean up. She had her pants and panties pulled down only to the beginning of her thighs, you had done it so you could grope her ass while she sucked you off.
"It'll get better later," she said, wiping her chin with the back of her hand, "This is just the first level."
"Right," you nodded, still agitated, "Well, uhm… why don't we go and I'll help you get settled in your room?"
"My room?" She pulled up her panties and pants and stood up straight, you did the same, "Why can't I just sleep with you?"
"Well..." you avoided her gaze.
"I don't think you want to feel so alone at night... do you?"
She snuggled against your chest with both hands and scribbled with one of her fingers.
"Well… no."
"So, what do you say?" She kissed your chin, "I'm the best nighttime company you can have, cutie."
You didn't have to think about it for too long.
"My god, it's okay. You can sleep with me," you nodded.
"Perfect! I promise you won't regret it."
She smiled from ear to ear and stood on tiptoe to give you a small kiss on the forehead. She then went to grab her suitcase and let you guide her to the bedroom.
-----------------------------------------
That same night you were getting ready to sleep. You already had your pajamas on—short shorts and a simple t-shirt—and you were lying on your bed, watching a YouTube video on your phone. Jihyo had gone into the bathroom half an hour ago to take a bath before going to sleep, and when she came out she did so with only a pair of dark blue panties on. Otherwise, she was completely naked. She spent a couple of minutes drying her ears inside with the towel and putting body lotion all over her body; she then went to lie down next to you. The red fruit smell of her skin reached you immediately.
"You just pretend I'm not here," she said.
Contrary to what she might have been trying to do, all she did was attract more of your attention when she turned on her side facing you and squeezing her naked tits together. You were too sleepy to try anything, so you just covered the both of you with the blanket up to your waist and focused on finishing your video until you decided to sleep.
"Hard to pretend you're not here when you're naked in the same bed as me. Rest well."
You heard a small giggle from her, you smiled too, turned around with your back to her and fell asleep after a few minutes.
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In the morning you woke up feeling hotter than normal, which made no sense since you always turned on the air conditioning to sleep in summer. You tried to stir in bed, finding that you were restricted from being able to do so. Opening your eyes and looking over your shoulder you found that Jihyo was wrapped around you in her firm arms, her tits pressed tightly against your back. Your movement caused her to open her eyes, but you noticed that she wasn't just awake.
"Good morning, sweet sleeper," she told you in a husky, provocative voice.
She lifted your shirt and put a hand in to caress your abdomen while she placed kisses on the back of your neck. Then she used that same hand to put it in your shorts, under your boxers and grab your cock to massage it.
"Good morning indeed..." you gasped.
You turned your upper body towards her a little so you could kiss her. When your cock was completely hard, she pulled down both your clothes and started giving you a handjob.
"This is what every morning is like with me... I hope you don't get bored of it," she whispered against your lips, which sent shivers down your spine.
"Fuck… how could I?"
Jihyo rubbed your cock slowly at first, and as the seconds passed she increased her speed after spitting into her own hand. You got tired of it very quickly, you wanted more, so you gave in to your weakness and asked her to ride you. Jihyo seemed pleased with your request, you could see it in the triumphant expression she wore. She did so, taking off her panties to straddle you and ride you like the best of cowgirls. After a few long minutes you both came—you did it inside her—, and you got up to go make breakfast together.
From that morning on, you and Jihyo spent the entire week living together in a normal way as two good friends could. You enjoyed your vacation in many different ways, the most frequent was going to the pool of the residential complex, drinking cold drinks and swimming; you also watched a lot of movies in the comfort of your home, and went out to dinner a couple of times. You saw her as an older sister figure—taking into account the obvious differences, of course. In a way, your relationship with her reminded you of the relationship you and Dubu had before you were a couple, except that you didn't feel romantic attraction for Jihyo, and you were sure that she didn't feel it for you either. She just took extremely good care of you, and why not say it, she also fucked you spectacularly well.
When the vacations began to feel lacking a spark that would make them memorable, Jihyo opportunely arrived with news that took you by surprise. It was Saturday, you and she had gone out to the supermarket to do a little refilling of the cupboard. When you arrived you went to rest on the couch and Jihyo just went to the bedroom. After about ten minutes she returned and sat down next to you with a jump that gave you a start.
"Guess what!" she said. The excitement in her voice made it sound too loud.
"Don't scream, please," you sighed, "What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she lowered her voice, "You don't know her, but I have a friend."
"You have many friends, it's normal that I don't know most of them."
"I know I know, but there is something important with this friend. Minatozaki Sana, do you know her?"
"I have no idea about her. Maybe if I see her in person I can tell you if I've seen her on campus or not, but her name doesn't ring a bell."
"It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter," she waved her hand impatiently, "she invited us to a party, a summer party."
"Us?"
She hesitated for a moment.
"Well, she only invited me at first. But then I told her about you and she said it was perfect, that you could come too."
"Aight, I guess it'll be okay. Where is it?"
Jihyo's expression changed. She avoided your gaze and gave an awkward smile.
"Uh… Busan."
You raised both eyebrows in amazement.
"What? Nah, there's no way," you immediately refused.
"But why!"
"Because it's a city I've barely been to, in the place of a person I don't know!"
"So what? You'll be with me! Besides, she's a trustworthy person!"
"Oh my god Jihyo," you put your hands up to your face and groaned in frustration, "Do you know how much worse my social anxiety would get?"
"Honey, you won't feel that way," she grabbed your thigh with both hands and squeezed it, "I'm all the extroversion and protection you need, how could anything go wrong?"
"Just promise me that you won't leave me at any time, will you?"
She rubbed your thigh a few times and then gave you a pat.
"Balto, don't be silly. How can I leave you alone around people you don't know?"
"I don't know, drunk, maybe?"
That got a laugh out of her.
"No matter how drunk I am, I'm not going to let you go, boy."
You removed your hands from your face and smiled. You hated yourself for giving in so easily to her attempts to comfort you and convince you, but you couldn't blame yourself either, she gave you nothing but security.
"Okay, we'll go to fucking Busan, Park Jihyo."
"Yeah!"
She closed both fists in the air and shook them. She reminded you of a baseball fan watching her team's home run.
"When?"
Again the awkward smile.
"Tomorrow morning we will take the flight to Busan."
"You've got to be kidding me," you groaned again in stress and sank into your seat.
"She told me today!"
"Well, very inconsiderate of her then," you looked at her with annoyance, "We have to pack our things, I assume?"
"Yup, for two days or so," she stood up, "Come on."
"Right now?" you really felt too tired still.
"We have to get up very early, so yeah, don't be a weakling and get up."
You had no choice but to reluctantly get up and follow her to the bedroom to pack your things, wondering what the hell Park Jihyo was getting you into.
----------------------------------------
The next morning your waking time was 5 AM. You enjoyed getting up fairly early, but that was simply outside your comfort zone. You and her felt like a pair of zombies as you stood in line for the checkup, which moved relatively quickly. In a matter of minutes you were inside the plane, and as soon as it took off, you fell asleep for the entire hour of the flight.
Jihyo woke you up when you were already landing in Busan. You looked at the time on her phone: 8:13AM. The sun was shining outside, without a single cloud to prevent you from seeing the blue sky. It took some effort on your eyes to get used to the sudden change in light though.
"Where will we go when we get down?" you asked, then yawned and looked at your phone.
"Sana is going to meet us. In fact, she should be waiting outside right now."
Jihyo looked at herself in the portable mirror and lightly touched up her makeup, as well as her hairstyle and small areas of her outfit, which was nothing special but which she still wanted to keep in order.
"Well, there must have been some consideration," you said with a wry tone.
When you landed and picked up your luggage, you went through the respective checkout and went to the main entrance-exit of the airport, where the crowd of people hurried back and forth with suitcases in hand. Jihyo took out her phone and connected to the airport's Wi-Fi, attentive to any notification she might receive, you deduced that she was waiting for some notice from Sana. And indeed, the message arrived shortly after.
"Oh, come on. She's outside," Jihyo said.
You left the airport in search of the aforementioned. In front of you the row of parked cars extended in both directions, reaching the curves that faced the highway. The one you and Jihyo thought was Sana was off to the left, leaning against the trunk of what looked like a Toyota sedan. As you approached, Jihyo's change of expression was the confirmation you needed.
She went ahead of you, and with suitcase in hand, she ran with small steps towards Sana, who heard the wheels rolling on the sidewalk and looked up from her phone. Sana smiled as Jihyo approached her, and damn, she was gorgeous. You immediately noticed that her taste in fashion, as well as the aura she gave off, was impeccable and refined. She was dressed in a nice velvety khaki jacket, and high-waisted black pants that perfectly accentuated the curves of her hips. One side of her platinum hair fell over her right shoulder, and the rest of it fell behind her left one. She had a round face with tender features; a pair of cheeks that only invited you to bite them, and pretty lips that invited you to... You blinked repeatedly, you were rambling in your thoughts.
"Minatozakiiiii!!" Jihyo squealed, setting the suitcase aside and opening her arms towards Sana.
"Unnieeeee!!" Sana screamed too, although in a more discreet tone.
They both merged into a tight hug. With her chin resting on top of Jihyo's shoulder, Sana looked you up and down with a little smile. Breaking away from the hug she looked back at your friend.
"Was it a good trip? I really appreciate you guys coming so early," she asked Jihyo, taking her from her arms.
Her tone of voice was so beautiful and delicate that it sweetened your ears. She sounded like a Disney princess, and she could perfectly be one if she put her mind to it.
"Well, we slept for the entire hour, so there's not much to say, honestly," Jihyo laughed.
"Oh, I understand you two must be very tired then..." Sana made a sad face, then looked at you, "I've never seen you before, it would be appropriate to formally introduce ourselves, right?"
You felt a prick in your heart when she spoke to you. As always happened to you when you met a new person, holding her gaze for more than three seconds was more than impossible for you. Jihyo also turned to look at you, and noticing your nervousness she nodded at you as if to say 'Come on, she's not going to bite you’.
"Y-yeah, sure," you nodded. You took a couple of steps until you were diagonal to Jihyo, "You can call me Balto, it's my pleasure."
You extended your hand, and she shook it gently. Her touch felt delicate, as if she were wearing a silk glove. You noticed her eyes on you at all times, but you were afraid that if you looked at her from that distance you would start to stutter more than usual.
"The pleasure is mine, Balto. I suppose I don't need to tell you my name, but I'm Sana. Minatozaki Sana, biomedical engineering student. Maybe that's why I've never seen you."
"Yeah," you nodded weakly, watching the cars pass by on your right, "West wing, right?"
Sana just nodded with a tight smile.
"I've only been there a couple of times, a-and I'm embarrassed to admit it was because the vending machines there had a snack I wanted."
Jihyo and Sana laughed at the same time, you had a hint of a smile too.
"Well, speaking of snacks, how about we go have breakfast? It's on me, and I insist," she raised her finger before Jihyo objected.
"I'd make it harder for you, but I'm hungry and not in my right mind," Jihyo replied.
"I wouldn't have changed my mind anyway."
Sana turned around with a superb smile and went to open the trunk of the car. When it opened, you put your suitcases in there and got inside with Sana. Jihyo sat in the passenger seat, and you settled behind her in the back seats. The entire journey was based on you being quiet looking at the streets of Busan, and Sana and Jihyo catching up on details about their social circle. You didn't know anything, you only recognized one or another name from having heard it from Jihyo previously, but it was fun listening to them talk. Your perception of Sana was not difficult to draw: she was an elegantly spoken person, her tone of voice and her words were always as sophisticated as possible; she also highlighted how perceptive she was in every response she gave, never remaining silent or giving up the last word unless the topic demanded it. She was the closest thing you could get to a Japan Princess today, but despite this you didn't notice her as egocentric or arrogant, quite the opposite, you could be sure that she could be as chill to deal with as Jihyo was.
You arrived at your destination within ten minutes. The place where you were going to have breakfast was a nice cafe on the terrace of a five-story building. Sana was the one who guided you to the tables on the balcony, covered by large awnings that protected them from the hot sun. You sat in a triangle arrangement around the circular table, both girls on your diagonals. You ordered some toast with tomato, mortadella and mozzarella, accompanied by a glass of cold apple juice. Jihyo ordered lemon cake. And Sana ordered baked baguettes with bacon, egg and cheese.
While you were waiting for the food, Sana got some conversation out of you.
"Balto, what faculty are you from? Law, like Jihyo?" she asked you, then took a sip of her cappuccino.
"Uh, no," you shook your head, "Architecture."
"Oh… that's great," she nodded slowly, "Is it as cumbersome as they say?"
"I don't think it's as much as biomedical engineering."
Sana laughed again. Her laugh was as adorable as the way her cheeks stuck out when she smiled. She took another sip of the cappuccino and left it on the table.
"Both have their difficulties, the important thing is how you perceive it. Do you like it?"
"I love it, actually."
"Well, I love my career too. The difficulty doesn't matter," she shrugged, "Oh, how did you and Jihyo meet then?"
Jihyo finally got into the conversation.
"He is Dubu's boyfriend, a good friend of mine. She also studies architecture, in fact."
"Dubu? Kim Dahyun?" Sana raised both eyebrows.
"Aha, her. We've talked to her a couple of times, remember?"
"Sure, sure," Sana nodded, "How could I forget her? Beautiful smile, beautiful hair and beautiful figure. You're pretty lucky, huh?" she looked at you.
You didn't respond, instead of words just a silly babbling came out. You blushed and looked away. Sana giggled.
"Well, he and Dubu went to my apartment to drink and do karaoke. That's where I met him," she looked at you, "The poor guy wanted to run away, she had forced him to be there."
"Really? I hope you don't feel that way. We can go to the airport right now and buy you a return ticket, if you want," Sana raised an eyebrow.
"No!" you said immediately, "N-No, no need, really. I feel good."
Her eyes on you were a huge distraction. You were already awkward at socializing, but with her gaze on you, you directly felt like you were an idiot. Again, she just laughed. You thought she was making fun of you, but it was more like a tender giggle.
Your food arrived seconds later. You had breakfast calmly and without rushing. When it was over, Sana went to pay the bill—without asking how much it was, it should be noted—and you went back to the car. She drove for another ten minutes to one of the coastal areas of the city, where you could already notice that the buildings became much more modern and visibly exclusive as you entered a residential complex.
After passing a few houses and turning a corner, you finally arrived at Sana's chalet. You confirmed what you had previously suspected: she had to come from an extremely wealthy family, because that piece of infrastructure could easily be worth millions of dollars. It was two stories, the lower one being wider in comparison. The façade was simple and elegant, with a perfect balance between exposed concrete and somewhat discolored oak wood. There were few windows from the front, just one from the hallway that divided the second floor. There was a garage to the right, and to the left, a small interior garden surrounded by concrete walls where the entrance was.
Sana took a remote control from the glove compartment and pointed it at the garage, whose wooden plank door began to open in an upward arc. After parking the car inside, you got out and took your suitcases out of the trunk. You left the garage, and Sana pressed the same button as before to make it close. Then you turned the wall to your right and found the main door. Sana entered a numerical combination into a small panel embedded in the left frame of the door, and it turned on a small green light signaling that the door had been unlocked. You went ahead.
"Would you like a little tour?" Sana asked as you crossed the small garden that led to the main hallway.
"I mean yeah, this place is huge," Jihyo responded, seeing a tall tropical plant to the left.
Sana seemed pleased at the answer, and she nodded her head. You crossed the hallway, and when you reached the other side you could already see the sea in the background. You were greeted by stairs that led to the second floor on the right, and a large interior yard on the left; the area delimited by a wooden plank floor to make it stand out from the rest of the surface, which was made of polished concrete. In the middle of this yard there were three groups of wide individual white sofas placed side by side, around two short squares that functioned as small tables. This small area was covered by the shadow cast by small palm trees planted on top of a raised surface that ran from wall to wall. In addition to this, behind the furniture and under a covered area there was a long bar with counters full of bottles behind it. The perfect space for a bartender, basically.
The hallway and inner yard were part of a larger loft, where further ahead, finally entering under the roof, was a large open plan kitchen to the right, a dining room towards the center and a living room towards the wall on the left. .
This open space flowed to the terrace, where the main attraction was a spectacular infinity pool overlooking Busan Bay, which was delimited by a glass fence that also extended around the edges of the balcony. At the edges of the pool facing the house there were two wide beach chairs that were level with the ground, and that protruded half a meter into the water thanks to two concrete pillars below.
"By the way, do you need separate rooms or are you okay sleeping together?" Sana asked as you went up to the second floor.
You and Jihyo looked at each other. Your cheeks felt hot, and she tried hard to hide a smile.
"We have no problem sleeping together," Jihyo replied.
"Wonderful! Then allow me to show you your room."
Sana guided you through a series of wide hallways until you reached the room in question. It wasn't too big, but it made up for it with beautiful views towards the sea thanks to the glass walls on the left. There wasn't much furniture there either, just a queen size bed with a wooden panel as a headboard and a short wide stool with white lights underneath. Without a doubt the most notable thing about the room was that, just like the first floor, it was an open space that connected to the bathroom. Without any walls, no separation and much less privacy for the shower. It was meant for just one person, and maybe Sana knew that.
"Make yourself comfortable and let me know anything you need, please," Sana said as you left your things around the bed. Her hands clasped on her belly.
"A shower curtain, perhaps?" Jihyo joked with a chuckle.
"I'm afraid it won't be possible. Most of the time they aren't needed so there aren't any."
"So if a boat passes by, someone can see my tits while I bathe?"
"They would have to have very good binoculars there to be able to see such a hypnotizing and satisfying scene, so I don't think so."
After leaving your suitcase in the corner of the bed you sat on the lower edge and stretched your arms. You looked to the right to see the sea, radiant and beautiful at that time of the morning.
"Well, it's not like I care," Jihyo said, and then took off her jacket to lie down on the bed.
Sana took a couple of steps back and leaned on the right frame of the door.
"Hey, there are a lot of preparations to make before the guests start arriving, but you don't have to do anything. I have a whole team already hired to do everything."
"Sure? I can help you with the logistics, it's fun," Jihyo offered.
"Dear, as a good heir to my mother, I should be able to take care of everything myself. So no, you just relax here with Balto."
She blew Jihyo a kiss and winked at you before leaving the room. Jihyo stood up and knelt behind you to hug you by the neck. She gave you a kiss on the cheek.
"Well? What do you think about her?"
"I think she seems like something out of a fairy tale. I haven't heard someone so well-spoken since I had dinner with Dubu's parents."
"And she's a fucking beauty, isn't she?"
You weren't stupid, you already knew the purpose of the question from that mischievous tone she added at the end of the sentence.
"I would believe it if you told me she’s a beauty icon in Japan."
"Her mother is pretty well-known in the tech world, so she might be," Jihyo laughed.
"What does she do?" you turned to see her.
"Hmm... do you know Neuralink?
Your eyes widened. You just nodded.
"Well, she is one of the spearheads. I can't tell you exactly what she does because I don't know."
"Damn, she was born in a golden cradle huh?"
"Yeah, something like that. But she's always stood up for herself. She's currently running a project at the university about brain chips. Brilliant mind."
"Does that mean that if she wanted to see us as inferior and worldly beings, she could do so on a basis?"
"Basically, yes," she let out a laugh, "But she doesn't thank god. She's always been a very kind and very sweet person."
"I just hope she doesn't give us caviar to eat, I'd throw up."
Jihyo burst out laughing and pulled you back with her, you fell back between her legs.
You two tried to sleep a little more, but the hustle and bustle that Sana had warned you about minutes ago began to make itself felt within an hour. You had no choice but to go out and watch as the staff that Sana had hired continually left and entered the house, while they decorated and prepared everything for later.
At around 12 noon Sana called you from the lower floor.
"Guys, come down to lunch!" she said out loud.
You were exploring the upper floor a bit, so you heard her easily. You went down. In the kitchen there were already a couple of men in chef's outfits filling the cupboards and putting things into the refrigerator, while preparing a wide variety of foods on the long counter.
"Order whatever you want, they will be happy to prepare it," Sana said from one of the stools to the left of the bar.
"Whatever we wanted?" Jihyo asked, while you bowed politely to the cooks.
"Aha, don't be shy," she insisted.
You and Jihyo were simple minds. You didn't have the slightest idea about rigorously prepared dishes or anything like that, so you just asked the cooks to prepare pasta with chicken and cream. They looked at you as if asking if you were born stupid. All you did was shrug your shoulders.
"Gosh, the house is looking amazing," Jihyo said as she watched the lines of warm light bulbs running from beam to beam.
"Wait until you see the icing on the cake, then," Sana replied, then turned to one of the men perched on a ladder, "Dear, further to the left. That line can't be that close to the corner."
You, sitting in one of the chairs at the dining table, also turned around. She was giving instructions to the man on how to arrange the lights. You focused your attention now on the cooks, who were already finishing preparing the pasta. It looked so amazing it made your mouth water.
"And what are you talking about?" Jihyo asked.
"Myself, of course," she replied matter-of-factly, "As a good hostess I must look beautiful for my guests, dear."
"I don't think that's too difficult, Minatozaki."
"I can always be more beautiful. Don't question me about it."
A couple of minutes passed until the cooks brought the pasta dishes to you. The accompaniment was croutons with tartar sauce and grape juice. You weren't impressed with how delicious it was, as you expected that. Still you devoured every part of your meal as if it were your last. Jihyo tried to be more subtle than you and not look like a savage in front of Sana, but finally her palate worked against her and she ended up looking just like you. Sana had ordered her own dish: grilled salmon with rice and asparagus. In comparison to you, she looked like a royal while she ate.
"So, how was it?" She asked, looking at your empty plates.
"I genuinely haven't had a meal this good in months," Jihyo said, wiping her mouth with a napkin.
"I agree with her," you nodded, sinking into the seat to rest.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Sana smiled, "I recommend that you rest and start getting ready. The party will start at 6, and the guests start arriving at 5."
"Four hours, more than enough, right?" Jihyo turned to look at you.
"I think so. I can be ready in less than half an hour," you shrugged.
"Then let's go, Mr. Speedy."
Jihyo stood up, wiped some breadcrumbs off her pants, and patted your shoulder as she passed you. You stood up, gave Sana a shy little smile, and followed Jihyo up the stairs.
The decision of who bathed first was not too complicated. You would shower faster than Jihyo in absolutely any situation, so you were the first to undress in the other's eyes. You tried to pretend that she wasn't watching you and that she wasn't there as the water ran down your naked body, but of course this task proved impossible. You did a few dumb things in the middle of your shower, and with each one you heard Jihyo's mocking giggle in the background.
When you finished showering and turned off the faucet, you grabbed one of the hanging towels and dried yourself as best as possible before walking towards the bed. Jihyo smiled, with her eyes still on you, she stood up and gave you a kiss on the cheek before going to the shower. Out of the corner of your eye you watched as she slowly undressed, hoping to draw your attention to her. But you wanted to be better than her in that sense and tried to ignore her.
You took off the towel with the intention of starting to get dressed, but inevitably your eyes ended up on Jihyo's naked and wet body. The gym worked wonders. Every part of her body was perfectly defined, from her incredibly sexy back to her firm buttocks. That, together with the side profile of her tits and her sensual abdomen, were too much for you. You sat on the edge of the bed with your eyes on her, and taking advantage of the fact that her back was turned, you began to touch yourself.
Your cock became hard in a matter of mere seconds. You rubbed it slowly from up and down, attentive to how Jihyo filled every corner of her body with soap. At one point she bent over because she had dropped the soap—perhaps on purpose—, and when she did so you got a perfect view of her plump pussy for a few seconds. You let yourself go and closed your eyes, moving your hand faster. What you didn't know was that she had seen you over her shoulder at that exact moment, and seconds later she turned off the shower.
When you heard the water stop falling you quickly opened your eyes and stopped as if it hadn't happened at all. You tried to stand up and this time start getting dressed, but Jihyo stopped you short.
"Nuh-uh! Stay there," she said from the bathroom as she dried herself.
You cursed inwardly and sat there, your cheeks red with embarrassment. When Jihyo was completely dry she tossed the towel aside and started walking towards you. Your eyes went to her tits and down her abdomen until they reached her pussy. She stood in front of you and between your legs, she grabbed your chin and made you look up.
"Enjoying the view huh?" she asked, eyebrows raised and her tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek.
She brought one knee up into the space of the mattress between your legs and rubbed it against the back of your cock, which throbbed at her touch. You rested your hands behind you and leaned back a little to look into her eyes. Her knee started rubbing up and down. That alone managed to cause a drop of precum to spill out.
"My needy little boy..." she rested her hands on your thighs and leaned in to kiss you, "How adorable."
You shared a slow, sensual kiss for a few seconds until she pulled away from you to bring her hand to your mouth.
"Come on, spit on it," she ordered, still touching you with her knee.
You complied immediately, releasing a thick spit into Jihyo's hand. She brought that hand directly to your cock in a firm grip, and then started rubbing it like you had been doing a few minutes ago. She kissed you again, also using her knee to rub your balls. And you moaned against her lips as she jerked you off.
It wasn't long before she pushed you back against the bed and urged you to settle into it. You got into bed and rested your head on the pillow. Jihyo climbed in as well and straddled you, both thighs gripping either side of your hips. She wasted no time and impaled herself on you. Every inch of your cock now gone inside her warm, wet pussy.
Jihyo slumped forward and cradled your face in her hands to kiss you again. Her hips began to move up and down. She did it slowly, maybe too slow at first, but she did it so that you felt your cock go completely in and out of her with each movement. As the seconds passed she pushed herself harder, and then she started moving her hips faster.
You saw yourselves wrapped in that tangle of desire and lust that kept you isolated from anything that was happening around you. Of course this didn't mean anything good, because you didn't notice when Sana entered. She caught your attention with a throat clearing. Your heart skipped a beat.
Jihyo quickly jumped off you and fell to the side. She then grabbed the blankets and pulled them over you two, even pulling the sheets out from under the edges of the mattress. Your eyes were wide, but you didn't have the balls to dare look Sana in the eyes for even a second. Instead, you looked at the ceiling and pretended to be invisible.
"I'm sorry," she said with a giggle, "I'd love to let you finish, but now I do need your help with a vitally important matter."
"How long have you been staring, Minatozaki?!" Jihyo exclaimed, the blanket covering her up to the top of her breasts.
"Since you rode his cock. I don't want to ask who the fool was that left the door ajar."
You didn't hide it by looking at Jihyo with 'are you kidding me' eyes? Her cheeks turned red, and she avoided the two of you's gaze. She was better at handling embarrassment than you, so she just let out a nervous laugh.
"I'll be out in the hallway if you want to, you know, finish what you were doing."
She gave you a green light signal and left through the door, which this time was properly closed. Clearly neither you nor Jihyo could finish what you were doing, you had already lost inspiration completely and you were no longer hard. It's not like you care either. Your heads were clouded with shame for having been discovered by the owner of the house while you were fucking in one of the guest rooms.
You didn't put on your outfits yet, instead you put on comfortable clothes to go help Sana with whatever she needed your help. You found her in the hallway so calm, supervising the progress of the decoration on the floor below through the glass.
"Ready?" Sana looked you up and down with a mischievous smile, "Come with me, please."
You were guided to her room, which was significantly larger than yours as it was the master bedroom. The big centerpiece was the wide balcony on the left, right in front of the bed. On it the view of the sea was amplified in both directions, giving a beautiful perspective of the landscape. The balcony, bounded by the glass fence, extended further to the right, but you couldn't see what was on that side since it was hidden behind the room wall. To the right of the room was a small shaggy rug under a wide nightstand made of marble; next was the king size bed filled with pillows and cushions. And further ahead, at the back of the room, a mini living room with a sofa bed on the left, a rectangular table in the middle and on the right one of those chairs that were used in psychology offices. She also had a projector screen on the wall, with a small artificial fireplace underneath.
"Sit down, please," Sana said, pointing towards the bed.
She walked to the side of the room and pressed a button to lower a hatch that formed a wall and covered the balcony. Now you were under the artificial light of the room. You two sat on the lower edge of the bed as if you were two siblings about to receive a scolding from their mother; of course this was not the case, but the level of behavior you carried was worthy of. You were still looking at anything but Sana, but Jihyo did make an effort to try and pretend like nothing had happened.
After closing the balcony, Sana went through a door that was before the mini living room; you thought it was the bathroom, but she came out of there with like four dresses hanging on hooks in her hands. You came to the conclusion that the room was simply much larger than it seemed on its own.
"Very well, you are going to tell me what you think about each one," Sana said with a big smile on her face.
She began to show the dresses one by one, turning them around and putting them in front of her body. As expected, Jihyo, for the simple fact of being a woman, gave much more elaborate opinions than yours, which were only based on: 'I like this color more than this one' or 'I don't know, I feel like this one is more with the occasion'. What you didn't expect was that Sana would have a solution for your lack of eloquence.
"Mmm, I think I'd better try them on," she said, and she began to undress before the disbelieving eyes of you and Jihyo.
The first thing that fell to the ground was her jacket; underneath she was wearing nothing more than a gray bra that gave a slight push up to her more than generous tits. Her jacket was followed by her pants, which, being high-waisted, revealed everything you couldn't see from the breasts down. It was a perfect body in absolutely every way: nice and slightly toned abdomen, lethal hips, a pair of slender legs and an ass that could do wonders with. The panties she was wearing were the same color as the bra, and to give you a little show, she pulled them up just to highlight the shape of her buttocks even more.
She began trying on the dresses one by one; again, Jihyo was acting more normal than you, but you still did your best to formulate good opinions without making your mouth water. Finally, she opted for a semi-transparent red dress, with a long skirt at the back and an inverted V shape at the front.
Sana, being half naked again, approached you, and with each hand on one of your thighs she gave you both a kiss on the cheek. You were paralyzed by the kiss, your cheeks burning. Jihyo on the other hand looked at her with suggestive eyes, not hiding the fact that she was eating her out with the gaze.
"Thanks for the help, cuties," she said between you.
"Anytime, beautiful," Jihyo replied in a lower voice.
Sana gave each of your thighs a light squeeze and stood up straight.
"Feel free to go get ready. I have things to do myself," she nodded toward the door.
You diligently stood up and left Sana's room, heading towards yours. When you arrived you did finish what you had started in the first place—making sure that the door was firmly closed—, and when you finished you began to get dressed. Your choice of outfit was a headache; Jihyo helped you in any way she could while she put on her makeup, but your insecurity and indecision only slowed you down. It took you a little over an hour to finally make a decision: high-heeled black leather boots, black semi-skinny jeans, and an open black shirt with a white tropical print on top of a white t-shirt.
"Damn, you look gorgeous!" Jihyo told you as she adjusted her rose-shaped earrings.
"Not as good as you but thank you," you sighed, looking at yourself in the mirror next to her.
"Oh hell nah," she grabbed your face and made you look at her, "You look amazing, and I need you to feel amazing for the party."
"You know I'm not one of those, Jihyo."
"I'm not asking you to be. I just want you to feel good about yourself."
She shook your head a little and leaned up to give you a peck on the nose.
"Believe me, darling. You look very handsome and you will have nothing to envy of anyone," she remarked, looking into your eyes.
Your only possible response was to hug her; Hold her so tightly in your arms that just that was enough for her to know how grateful you were. You separated after a few seconds, and gave her a kiss on her forehead.
"Thank you, really," you smiled weakly, "Come on, keep getting ready, it's almost time."
Another half hour passed until Jihyo was completely ready. She gave you a little modeling show, which made you laugh a few times since she was really trying to be funny. The truth was that she looked beautiful; a sleeveless white top with red flowers on it, white flared pants with slits on the sides of the thighs, and white sneakers.
When you were both ready, you went down to the first floor, where the DJ that Sana had hired had already played some house music to relax while the guests arrived. The music was coming from the other side of the open space, from the pool. You could only see the mixing console and the massive speakers installed on each side. You looked around and admired the details of the decoration; from the lines of beach ball-shaped lamps to the lines of warm light bulbs. As icing on the cake, just as she had predicted, Sana was sitting on a sofa in the inner yard; on top of one of the squares in front of her, a bucket filled with ice with what appeared to be two bottles of champagne inside it.
She looked stunning. She was dressed in the dress that you had helped her choose and sandals with straps that went around her calves to below the knee; this, however, was not her main attraction, but rather the red flower attached to the side of her head which made her pretty crimson lips stand out.
"Look who we have here!" She exclaimed, crossing her legs, "Wow, you really wanted to compete with me, huh? You both look incredible."
"You didn't think we were going to make it easy for you, did you?" Jihyo asked, walking past you towards her.
"I said you wanted to compete with me. Not that you were going to win," Sana looked at you and winked, "Toast me, please."
She invited you to sit with her. You sat on her side, and Jihyo sat in the empty square in front of you. With a wave of her hand came a girl in a suit, who reached into the ice bucket and pulled out one of the champagne bottles to open it; as she did so she picked up three fluted glasses and poured the golden liquid into them. Sana thanked her with a smile and handed you the glasses. She raised hers.
"To the start of a wonderful night," Sana toasted, and the two of you clinked your glass against hers.
You had never been particularly a fan of champagne, but when you took the first sip from your glass you couldn't help but take the second almost immediately. It was delicious. Jihyo as well as Sana drank just a sip.
"Oh, it's about time people started arriving, isn't it?" Jihyo asked, looking at her phone.
"Aha," Sana nodded, looking towards the entrance hall, "There's security outside, so they'll come in any minute."
Just as Sana had said, within a few minutes people began to arrive. Luckily for you, there were a few familiar faces, like Nayeon or Han, or a few people you frequented in the university hallways. But the vast majority were strangers to you, and having each one come up to greet Sana for being the hostess didn't help your social anxiety. None seemed too relevant to her, except for a few people she introduced you to. They were three girls and one guy: Kim Minji, Chou Tzuyu, Lee Gahyeon and Kim Yugyeom. All of them, including Nayeon and Han, would be part of the group that the three of you would stay with for the rest of the night.
After the arrival time there were around three dozen people in the house, not counting those who were going to arrive late. There were a lot of people, and soon the bustle began to get louder. Sana stood up and left you with the others to go to the stairs, climb a couple of steps and signal to the staff to turn down the music. Everyone turned to look at her. She cleared her throat to raise her voice.
"First of all, welcome and thank you all for coming tonight. I know that many, if not all, of you had to fly from Seoul just to attend this eventuality. I apologize for that, but," she raised a finger, "As compensation you should know that the bar is completely free tonight, so you can drink as much as you want!"
Everyone erupted in cheers, but Sana raised her hands again to attract attention.
"Oh, I almost forgot. The pool is available to whoever wants to enjoy it. Just keep it clean or no one will leave here until it's cleaned..." she made a small silence, looking into the eyes of everyone she could so they knew she was serious, "Enjoy the party!"
At the end of Sana's speech the music returned, this time to its highest point. Now the walls and floor were reverberating with the sound of the techno house that the DJ was playing. You recognized the first song: Losing It by FISHER. The lights went out to make way for the illumination provided by the decorations, and soon the party came alive on its own.
Small groups of people began to form around the bar, where two bartenders worked together to comply with every order they received. They were accompanied by a security man who made sure that people were orderly and nothing got out of control. Sana being the hostess was able to make her way through the people and order a drink for herself first, then she got one for you and Jihyo. All three were piña coladas. Nayeon and Yugyeom insisted for her to get them one too, but Sana sent them to stand in line like everyone else.
"Let's go take a seat on the couch before someone comes," Jihyo hurried you and Sana.
The three of you went to the living 'room'. The big white couch there was semi-square shaped, with the left side longer than the other. You skirted it on the left; you settled near the end, Jihyo next to you and Sana diagonally to the two of you. From there the smell of food was stronger; in the kitchen the two cooks were already beginning to prepare the appetizers that would later be distributed among the crowd.
"Are they making bacon?" you asked, trying to see what they were doing.
"I don't know, probably. Why, are you hungry already?" Sana asked with an amused expression.
She took a sip of her piña colada and stirred it with the straw.
"Oh yeah, he's as shy as he is gluttonous," Jihyo said.
You looked at her with a grimace and raised an eyebrow.
"Don't you love bacon too?" you asked, trying to defend yourself.
"I love it. He has a point there," Sana said.
Jihyo took a sip of her drink and looked at you.
"Of course I love it. But that doesn't mean that you could eat an entire Burger King menu by yourself if you set your mind to it."
Before you could formulate a defense, Sana's other friends began to arrive one by one. Nayeon and Han settled to the right of her; they were followed by Tzuyu, Yugyeom, Minji, and Gahyeon, who was facing you at the other end of the couch. Immediately the conversation flowed between all of them. It was obvious that everyone had known each other for a long time, a well-established group of friends. And how could it be otherwise, you soon felt out of place since you didn't have much, or rather nothing, to contribute to the conversations. That's where Jihyo and Han came in, who, having already known you before, did everything possible to include you and not make you feel like a zero to the left. You appreciated that, a lot.
"Hey hey, it's time to play something don't you think?" Yugyeom said, leaning forward, "I want an excuse to get drunk."
Han turned to look at him.
"And what do you want to play? Beach volleyball?"
"I'm not drunk enough for that. I have never ever."
The rest of you turned your heads in interest towards Yugyeom, who was smiling mischievously.
"Oh now I have your attention right?" He laughed, "Who wants to start?"
Everyone looked at each other for a few seconds, finally it was Jihyo who raised her hand.
"I'll start, but let's start gently, please."
"But that's boring!" Yugyeom protested.
Jihyo looked at him like she wanted to throw a cushion at him.
"Innocent questions are the easiest to make people drink quickly, you airhead," she looked away, "Aha. I've never ever cut my hair and I've regretted it."
An easy question indeed. The only ones who didn't drink were you, Jihyo, Tzuyu and Sana.
In order, the next one was Sana, who changed the leg that she had crossed and licked her lips.
"I have never ever cried watching a movie or reading a book."
You all drink. Then Jihyo looks at Yugyeom.
"I told you they were the easiest, idiot."
"Shut your mouth Park."
Next was Nayeon, who waved her hand for Jihyo and Yugyeom to shut up.
"I have never ever had doubts about my sexual orientation."
Tzuyu raised both eyebrows and looked at her.
"Wah! I thought you said innocent questions at first."
"That's innocent. I'm not implying anything, honey."
You, Minji, and Han didn't drink. You weren't surprised coming from Jihyo considering her recent history, but you were surprised by Sana, who Jihyo leaned over to talk to. You were close enough to hear her.
"That's nice. It would have been a real shame if you didn't bat the other way too."
Sana looked into her eyes with a sly smile.
"It's fun to eat all kinds of things, isn't it?"
The suggestive tone in her voice was accompanied by a small staring competition between the two of them. They were forced to break eye contact when Tzuyu raised her voice with a slightly more awkward question.
"I have never ever used drugs."
Obviously you don't drink. Sana, Minji and Han didn't either. As Jihyo drank you looked at her with a frown, she could only laugh.
"Honey, in law school you need to relieve stress with a joint once in a while."
"Well, how ironic."
"I know right?"
You and her laughed and then looked at the next person, Minji.
"I have never ever received a slap in public."
Neither you nor the rest of the girls drink. Only Yugyeom and Han did it. Gahyeon laughed.
"You are men. That makes a lot of sense."
You all burst into laughter, even Han. But Yugyeom didn't seem to be so amused. He looked at you and pointed with his arm outstretched.
"He's also a man, why don't you make fun of him too?"
You looked at him and shrugged, not giving a damn. Nayeon immediately came to your defense.
"I attest that there is no guy more calm and quiet than him. Who could slap him in public?"
You looked at Nayeon and said 'thank you' with your lips. She just winked at you and gave you a thumbs up. Yugyeom rolled his eyes and shook his head. The next one was Gahyeon, who raised the tone of the questions.
"I've never received a lap dance."
You all drink. Yugyeom almost choked while he did so as he let out a laugh. He didn't look at you, but you knew he was talking about you.
"I certainly didn't expect anyone to ever give him a lap dance. I don't think he knows how to ask for one."
Absolutely no one laughed. The only one who laughed but more out of pity was Tzuyu. Gahyeon made a confused expression as she looked at you and then at him.
"He's pretty cute, so I'd do it anyway. I couldn't say the same about you."
The general reaction was to raise eyebrows and look at Yugyeom's humiliated face. He didn't say anything, he just took out his phone and looked at it to get out of the situation. Then Jihyo broke the awkward silence to liven things up.
"Well, come on, do it," she nodded at you, "He needs to warm up. He's had too little to drink."
Sana turned to look at you with an expectant smile. She took a sip of her drink, which was close to finishing. She then turned to look at Gahyeon, who stood up without hesitation and walked around the coffee table in front of you from the left until she was standing in front of you. She leaned in to speak in your ear.
"First of all, are you okay with this? I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable or something."
Her sudden closeness made your heart faster. Normally you would have stuttered out of nervousness, but this time you took a deep breath so as not to make a fool of yourself. You turned your head to meet her face inches away.
"Don't worry. You go ahead," you nodded.
Gahyeon smiled and also nodded her head. She waited a few seconds for the current song to end and another to start. Slow it Down by Ty Dolla Sign blasted through the speakers. Gahyeon stood up and turned around, and before the eyes of everyone present, she supported herself on your knees with her hands and sat right on top of your crotch. Now you just watched her pretty, long red hair fall down her back as she pressed against your bulge and moved to the rhythm of the music.
You didn't know what the hell to do with your hands or where to put your eyes. She had an incredible ass, more than could be seen above her gray striped white dress. That was where your eyes stayed stationary for a few long seconds. Her wide hips moved back and forth, doing an expert job that led you to finally put your hands on them.
You knew you had a lot of eyes on you, and that's why you didn't dare move your gaze from Gahyeon. If you had, you could have made eye contact with Sana or Jihyo, or worse, with one of the others. That would have made you nervous and made it look awkward. Luckily, and also unfortunately for you, Gahyeon didn't let the song end to stop.
The lap dance had been brief, but it was enough to leave you hard as a rock and breathing heavily. Gahyeon didn't stand up yet, she leaned back still sitting on top of you and pressed her back against your chest to get closer to your ear.
"If I keep going I’m gonna get too horny, cutie, I'm sorry. But if you want some private fun just look at me and give me a sign."
Gahyeon gave you a kiss on the cheek, stood up, straightened her hair and walked back to her seat as if nothing had happened. She had a proud little smirk on her face, and you were left with her offer running over and over in your head.
You continued avoiding glances. You were hard under your pants, and even though no one was going to see anything due to the lack of light, you tried to hide it as much as possible. But Jihyo knew you and she knew your body language. She leaned closer to your other ear with a little smile.
"That ass has to move great huh?"
She giggled mischievously and patted your thigh a few times. Then you both directed glances towards Yugyeom as he took his turn.
"I've never ever had to hide a hickey."
You all drink. The round passes without further complications. The next turn was Han.
"I've never fucked someone twice my age."
You all looked at each other in a mix between expectation and hope that no one would drink, but finally only Yugyeom and Tzuyu drank. Once again you all laughed. Sana leaned forward and looked at them both.
"Come on, tell me how that happened," she managed to say between laughs.
Tzuyu takes it much more naturally than Yugyeom, who seemed almost embarrassed but not remorseful. Tzuyu looked at Sana.
"Well, old perverts sometimes drop a lot of money when they're desperate," she shrugged.
Sana nodded slowly in understanding.
"Darling, I can get you a job as a model at any brand you want. Don't indulge those disgusting old men."
Tzuyu's face lit up. Beside her, Nayeon looked as surprised as you.
"Huh? Are you serious?"
"Aha. My father has a lot of contacts in that industry. I'll call you tomorrow, promise."
Sana winked at the smiling Tzuyu. Then she looked at Yugyeom and tilted her head, waiting patiently for his explanation.
"Damn, I'm not going to give details; I'm just going to say that I had to finance my vacation to the Maldives somehow."
With his answer he now gave way to the next turn, and that was you. You didn't know what the fuck to say, you had to look at Jihyo for help. She leaned close to your ear to tell you what you were going to say. It was a trick directed against you too, but you had no choice but to repeat it.
"I've never ever had a threesome."
You all drink, except Sana. You all looked at her like 'you're kidding, right?' But no one dared to question her except for Jihyo, who looked at her with a frown.
"You're just lying, right?"
"Why would I lie?" Sana raised an eyebrow, "No, I've never had the chance. But a first time wouldn't be bad..."
As she said that she looked at the two of you and bit her lip in such a sexy way that you couldn't help but look at her up and down, thinking of the thousand and one ways you would love to...
You were beating around the bush once again. What brought you out of your trance was the realization that your glass was already empty. And not just yours, but everyone else's too. Sana had to call a couple of workers to bring drinks for everyone. This time you ordered a Negroni, Jihyo ordered a Gin Tonic, and Sana ordered a Moscow Mule. You didn't even know what the hell that last one was.
The whole cycle came back to the very beginning, to Jihyo, who first took a sip of her drink before saying anything.
"I have never ever had sex more than five times in a single night."
It was a pretty bold question, in fact, Nayeon looked at Jihyo with a frown since it was obvious that no one was going to drink. But to your surprise, Yugyeom and Tzuyu drank. Nayeon turned to them and raised her eyebrows in an expression that made you all laugh.
"Mother of a fucking god, how do you have that energy? I do it once and I already feel like I'll be taken by the grim reaper."
"With two minutes I'm already out of soul," Han intervened out of nowhere.
The laughter only expanded and multiplied, even Yugyeom and Tzuyu, the victims of the joke, laughed.
You weren't so amused when Sana's turn came and she went straight for your neck.
"I have never ever been caught while fucking."
The question fell like a bucket of cold water on your and Jihyo's heads. You both avoided Sana's gaze, it still made you deeply ashamed. But you knew she had a proud smirk on her face, and that she didn't regret saying it in the least.
You and Jihyo drink with your face hot from blushing. Nayeon and Han also drink without commenting at all. The rest don't drink, of course Sana doesn't either.
"We'll complete this round and be done with it, okay?"
You all nodded, at that point it was being more than enough, since the alcohol was making more than one of you tipsy.
Next was Nayeon, who asked a question exclusively dedicated to women.
"I have never ever used a common object as a dildo."
The only ones who drink are Gahyeon, Minji and Tzuyu. They thought they were safe from questions, but Nayeon was an expert at asking awkward questions.
"What did you use? You don't have to explain."
The three looked at each other, none daring to speak first. It was Gahyeon who had to sacrifice herself and step forward.
"A cucumber with a condom."
"I mean, that sounds fun not gonna lie. You two?"
Nayeon looked at Tzuyu and Minji, it was the latter who spoke.
"The handle of a hairbrush."
Minji immediately covered her face to fight her embarrassment. Nayeon laughed.
"Damn girl, how desperate were you?" She didn't wait for answers, she just looked at Tzuyu, "And what about you?"
Tzuyu took a few long seconds to respond.
"A pearl necklace. I won't explain."
"You don't have to do it either, but for that just buy some anal sockets girl."
The next turn was Tzuyu's, who quickly spoke to change the topic.
"I have never ever masturbated in public."
She, Yugyeom and Gahyeon drink. Now it was Minji's turn.
"I have never ever exposed myself on webcam."
Saying that she turned to look in a very undisguised way at her friend, Gahyeon. Who just shrugged.
"What can I tell you, being a webcam model is easy money when you have a hot body," she said before drinking, but now it was her turn, "I have never ever slept with anyone in this group."
You, Jihyo, Nayeon, Han, Yugyeom and Tzuyu drink. At that moment you exchanged glances with Gahyeon, who raised an eyebrow in anticipation of some sign from you. She wanted it, but you were still full of doubts. You felt pathetic having to ask Jihyo for help once again, but she was the closest thing you had to a Jiminy Cricket. After explaining her situation to her, she didn't seem surprised, she just gently took your arm and spoke in your ear.
"Honey, enjoy the night as much and as you want. Do you want it?"
"Fuck, of course I want it. It's just that... you know, I'm afraid of making a fool of myself."
"Balto, you'd be surprised how really good you fuck. Now, don't be a whiner and get your claws out."
She tapped your shoulder with her fist and you looked at Gahyeon for a few long seconds as she spoke to Minji. You didn't do anything yet, but you had already made the decision in your head.
Next was Yugyeom. His question was extremely timely.
"I have never ever imagined anyone in this group naked."
Absolutely all of you drink, but you do it while looking at Gahyeon, who was also looking at you.
Next was Han.
"I have never ever recorded myself having sex."
No one except Gahyeon and Tzuyu drinks. Gahyeon kept looking at you, this time as she crossed her legs and leaned to the side just so you could see the width of her hips and the size of her ass. You couldn't take it much longer. You made the damn sign, and she smiled. You stood up.
"Guys, I have to go to the bathroom, I'll be right back."
You exchange a glance with Jihyo, who winks at you, and then you leave the living room. You made your way through the people as fast as you could, only one possible destination in your head: the bathroom on the upper floor, the one you knew no one was going to use since there were two more downstairs. You trotted up the steps, and hurried into the bathroom before anyone else decided to do so.
It was a long bathroom, wide enough to walk freely in it. It was funny to imagine yourself as a guy in the waiting room for a porn audition, who would say that at that moment you were almost guessing the future. You leaned your lower back against the sink on the left, so big that it looked like a whole dresser on its own. You crossed your arms and waited.
Gahyeon took longer than you expected, but she arrived after five minutes with a couple of knocks on the door. As soon as you opened the door she rushed in and closed it behind her.
"God, I'm sorry. I had to make a fool of Yugyeom again," she laughed.
"Did he say something stupid again?"
"Everything he says is stupid. But that's not what's important now."
She took a step forward and stood in front of you. You stared into each other's eyes for a few long seconds as she closed the distance, until finally your faces were inches apart. From that distance her absurdly attractive parted lips looked irresistible to you. You couldn't help but let yourself go and grab her face to kiss her.
Her lips were not only amazing, they felt amazing too. They didn't feel like any pair you had kissed before, these were like two delicious gummies because of how soft they were. As if that weren't enough, she was an excellent kisser.
She left her phone on the sink and wrapped her arms around your neck. One hand rested on your left shoulder, and the other on the back of your neck to caress the hair there. You deepened the kiss, now she invited you to swirl your tongues in an intense exchange of saliva and gasps. At that moment you remembered what Jihyo had told you: 'Get your claws out.'
Putting any possible shyness aside, you brought your hands directly to Gahyeon's ass and squeezed each of her buttocks tightly. She didn't bother to hide her surprise.
"Mmm, you're not as calm as you seem huh?" she murmured against your lips, "Grab as much as you want, go on."
She crashed into your lips again, and you scrunched up her dress on either side of her hips to slowly hike it up until it was swirling around her waist. You left her nice round butt exposed; you wasted no time in squeezing it again, this time feeling the milky soft skin against your fingertips. The flesh of her ass felt tender, perfect for spanking a few times to make her moan against your lips.
Gahyeon didn't leave her hands still up for long. She reached down to grab your cock over your pants. You were hard from before, she just had to squeeze it a little and start massaging it gently with her small hand. In a matter of seconds she had already unbuttoned your pants and unzipped you; then she put her hand in your boxers to pull out your cock and rub it slowly. You gasped and brought your hand between her buttocks, using your two fingers to rub her slit over her panties.
"Before I feast on your cock... can I make a request of you?"
"Hm?"
Gahyeon took the phone from the sink and pressed it against your chest for you to pick up. Then she fell to her knees in front of your cock.
"Make sure you record everything. And when I say everything, that's everything. But don't turn on the flash, I don't want to go blind."
It really was something you didn't care about at all. You didn't know what she was going to do with that video, but you were okay with at least not showing your face. She unlocked her phone for you and you accessed the camera, held it vertically and started recording.
The first thing Gahyeon did was lower your pants and boxers to her ankles, then she gave you a wonderful first contact with your cock; she pressed her beautiful lips against the back of it and filled it with wet kisses. She also kissed the sides of your shaft, and then used her tongue to give you a long lick all the way to the tip, where she didn't hesitate to grip her lips around.
She took half of your cock in one smooth motion, making you moan as you watched her through the screen. Her head began to move back and forth, slowly so that you could feel how satisfying her lips were there too. She wasn't just seeing your panting face as she slurped on your shaft, you felt like she was also seeing through your soul.
Gahyeon's hand went to your balls to squeeze them into a soft bunch and then left it gripping around your base. You lost eye contact as she focused on taking a couple more inches into her mouth and increasing the pace considerably. You lowered the phone to now record from the side and capture every detail of the lewd act, trying to comply with her request in the best way possible.
She pumped her head faster, filling your cock with saliva in an amazing messy blowjob. Completely ignoring the camera she looked up to meet your eyes again. What she was looking for was to know if she was doing it in a way that you liked; she found your mouth half open and your brow furrowed in pleasure. More than positive confirmation.
"Mmm, you look even cuter getting your cock sucked," she said as she pulled you out of her mouth, now sucking on your balls as she stroked you with her hand.
After a few seconds she dove back into your cock. She threw aside any sense of restraint and simply began devouring your cock with frantic pumps. After a few seconds she removed her hand from around your base and brought her lips further; her nose rested against your pelvis, and feeling your tip rub against her throat made you moan louder. You returned to the initial recording angle, and she looked directly into the camera as she made gagging sounds against your cock.
She pulled you out with a sharp intake of breath, then brought her hand back to your cock to jerk it off.
"Do you have condoms? I left my handbag downstairs."
"Y-yeah, my wallet is in my pants pocket."
Gahyeon reached into your pants pocket and pulled it out. She rummaged through the sections of it, until she finally pulled out a condom.
"Do you want to see a magic trick?"
She didn't give you time to respond. She quickly opened the envelope, took out the condom and held it between her lips; then she took your cock with her hand and put it on you using her mouth. You captured everything up close on camera, and it was probably one of the hottest things you've ever seen. With the condom already on your cock Gahyeon stood up.
"Go ahead, fuck me however you want baby," she said over your lips, then gave you a small kiss.
You stepped away from the sink, and used your only available hand to grab her arm and bend her against the edge. Her face was inches from the mirror, floating above the faucet. Her dress had fallen down again, it was up to you to pull it back up and around her waist again. With her ass exposed again she lifted it up as high as possible, making it twice as attractive for you to grope and squeeze.
She looked at you over her shoulder with her lips panting. She moved her ass from side to side, and you slapped your cock several times against each of her butt cheeks while looking into her eyes. You soon stopped your foreplay and grabbed the hem of her white lace panties to pull them down to her knees in one fell swoop. You shifted the phone to your left, now using your right to reach between her thighs and rub her slit up and down. Her pussy was more than ready for you, it felt extremely wet and soft. You took your cock in your hand, rubbed it a few times between her folds and took it inside her.
"Mmm! Wait wait!" she sputtered, "Slow... it feels so fucking big, god."
Through the mirror you saw her face twisted in a mixture of pain and pleasure; you didn't want to hurt her in any way, so you were as careful as possible as your cock slowly worked its way into her. When you were impaled deep inside that hot silky pussy, you rested for a few long seconds. Gahyeon didn't say anything, her face was paralyzed by the sensation of being completely stretched. It wasn't until a few seconds later that you saw fit to start moving.
You brought your only available hand to her waist, clinging there as you slowly pumped back and forth. Your cock went in and out completely without much difficulty; it disappeared between her buttocks in an almost hypnotic way, which led you to squeeze her left buttock and spread it, just to get a better shot of how her pussy was being fucked faster every second.
"That's it... give me more baby, fuck that hot pussy good," she moaned, watching you through the mirror and the camera.
In response you raised your hand and gave her a spank on the buttock that you had squeezed seconds ago. You caused her to squeal, and also to voluntarily lift one of her thighs to rest on the edge of the sink. You returned your hand to her waist, letting your fingers tightly grip on the soft flesh there. You moaned out loud, increasing the pace to now give strong and constant thrusts to her pussy.
"Oh fuck yeah!" Gahyeon whimpered, holding on to the faucet with both hands, "Fuck fuck fuck fuck!"
She dropped her head between her shoulders, letting herself be carried away by the pleasure your strong thrusts gave her. Above the muffled music that was playing outside, the sound of Gahyeon's buttocks being slammed again and again by your pelvis. You gave her butt cheek another spank, her skin now marked in a dull red. And speaking of red, her long hair, held behind her head by a clip, looked too cute hanging down her back not to pull on it.
"W-when you're going to cum… take off the condom and paint my face!" she screeched, seeing you again.
"I got you."
You grabbed a handful of her hair in your hand and pulled it back. Her pussy clenched around your cock; her moans were interspersed with screams and grunts, and you couldn't do anything but fuck her with everything you had.
Her body bounced back and forth violently, at one point you were even afraid that she would hit her forehead on the mirror, but that's why you kept her face away by pulling her hair back; you didn't pull it too hard for fear of going overboard, however it was more than enough for Gahyeon to reach her orgasm.
"Yessss!!! Mmmm!! Don't fucking stop!!"
In her desperation to look for something to hold on to, she unintentionally turned on the faucet water, something that would have made you laugh if it weren't for the fact that you yourself were close to your orgasm. You grunted in pleasure and let go of Gahyeon's hair to give her another spank, fucking her mercilessly through her ecstasy. You hadn't looked at the phone screen for a while, when you did you realized that the shot was a little crooked and that you weren't capturing everything in its maximum splendor; to correct it, you changed the phone from your hand once again and lowered it, recording again from the side to capture in close-up how your cock hammered her pussy.
After a few seconds you felt the tingling, and in one quick movement you left Gahyeon's pussy to remove the condom as quickly as you could; in that period of time she had already lowered her thigh from the edge of the sink and had turned to fall on her knees to the floor in front of your cock.
You stroked your cock as fast as you could, moaning loudly as you recorded a perfect shot of Gahyeon's face as she closed her eyes and left her face as a canvas for you. As you reached your peak you let out a louder moan, while thick jets of semen came out of your cock and landed on Gahyeon's beautiful face; soon it was covered in a thick layer of white, she had to wipe her eyelids with her fingers to open her eyes, then she looked at you and smiled at the camera. You couldn't help but blush.
"You liked it huh? You came a lot..."
She took your cock with her hand and started rubbing it all over her face, collecting as much cum as she could with it and then putting it in her mouth and cleaning it. It was one of the hottest things you could ever see in your life; you had to make a great effort not to faint right there. She repeated that process a couple of times, until finally both your cock and her face were 'clean'.
"That's it, cut."
You stopped the recording diligently. Then she stood up, pulled up her panties, and pulled her dress back down. She took the phone from your hand and placed a warm kiss on your cheek.
"Thanks cutie. You're a great fuck," she said with a little smile.
"I can say the same about you. And hey, thanks to you. Uh… You didn't do it just because you're drunk, right?"
She laughed. You pulled up your boxers and pants again.
"Huh? I'm not drunk, silly."
She turned and began to wash her hands in the sink, your eyes met in the reflection of the mirror.
"I fucked you because I found you genuinely cute and I certainly wasn't wrong in thinking you would fuck amazing."
She lowered her face to wash the sticky parts of her face, being very careful not to ruin her makeup too much. Meanwhile you looked at yourself in the mirror, adjusting your outfit and your hairstyle. You thought now was your time to make a move.
"Well, I wasn't wrong either in thinking that ass would be wonderful."
Gahyeon raised her head and looked you up and down with a smile.
"Do you want my number? I would love for you to enjoy it more."
That, ladies and gentlemen, is a masterful victory.
"Yeah, sure," you nodded, pulling your phone out of your pocket.
You waited patiently for her to finish cleaning her face so she could dictate her number to you. You did the same with yours.
"Look for me on Instagram too: fox._.zzlo_"
You chuckled.
"Wasn't there a more complicated name?"
"Everyone I tried was already taken, it's not my fault."
You both followed each other on instagram as well. You were lying if you didn't say you were embarrassed by the difference in your feeds, a lot versus almost nothing. Your self-esteem didn't go that far yet.
"You go out first, I'll come down later," she told you.
"It's not like anyone is suspicious anyway, but aight."
"You have to maintain a certain degree of impudence, darling."
She patted your shoulder a couple of times, blew you a kiss, and urged you to leave. You did so, leaving her alone in the bathroom.
The loud music and bustle filled your ears once again. The difference in environments was overwhelming, you even considered running into the bathroom with Gahyeon again, but you were going to look like a chihuahua with nervous problems. You recognized that the party was at a high point when you looked over the railing and saw the vast majority of people dancing in the inner yard. The mere thought of having to get in there was overwhelming, but you had no choice.
Going down you made your way through the crowd, who were dancing to the rhythm of Lady Gaga's Applause. You were desperately looking for a friendly face, but you only found people that you only waved at from a distance when you were at university. After a few seconds of searching you finally found it. Even though she wasn't exactly who you were looking for, you were grateful.
"I hope Gahyeon was a nice fuck!" Minji exclaimed so you could hear her over the music, "Do you dance?"
Minji had something undecipherable about her; every movement and every expression she made was stupidly attractive, as if she knew perfectly how to use every one of her good qualities. That way it became rather impossible for you to reject her offer.
You sighed and shrugged.
"Yeah, why not."
You approached her so she could put her hand on the back of your neck. You didn't dare touch her with your hands out of mere respect, but you stayed close enough to her to feel the warmth of her body and the subtle scent of alcohol emanating from her. The song opportunely changed to SexyBack by Justin Timberlake. She danced amazingly, which was appreciated since you were pretty close to stinking at it, but you did your best.
"You know? You look like a good guy. Thank god you're not like that jerk Yugyeom."
"He doesn't have much of a good reputation, does he?"
She shook her head. She was staring at you, but you avoided her gaze.
"Not the best of personalities, as you may have noticed."
"Yeah, I can tell."
"All the girls he's been with leave him after a couple of weeks because he's unbearable. Tzuyu is probably going down the same path."
"They are...?"
"Oh yeah, but it's a recent thing. They won't last long."
She took both of your hands and made you put them on her waist, as if telling you to stop being so clumsy. Her body pressed against yours; you just let yourself be carried away by her magnificent movements. You now had to speak in her ear.
"You seem very sure of that, don't you think it's hasty to say so?"
Minji laughed into the side of your face, then wrapped her arms around your neck and placed a hand on the back of your neck.
"Well, as always, there is a chance that something will click and turn out well. But out of every ten girls, ten get hurt by that fool."
"And why do girls still go out with him?"
Minji shrugged.
"God knows why. But that's none of your business, you just worry about keeping who you are and behave."
The song ended, she gave you a kiss on the temple and let go of you. You looked into her eyes.
“I do what I can,” you nodded.
"Yes, I know you do," she smiled, "Oh, look who's here."
You turned to your right. Gahyeon emerged from the crowd, perfectly groomed and impeccable as if nothing had happened. She stood next to the two of you.
"Would you leave her to me for a bit, baby?" she winked at you.
"Of course, I was already leaving."
You returned the wink, smiled at Minji and walked past the two of them to resume your search for the two people you had been trying to find for ten minutes already. Among the entire crowd you found Nayeon and Han dancing, as well as Yugyeom and Tzuyu. Right at the division between the inner yard and the open space you found the two of them. To your surprise, or maybe not so much, they were dancing too close together.
Jihyo had Sana holding her waist from behind, her chin resting on her shoulder with a little smile of being quite tipsy. Sana on the other hand had one hand loose and the other extended behind her, holding onto Jihyo's neck as they danced. You hesitated to approach them for fear of disturbing them, but you had absolutely no one else, and going out there alone was not an option.
Luckily for you, you made eye contact with Sana, who immediately motioned for you to join the two of them. You obeyed and approached the two of them, standing in front of Sana with some distance between you. You moved to the rhythm of the music with the two of them.
"Everything okay, honey?" Jihyo asked you.
"Uh.. .yeah, everything's fine."
Sana grabbed your shirt and pulled you towards her, you were now dangerously close to her face and the rest of her body.
"Don't be shy, silly."
You looked into her eyes for a few long seconds; her smirk and sensual expression were hypnotic, as was the way she moved her hips and enjoyed herself. You two were close, but your bodies didn't touch until the atmosphere heated up.
Halfway through one of the songs you were dancing to, Sana grabbed you by the waist and pulled you even closer, now pressing your bodies together to wrap both arms around your neck. You and Jihyo danced with her in between you for several songs, practically making a tight sandwich that was driving you crazy for her. Everything escalated too quickly, the spicy hands went from here to there over every corner of Sana's body, and she was enjoying it almost as much as you were. You could have even sworn you heard her let out a very subtle moan.
Maybe things escalated too, too quickly, because something you didn't think would happen so soon happened. Sana looked at you with eyes full of desire, her mouth half open in pure sensuality and her hands on your neck, rubbing the slightly sweaty skin there; then she brought her face closer to yours, and without a second's hesitation she kissed you.
Everything around you felt like being in a painting, too perfect to be true. You were completely paralyzed. It was just a kiss, it shouldn't be a big deal; but it was Minatozaki Sana's lips that you had pressed against yours. Again, it shouldn't have been a big deal, she was a person like anyone else. But that felt like being kissed by Galadriel herself.
When she separated her lips from yours, you met Jihyo's knowing eyes, who also looked at your mouth, making her intentions very clear. To test if you understood, you leaned over Sana's shoulder and kissed her too. It didn't end there: after kissing Jihyo, Sana turned around and met her eyes. The two of them also kissed, giving you a little show that was enough to make you hard.
As soon as the two of them finished their mini make out session, Sana grabbed you by the back of your neck and leaned close to your ear.
"Let's see how you behave the rest of the night to see if you deserve to fill my pussy or not."
A chill ran down your spine. The song ended shortly after, and at that moment Yugyeom approached you to tell you that everyone was going to play major or minor with cards. You didn't know if anyone else had seen you, everyone was engrossed in their own world and you didn't think everyone had stopped just to watch the three of you kiss. It wasn't something relevant to know, but you were more afraid of what they might say about Sana than about you.
Hours passed and the alcohol levels gradually became higher in your bodies. Sana became much closer and more affectionate to you and Jihyo; she lets Jihyo handle her at her will, and she is possessive of you over the other girls. Whenever Gahyeon and Minji tried to make you dance with them after finishing a song, Sana would pull you back with her so you wouldn't get separated from her. You weren't drunk, but you were standing on a fine line that could be crossed at any moment. But the most important thing of all is that you were having the time of your life.
However, the best was yet to come.
At some point around midnight the lower floor of the house began to be invaded by a crowd of people dressed in suits and tiki masks; they carried large water guns and tanks on their back, making them look like they were carrying flamethrowers—you hoped they weren't. The three of you were at the kitchen counter eating prawn and bacon skewers when this happened. You and Jihyo were surprised, but you had a certain level of concern since you didn't know what the hell was happening. Sana leaned towards you while she watched the people in suits settle in different parts of the floor.
"Take that face off, it will be a pleasant surprise. I'm just warning you to prepare to get really wet."
That phrase contained a clear double meaning that she accentuated in the word 'wet'. Your head was flooded with thoughts, many of them not exactly chaste. However, everything was quickly eradicated when you heard LMFAO's Champagne Showers start playing. In that moment, you understood perfectly what it was all about.
Sana took you both by the hand and took you to the 'dance floor', where both the tiki people and the rest of the guests began to dance and jump euphorically to the iconic song. The three of you joined in the commotion, laughing and enjoying the moment as enthusiastically as possible.
The moment approached, that peak point of the song where the 'pop' arrived and everything exploded. The tiki people stopped their dancing and focused on preparing their weapons for what was to come. They pointed it in the air and waited.
"Shake that bottle and make it, pop."
They opened fire and the crowd erupted in an explosion of euphoric screams and laughter. The powerful jets flew through the air in all directions, and it didn't take long for you to receive several of them. The unmistakable aroma of the liquid instantly confirmed what you suspected from the beginning of the song, and which was actually quite evident: it was a Champagne Shower.
The end of the song continued until the tiki people had emptied their tanks and absolutely everyone present was drenched in champagne. That was the spark that ignited a next phase of the party: many, already soaked and euphoric, took off their clothes and jumped into the pool. The sounds of splashing mixed with the music, creating a cacophony of joy and celebration.
Like everyone else, the three of you were completely soaked. Your clothes clung to your body, revealing every detail of your figures. Your eyes fell on Sana and Jihyo, admiring the curves and shape of her breasts. You didn't bother to hide your gaze, and they didn't seem bothered by it either. In fact, Sana even seemed pleased that you could see her sexy body again.
Sana took your hands once again and pulled you towards her, brushing your ears with her lips.
"I could use a change of clothes. Would you walk me to my room?" she whispered.
Neither you nor she hesitated for a single second to respond affirmatively. Sana smiled and, without letting go of your hands, she guided you up the stairs to her room. You still couldn't shake the subtle feeling of unreality. If you looked back, everything seemed to have happened too quickly: just a moment ago you were having breakfast with her on the terrace, and now you were heading to her room for what could be the best fuck of your life.
As soon as you crossed the threshold of Sana's room, she pulled you into a fiery kiss, enveloping her body in yours. Your arms instinctively clung to her small waist, feeling the wetness of the fabric and the firmness of her skin against yours. You responded to the kiss with the same intensity that she had from the beginning. Between the heat of the kiss, you felt Jihyo position herself behind Sana, kissing her neck with heavy breathing.
"Fuck, I've been waiting for this moment all night," Jihyo whispered, "Can I take off your dress now, cutie?"
Sana separated from your lips and responded between gasps into your mouth.
"You would do me a big favor, go ahead."
Jihyo did not hesitate to unzip Sana's dress all the way down and remove the straps from her shoulders to slowly lower it to the top of her abdomen. Sana kissed you again, so you couldn't get a glimpse of her pretty tits once they were freed. But she made up for it by bringing her hand right to the bulge in your pants, groping your cock hard over the wet fabric of your pants.
You had to let go of Sana for a moment so Jihyo could finish pulling down the rest of her dress, but you wrapped your arms around her again, and the feeling was one of the most pleasurable you could have ever experienced; being able to touch that beautiful, perfect body to your liking felt ethereal, especially when you brought your hands to her tits and squeezed them between your fingers.
At that moment Jihyo filled Sana's wet back with kisses and licks that made her gasp against your lips. In search of feeling even more of Sana's body you now brought your hands to her perfect ass, which you squeezed as hard as you could; giving her buttocks an intense massage over her panties, which were already screaming to be taken off.
After a few seconds, Sana separated from the kiss and you were able to admire her statuesque, semi-naked body, more closely than a few hours ago. Her tits were stupidly perfect, with an average round size and a pair of pink nipples that made your mouth water. Sana looked at you with a sly smile, satisfied with your reaction.
"Well? What do you think of them?" she asked, her hand on your cock.
Jihyo also looked at you with the same little smile, she then ran her hands in front of Sana's body and squeezed both of Sana's tits for you, she shook them up and down as well. Then she answered for you.
"Look at his eyes, of course he loves them. I bet he wants to suck them too."
Sana grabbed your chin and caressed it with two of her soft fingers, looking into your eyes.
"Is that so, my pretty boy?"
What Jihyo had told you crossed your mind again: 'Get your claws out.' They might have expected a more passive response from you, conforming to the dominant energies they were transmitting, but you decided to become proactive.
"Why don't you come to bed with me and find out for yourself?"
Jihyo looked visibly surprised, but she also nodded with a proud little smile. Sana didn't seem all that surprised, since you were probably giving her what she wanted, someone to dominate her. That was like a turning point, since now Sana saw you with different eyes. No longer like a mistress, but like a girl who wanted you to fuck her brains out.
"Lead the way then," she gestured toward the bed.
You broke away and walked towards the bed with her following behind you. You sat on the bottom edge of it and leaned back, both hands resting on the mattress behind you. She immediately went to straddle your lap, gripping her thighs on either side of your hips. Jihyo also climbed onto the bed, and she crawled up to kneel behind you.
You wasted no time in wrapping your arms around Sana's torso and pressing her against you, plunging your mouth directly into her perfect pair of tits to suck on her nipples. Jihyo behind you took off your shirt and took your shirt out of your pants to lift it up, this way lifting it from your arms and taking it off as well. She hugged you from behind her and filled your back with wet kisses, also going up to your shoulders and the back of your neck; at that you ate both of Sana's soft mounds hungrily, while she ground her hips against your lap and moaned above your head.
"It's not fair..." Sana gasped, "I'm the only one naked here. I want to see you both."
Jihyo rested her chin on your right shoulder.
"And why don't you help me then? We can help our pretty Balto too."
As much as you didn't want to do it, you had to stop eating Sana's tits and let her go. She thanked you with a peck on the lips and stood up with Jihyo. The two of them stood less than a meter away from you and shared a steamy kiss, Jihyo's hands on Sana's waist and Sana's on her shoulders.
Jihyo buried her face in Sana's long neck, filling every corner of it with wet kisses and giving her intense sucks that were with the sole intention of marking territory. Sana used her hands as well as she could to remove Jihyo's top, and in doing so she also removed her bra, leaving them both on equal footing. Again they hug and kiss for another long seconds, in which Jihyo saved Sana work and took off her pants herself. Now the only thing separating them from being completely naked were her panties; Sana's were as red as the flower she still had on the side of her head, and Jihyo's were white.
They broke the kiss and Sana turned to look at you. She smiled from ear to ear looking between your legs.
"That thing is going to tear your pants with how hard it is."
Jihyo, who was kissing her chin and jaw, also turned to look at you.
"Come here, pretty boy."
You took off your shoes and stood up to stand in front of the two of them. Immediately they acted and each took one side of your neck to kiss it. Sana was more delicate and passionate with her kisses, but Jihyo attacked your neck in the same way she did Sana's, as if she wanted to mark territory. Between kisses they took turns undressing you; Jihyo took off your pants, while Sana was in charge of taking off your boxers.
Once completely naked they left your neck and went down your collarbone and chest, passing through your abdomen until they fell to their knees in front of your erect cock. Sana's eyes lit up when she saw it for the first time. She took it with one hand and moved it in each direction to detail it.
"Oh my god..." she gasped, "This is probably the biggest cock that's ever going to fit in this fancy mouth."
She gave it a little kiss on the tip to see your reaction, seeing that you had a little shiver she giggled and gave your tip a little suction to now kiss the back of your shaft.
"And his cum is delicious… why don't we give it a try?"
Jihyo joined Sana and grabbed the right side of your cock to kiss it as well. Both pairs of lips ran over every corner of your cock between wet kisses and long licks, drawing small moans out of you every few seconds. Your hands went to the back of their necks and held on there as Sana now swirled her tongue around your tip and Jihyo sucked on your balls.
The first to take you into her mouth was Sana. She took only a few inches of your cock at first, giving you slow, strong sucks with her eyes on you. Within a few seconds she released you, now licking the backside from top to bottom and meeting Jihyo's tongue on the way. When both tongues came into contact, they raised it at the same time to your tip, where they converged in a sensual maelstrom of saliva and viscosity.
You moaned louder as the two of them made out with your cock right in the middle; they didn't stick to just your tip, they went down along your entire length kissing and licking. When your cock was soaked in a mixture of both of their saliva, Jihyo took her turn to wrap her lips around you. Unlike Sana she took a few more inches, reaching a little more than halfway down your shaft before pumping her head slowly.
Despite starting out slow, Jihyo picked up pace quickly, slurping on your cock hungrily as she held onto your right thigh with both hands. Sana didn't stay still, she was in charge of licking underneath the area of your cock that Jihyo didn’t reach with her mouth; she also massaged your balls with her gentle hand, and with the other she rubbed your thigh.
Jihyo pulled you out of her mouth with a sharp breath, giving your cock slow strokes over the area she had sucked to let Sana continue doing her work. She looked into your eyes intently; you held her gaze for as long as you could, then she took your cock and guided it back into Sana's mouth.
This time Sana went further, to your surprise taking almost the entire length of your cock into her mouth; she reached the end showing a slight gag reflex, but that didn't stop her from putting all her effort into giving you a wonderful blowjob. She moaned around your cock with each pump, making it obvious that you weren't the only one who deeply enjoyed that.
Jihyo let Sana move her head for a few long seconds until she put her hand on the back of her head and pushed it deeper onto your cock. Sana was forced to take you completely inside her mouth, her face scrunching up and her gag reflex kicking in immediately. She choked on your cock, but held on a little longer until she let you free between loud coughs.
Jihyo looked at her with a touch of worry in her eyes.
"Oh, was I too abrupt?"
Sana shook her head as she composed herself.
"Not at all. I needed to choke on a cock like this."
She returned to your cock and kissed it all over again, now showing a devotion worthy of a relic. But you needed more.
"Girls, I'm close… could you not… ?"
"Don't worry baby, we got you," Jihyo said.
Jihyo and Sana now each took short turns sucking your cock. They did it with fast and frantic pumps, causing thick drops of saliva to fall from the corners of their mouths to the ground. Your shaft was covered in that thick, bubbly viscous layer, which each one was responsible for spreading and absorbing with her lips. You couldn't look away from there, you were going crazy with pleasure and you couldn't do anything but moan. Soon you had to make the sign.
"Do it on our tits," Jihyo said.
She knelt up and turned around looking at Sana, who pulled you out of her mouth and adopted the same position. They pressed their tits together, giving you the honor of making the finishing touch. You jerked off as fast as you could, bending your knees slightly to be closer for when you exploded. Your cum shot straight between their tits, painting both pairs of soft mounds white. While you were draining, they kissed each other between loud moans, as well as raising and lowering their breasts to spread your cum on them. The scene would remain in your mind forever as one of the hottest things you had ever witnessed.
When your orgasm passed, Jihyo pulled away from Sana's tits and looked at you as she held her firmly by the waist.
"Baby… I'd love to see this cutie get fucked, you wouldn't mind being a little dominant this time, right?"
You looked at Sana, from her eyes you could tell that she was desperate for you to do so.
"Let's go to bed then," you gestured towards the bed.
You helped the two of them stand up and get back on the bed. Sana lay down with her legs wide open and Jihyo lay down next to her, putting her tits in her face for her to clean. While Sana was wiping your cum off Jihyo's tits you lay between her legs, kissing the inside of her thighs and moving towards her pussy over her panties.
Jihyo returned the favor to Sana once she finished, eating her tits between moans and eating your cum along the way. You grabbed Sana's panties by the curb and slowly pulled them towards you, they slid down her legs and then you threw them to the floor. Her beautiful, wet, inviting pussy was now inches from your face, screaming to be eaten.
You did not resist your carnal impulses and planted your mouth there without a second's hesitation. Sana moaned loudly and brought a hand to your hair, tangling her fingers through it with a subtle tug. Jihyo dedicated herself to kissing every possible corner of Sana's body, passing through her neck and her collarbone until she reached her sexy abdomen.
"Mmm your mouth feels amazing darling..." Sana sensually moaned, "Eat that expensive Japanese pussy."
You internalized that as a kind of divine commandment. You had gained a lot of experience over the past few months, you were more than willing to put all of that into practice to give Sana one of the best orgasms she could ever experience, and as you gained confidence and identified the spots she loved, it didn't take long for you to make her scream with pleasure.
Much to your and Jihyo's surprise, you brought Sana to her breaking point faster than you expected. You had her by her thighs, eating her pussy up and down her while Jihyo rubbed her clit with her fingers. Sana's body tensed and then she began to shake. She pulled your hair hard and she buried your mouth even deeper in her slit when she exploded.
"Mmgghh!!! Yes!!!"
You and Jihyo kept her pinned to the bed as her spasms shook her body. You held her trembling thighs, kissing every corner of her soaked pussy in the throes of her orgasm; Jihyo on the other hand continued to rub her clit in slow circles, then kissed her. Sana clung with both arms to Jihyo's neck, moaning into her mouth in the middle of the kiss. You gave a few last kisses to her pussy, and then to her thighs.
Sana let go of Jihyo and broke away from her kiss, then leaned up on her elbows and looked at you with heavy breathing.
"For God's sake, I'm begging you, fuck me right now."
Her husky and sensual voice penetrated your ears to give you a chill. Her eyes emanated desire, the desire for you to fill her to the bottom with your cock. She was making you feral, so much that you got on your knees, grabbed her waist and roughly put her on her hands and knees. Sana moaned and looked at you over her shoulder as you settled behind her with her amazing ass perfectly raised. Jihyo positioned herself in front of her with her legs open, making her request clear. But Sana was also clear that she needed to see how you filled her.
"Come on honey, fill that slutty, Japanese fancy pussy with that huge cock," Jihyo said, biting her lip.
You didn't consider it necessary to spit on your cock, it was already lubricated enough by the saliva of the two of them; you just had to take it with one hand and guide it towards Sana's pussy, where you pushed to take just your tip inside her. Sana frowned and bit her bottom lip, stifling a moan.
"Mmmm yeah, put it all inside dear, don't hold back..."
You remembered your little adventure with Gahyeon and found it funny that Sana was the complete opposite: she didn't want you to be careful, she wanted it all in from the beginning. You had no problem pleasing her. You grabbed her waist and, staring into her eyes, sank into her tight pussy with one hard thrust that made her scream.
"Ahhhh! Fuck!"
Sana finally turned her head and came face to face with Jihyo's plump, wet pussy, which she was waiting to be eaten. She immersed her face in it, holding her thighs while you moved with slow, hard thrusts that made Sana bounce back and forth. You made eye contact with Jihyo, noticing her face drunk with pleasure thanks to Sana's mouth, which apparently worked wonders.
"Come on baby, fuck her hard, make that pussy yours once and for all! Mmmgh!"
She grabbed onto Sana's hair and let her head fall back for a few seconds, letting out moans only the way she knew how: loudly and shamelessly. You gladly complied with her request, tightening your grip on Sana's waist and picking up the pace until you were fucking her hard but not becoming frantic.
The view you had was worth framing: one side of Sana's beautiful silky hair fell down her perfectly arched back, which made her ass look like something out of a dream. Your cock went completely in and out between that pair of juicy buttocks, making them jiggle from the collision of your pelvis against them. Up ahead was Jihyo's reddened face; eyes fixed on the work Sana was doing on her pussy and her mouth half open as moans reverberated through the room.
You squeezed Sana's left buttock and let out a loud grunt of pleasure. Sana's pussy felt deadly addictive; it was extremely tight, with a hypnotizing grip and a silkiness that drove you crazy every time you reached the bottom with your thrusts. You crossed a new threshold of pace, now fucking her fast and hard, making her scream in pleasure against Jihyo's pussy.
"That's it baby!! She's doing fucking wonders in my pussy so don't you dare stop destroying her!!"
Jihyo's face twisted in pleasure. She couldn't help but lift her thighs and trap Sana's head between them. The red flower was ruined almost immediately—you thought it was about time, because it had lasted long enough. Then she grabbed onto her hair with both hands, pulling it hard to push her further against her slit.
Sana rested her hands on the mattress and slightly raised her upper body for a few seconds, only to let it fall back down. You took it as a sign, as her moans intensified to the point that she had to leave Jihyo's pussy for a few seconds to release them.
The three of you were close to your ecstasy, but the first to explode was Jihyo. She lifted her hips and let out a loud cry, then slammed them back down onto the mattress and sank onto the pillow behind her, holding onto it with both hands behind her head. Sana ate her with pleasure through her orgasm, but as soon as it passed she was free to separate her mouth from there and be able to moan to her heart's content.
"Please don't stop!! Just like that, yeah yeah yeah!!"
She looked over her shoulder at you again. You were met with a pair of teary eyes and a face as red as Jihyo's a few seconds ago. She wasn't going to last another minute, as you found out when after a few more pumps Sana lifted her lower body and muffled a high-pitched squeal against her pursed lips. Tears spilled from her eyes as she fell back down and the side of her face was crushed against the mattress.
Her pussy was choking your cock from all directions, if it was already tight before, now you felt like you were being trapped by a boa constrictor. That seemingly insignificant thing was what brought you to your orgasm. You pulled out your cock quickly, and rubbed it over her ass before a new batch of cum shot out. Sana raised her head weakly, watching both of her buttocks be covered in your thick liquid. Jihyo raised her head to look too, she bit her lip and winked at you.
"Fuck, come kiss me. You guys are so fucking hot."
Sana and you obeyed. You helped her up so that her arms wouldn't fail and she would fall on her face, then you both lay down on either side of Jihyo and brought your faces together to share a sensual triple kiss. In the middle of the hot act, the three of you groped each other, but the main objective of you and Jihyo was to enjoy Sana's body as much as you could. Once your tongues had swirled and you had shared saliva between the three of you, Jihyo pushed you away.
"Fuck her again, baby. But this time I want you to fill her pussy," she looked at Sana, "What do you say, cutie?"
Sana looked at you, and crawled like a predatory lioness towards you over Jihyo's body.
"I want him to do whatever he wants with me… I want him to make me his."
You didn't know how to act in a situation like that since it wasn't usual for you to be so dominant over someone, so you just acted on pure instinct. You grabbed her by the neck and moved closer to give her lips a slow lick from bottom to top, then kissed her for a few short seconds and murmured into her lips.
"Put yourself however you want me to fill that pussy then..."
Sana moaned and bit your lip, visibly turned on by the fact that she was bossed around.
"Mmm... whatever you want."
She moved away from Jihyo, who was staring at you like a monitor, and went to lie on her side on the right end of the bed. She pulled her legs up so that her knees were close to her torso, and she turned her upper body up so you could see her tits. You thought it would be best to lay down behind her to spoon her, but Jihyo quickly took that spot to fill her neck and back with kisses. You had no choice but to do it on your knees.
You positioned yourself in front of Sana's ass and rubbed your cock against her butt cheek a few times; she spit on her hand, and brought it to your shaft to rub it and fill it with saliva. Lubricated again, you slipped back into Minatozaki Sana's heavenly pussy, which greeted you with overwhelming warmth and softness.
You no longer needed foreplay, now you could fuck her as hard and fast as you wanted from the very beginning. However, you didn't do it, first you dedicated yourself to fucking her slowly, only to delight in the changes in her face every time your tip touched her cervix; then you went harder, but not fast, just to watch her tits bounce hypnotically. Finally you started with a combination of the two, and picked up the pace at which she was waiting to be fucked.
"Do you like how that cock fills you up, princess?" Jihyo said against Sana's cheek, "If only you could see your little slut face..."
"Oh god! It feels amazing... that cock is fucking perfect, I want it to be mine! Mghh!"
Sana turned her face to kiss Jihyo, meanwhile you clung with your right hand to Sana's buttock, squeezing it up to watch as your cock hammered into her tight pussy. Jihyo wrapped her arms around Sana's body, groping her all over and putting special emphasis on her bouncing tits. You spanked Sana hard, now holding onto her hips with both hands.
Jihyo separated from Sana and let go of her body; she now settled back on the bed, getting on her hands and knees with her face right next to Sana's ass while you fucked her. You watched what she did for a few seconds, which was basically watching your cock go in and out of her while she bit her lip. You and Sana moaned in unison, and Jihyo took an active role again, this time with you.
She grabbed your balls and grabbed them in a squeeze to look you up. You winced a little, but then enjoyed it.
"Drain those damn balls into that pussy… make her yours baby."
"Oh fuck!" you growled.
You grabbed one of Sana's thighs and pressed it back. Now with the sight of how your cock hammered into Sana's pussy and how Jihyo had your balls squeezed, your orgasm came to you in a mere matter of seconds. You growled like a primal beast, squeezing Sana's thigh so hard with your hand that you were sure a small bruise would appear there later. You shot drop after drop into her, then Sana's mouth opened, her eyes rolled back, and she came too.
You both melted in a hurricane of pleasure, Sana letting herself be carried away by her intense spasms, shaking her in unpredictable ways while Jihyo, smiling and satisfied, held her with one hand; and you with a drop of sweat falling down your temple as you came inside one of possibly the most beautiful women in the world.
Soon your orgasms passed and you came out of Sana, falling on the opposite side of where Jihyo was. You came face to face with the Japanese girl, who quickly cupped your face with her hands to kiss you between pleasurable moans. You wrapped her in your arms, soaking in her warmth as you tasted her lips again.
Jihyo took the moment to spread Sana's butt cheeks and collect every drop of your cum that leaked through her folds. When she was clean, she lay back down behind Sana and hugged you both. A few long minutes passed in which only the three of you rested huddled together, until Sana turned up to speak to both of you.
"You better get some new clothes, cuties, we have a long crazy night ahead of us..."
-------------------------------------
Spren Notes:
Alright, this piece was originally intended to be quite a bit shorter, like 10k words or so, but I got carried away and u know 👹.
#twice smut#sana smut#jihyo smut#kpop smut#smut fanfic#x male reader smut#x male smut#male reader smut#male reader insert
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✧˖ ?!— BATHROOM OF POSSIBILITIES ˚ 𖦹‧ . - (NSFW.)
— ‧₊˚ — 🥝‧₊ : "is it true that you're a whore ??"
summary. who would've thought that you'd end up fucking your besties socially awkward friend in a bar bathroom??? (only to get caught by your bestie..) anything is possible !
notes. omg i'm so sorry i SUCK at writing threesomes, i won't even try!! i still hope asker is satisfied, much lovee!! ₊˚⊹♡
warnings/includes. (MDNI!!) (002 / getting caught), jk is socially awkward around new ppl (we r lowkey twinning here), cocksucker & whore mentioned, unprotected sex :( (they r reckless and a lil stupid), bathroom sex
the guy yoongi dragged into the conversation was hot- like really hot.
usually when yoongi introduces you to his other friends, they're either high, drunk or filthy rich that just seemed to be the typa guys yoongi attracted- nonetheless maybe this guy was all of the above.
though weirdly enough his eyes didn't quite settle like ever, he couldn't look you in the eyes even just once as yoongi punches his arm lightly for him to talk.
"hey," he greeted, and the sound that escaped his lips was unexpectedly awkward, almost stumbling over the single syllable.
yoongi chuckled, sensing the surprise on your face. "Don't let the intimidating exterior fool you," he teased, clapping Jungkook on the back. "jungkook here is a little socially awkward. it's kind of adorable, actually, you're gonna love him tho"
"why are you talking about me like i'm not right by your side," jungkook mumbeled quietly in response, his gaze looking to his feet as yoongi smiled at him like he was some forgein never-been-seen before animal species, ignoring his response, "he's exactly like the guys you usually fuck"
"now that just sounds like i blow all your friends off, that's just wrong, yoon-" you snickered, shaking your head, sipping the rest of his drink down in a swift motion as yoongi rolled his eyes, "can you stop drinking my shit? man, i can give your broke ass a few pennies for a drink" he pinched your cheek like he was talking to a child, "let me do chariety work"
"sounds just like something an old man like you'd do," you leaned against the bar casually, "y'know do some chariety and then take your little nap"
yoongi rolled his once again, quite poorly hiding the grin that snuck it's way onto his face, turning full way to jungkook like he forgot of your existence, "see? she's a brat, a menace, a whore- anything under the sun-" he paused like he was thinking of something, "i need a drink"
till turning again, pointing a finger at you, "cause you drank it all up, you'll pay for it sooner or later" slowly walking off not even waiting for an answer as you yelled, "shouldn't have insinuated that i'm a brainless cock sucker"
after he was out of sight, you turned your attention to jungkook who's eyes had been observing every detail of the past conversation, you shook your head in pretend-frustration, emphasizing: "sorry you had to witness that, when it gets over the time of 12pm and he's desperately over his bed time, he just gets so..." you sighed like you were in extreme concern, "cocky"
it was the first time your eyes linked, a small but growing smile on his face, "you're funny, i like you"
"well then it doesn't take much to impress you," you smiled back, thinking for a few seconds. no, you wanted to know more about the dude- at least one of you has to try. "but for real why are you out of all people friends with yoongi?"
he tilted his head up slightly like he was in fact trying to look into his brain to see an answer, "i think he's fun.. at times and i'm pretty sure he's a sweetie at heart"
you nod along, yoongi can be truly insufferable but if he did care when needed and maybe that was just enough- you shook your head trying to not overthink it all of a sudden, switching the topic, "truth or dare"
he raised his eyebrows for a split second, surprised by the abrupt topic switch, "truth"
"weirdest place you've ever had sex?"
he let out a little breathy chuckle, the sound of jungkooks laughter generally pretty, "an ikea bedroom," he played with his lip piercing like he was contemplaiting wheather he should say the next thing, "just a bit of fingering nothing to extreme nonetheless truth or dare?"
"truth"
"you're no fun," he pouted jokingly till adding, "is it true that you're a whore?"
this was not the position you imagined yourself at the end of the night- no, scratch that, this was not the man you imagined to be with in this position, pressed against the mirror of a dirty bathroom, ass hurting from the bath sink you were seated on, jungkook out of all balls deep into you.
his mouth was pressed against your neck, whispering horny sweet nothings against the bare skin, how much of a cock sucker you actually were, how easy it was for him to get you here, how stupid and solely cock-focused you were.
it was like all his awkwardness wore off the longer he lingered next to you as he pounded into you like he had fucked you tens of times before.
you didn't care if you were completely reckless right now or if the door was open and anyone could fucking walk in at any given moment or where yoongi was - after all maybe jungkook was right: all you could think of right now was his dick deep inside you.
"do you go around and fuck around with all of his friends behind his back or is it just me? mmh, c'mon answer" your tongue felt tied, it was like you had water in your ear, his words not quite audible as you shook your head, not getting it, "made for taking dick, exactly like i thought"
he spread your legs a bit wider, cock scretching your pussy just the right way as you creeked out something about 'needing to cum'
his fingers entertwined in your hair, pulling it just lightly, biting his lips trying to conceal a whimper at the feeling of your pussy tightning round him, "i'll give it to you, wanna have you cum all over my dick"
a high pitched scream aired through the room, so loud like somebody had witnessed a murder - simultaneously it felt like your little bubble of pure utter hornieness had popped, looking to your right to look at a deeply digusted min yoongi, who's hands were already covering his eyes like a defence mechanism.
"it's not what it looks like!"
you both yelled, jungkook pulling out instantly covering you with his shirt that had been thrown onto the ground like fifteen minutes ago, "what do you mean? your dick was in-" he shook his head dramatically and in a repeated fashion while you threw your clothes on as fast as you possibly could, "i don't think we can be friends anymore.. that image uhh-" he did another disgusted expression, covering his mouth like he was still in after-shook.
it took about ten minutes to calm yoongi down (and a whole lot of promises and gaslight about how he was probably to drunk for his own good) till you both sat him down into a taxi taht was going to safely drive him home.
you stood there outside the bar in the cold air of the night silently for a little while before you both started laughing, what started as a tiny chuckle turned into cackling like maniacs.
eventually you got your shit together, mumbling "well that was awkward" he grinned in response, "right before cumming too- how cruel"
jungkook played with his piercing once again, gaze zoning out shortly till returning to yours, "how about i take you home and you get to finish off just like you deserve?"
#kpop smut#bts ff#bts fanfic#bts fic#bts imagines#bts x you#bts x reader#jungkook x reader#jungkook#jungkook fanfic#yoongi fic#min yoongi x reader#yoongi fanfic#jungkook x y/n#jungkook x you#jungkook fic#✉️ frmisnow! 1k follower event
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