#if i ever make another part this long you are entitled to come to my house and slap me

[linipik]

[PART 7]

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💌~

[capslocked]

PASCAL

male reader x karina & irene

part 1 of two roses, by every other name

28k words

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

Irene’s is remarkably not.

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so it goes.

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

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

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

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

“So I guess, pace yourself or something.”

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey," is how you answer, always.

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

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

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

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

And so it goes, and so it goes.

-

"Have a drink," someone keeps saying.

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

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

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

Happy New Year, sorta. You wait it out.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if you had any intention of absconding without her.

-

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

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

A real celebrity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And wouldn’t you know."

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

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

"Hm, I’m thinking."

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

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

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

Irene will finally perk up, gleaming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tough to say.

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

And - she would, really.

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

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

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

It’ll make the cab driver clear his throat.

"What you’re saying is ‘no.’"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Um, do you mean Rosé?”

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

-

Enter then, Yu Jimin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not for long, the question lingers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is sorta how you've always known her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You're one to talk, Irene."

“Careful,” Irene warns.

"What, you gonna set me straight?"

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You remember the knit of her brow.

“Do not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ha."

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

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

Karina just runs her tongue across her lips, sighing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just to keep her gasping, panting.

Like a woman starved for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-and vanish somewhere in Irene's mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

You both do. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm… fucking cumming.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She breathes, "god. Irene."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like Karina wants you to look.

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

She laughs at the premise. 

“I dunno, what's a girl to do?"

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

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

-

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

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

Irene laments and hopes in the same breath. 

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

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

"Honey," is how Irene responds, leisurely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She ends it so charming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the girl absolutely fucking keens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fucking, please, god-."

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

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

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

One.

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

Two.

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

Three.

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

Four.

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

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

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

"God, I can’t, just- ah.”

“Breathe,” Irene says.

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

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

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

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

And she wants you to-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You absolutely get it. 

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

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

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

Who stands any chance to resist?

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

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

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

"You can cum for me too, baby."

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

“Just cum.”

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The three of you know she deserves nothing less.

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

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

The thing is, with Irene: facades fade fast.

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

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

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

She simply shudders apart.

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

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

“Irene, look-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Irene lets out this wanton sound, desperate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It steps out into pure necessity.

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

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

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

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

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

In and in and in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And in case you missed the point:

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

-

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

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

So,

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

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

A bit of color.

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

She finishes with a cough. And says again:

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

Well. She's got you on that count.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because I'm not the type.”

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re not married,” you correct.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s probably right.

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

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

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

-

On Monday: the holidays are officially over.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She doesn’t really care.

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

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

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

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

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

She’s totally caught you staring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stop fucking her, halfway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking god, Irene-”

“Mhmm?” she fucking coos.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sight alone.

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

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

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

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

You’ll make your vows like any other.

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

"I think you might be projecting."

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

"An affair," you repeat, skeptical.

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

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

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

"That's the fantasy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right in her warm, wet little mouth.

Jesus, her tongue too-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her pout, right there, waiting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

// Karina 10:42 pm > suggestions?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

// Karina 11:07 pm > really

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

// 11:11 pm > you're funny

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

"Something edgy," you deadpan.

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

"No," you say. “God, no.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

// Karina 11:17 pm > and… do what?

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

“Can you fucking leave it-”

Irene rolls her eyes.

// 11:18 pm > do you need ideas

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

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

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

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

"How, what - babe."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mm."

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

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

"You'll be good right?"

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

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

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

"And give her an extra hello from me."

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Though, unfortunately, the suggestion falls short on delivery.

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

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

"Shut the door behind you?"

"Locking it too," you tell her.

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

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

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

She must see the confliction you're in-

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

"I- don't really-"

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

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

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

-

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

This isn't quite how you pictured-

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

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

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

"Yeah. That would work."

Like it's no big deal-

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

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

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

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

(You know, god help you.)

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

Always traveling for this reason or that.

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

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

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

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

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

The long and short of it is: 

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

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

“Yeah, I’m sure she’d love that.”

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

-

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

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

Irene has that all-triumphant and dopey grin that makes your heart ache for her. There's a soft curl of her hair loose, thrown across a shoulder. "I’m serious, pull her hair right, hold her wrists until her back has to be arched. Pin her to the bed," she continues to illustrate, "it's all in the finer points of how much. Tell her to count, even. I'm not joking-"

She takes another spoonful of yogurt between her lips.

"-she'll let you do anything, promise."

“That’s fucked up.”

“I know.” Irene wags the spoon at you. “It’s great.”

-

It's not only the hypothetical-homewrecking that gets Karina so torridly wet for the whole affair; when she's pinned beneath you with her legs spread and her toes pointed skyward, or perhaps later - the same day even - riding Irene's face in a locked dressing room and crying out - "ah, hah, jesus, please-"

In her head, she has you both at her beck and call. Forget semantics - Karina is a fool to her own illusion. Because in her head, not only has she managed to go toe to toe with the industry's reigning monarch, she’s managed to win.

-

You don’t exactly know how Karina ever intends to keep it casual. Because things are damn near constant:

It’s a weeknight, and the moon is high above the windows, casting a crisp rectangle onto the hardwood; it doesn’t actually matter, as far as Karina is concerned.

Irene’s on television again, the sequin in her dress clinging tight, and she’s found the gaze that never breaks for the cameras. Found the flash of her most practiced smile - that little chime of laughter she has that sounds like striking pure gold.

Then Karina: sitting cross-legged at the very end of the sofa. One leg thrown over your thigh, she’s got these nylons on her feet and she’s poking a toe into your ribs. "Isn't she stunning," you hear her muttering, "honestly. Doesn't it, like, turn you the fuck on?"

Her foot grazes your lap, all casual at first; the impossibly soft-curved heel of her sole. There are so many ways she'd prefer to pass the time and they almost all involve getting under your skin, if not just outright getting into your pants.

“Elaborate.”

"I mean listen, in your case, just knowing your fiancée is up there looking like a total angel and at the same time, thinking about you; how she’s got to be considering every which way she’ll unwind just after the showcase - at least, that’s what I’d be doing." She licks her lips, teeth. "Hell, I’m only imagining how pretty her eyes are when she can barely keep them open, and that’s enough to ruin my panties."

"Are you really."

She shifts her weight. Puts that ankle to good use. Rubbing it into the crease between your legs. "Tell me," her lips curl. She’s looking at you dead-on. "How does she usually prefer it, hm?”

Like a wildcat, you suppose, your Irene - a pretty, little predator. You could tell Karina everything, but you don’t. Instead you let her wander into the lair of her own making. Her eyes: light and curious; it’s written in the lines of her face how she's picturing it all so plainly.

“I’d guess she lets you go slow. Or hard. Or maybe a little rough and then you make her cum, and then maybe, just maybe, after the teasing; after the edging, I guess, that's when she comes in hot. I would hope."

Karina twists her foot around, swings her weight onto your lap, and sucks in a sharp breath when you reach out and grip the lean lines of her hips. It’s as easy to hold her still as it'd be to drag her across the couch and under the rest of your body, fuck the goddamn tension until there was no longer any room left for the pretty smirk in her lips. And her gasp would probably sound a hell of a lot better - than all the needling quips - a much louder and much less-pretend whine when you could throw those thighs open and really pound her wet, aching little cunt-

“Easy,” she chides when you end up taking two handfuls of her chest. "Shouldn’t you be more supportive? For god’s sake, it’s your fiancée’s moment in the spotlight, you know-"

There’s nothing stopping you from popping off the buttons of her dress, one by one by one - and kiss right there, into the swell. Your voice feels all the rougher when you respond, "and what a moment."

Her fingertips skim over the places she's been kissing you, where she's been marking and claiming and trying to, at least, to stamp you like her personal property - when the look is that serious. All cold-burn. Right through to the bone.

“So.”

You can feel her touching into your pants. The heat in her soft, silky thighs; she sits above you, keeping a leg on each side. A part of you feels trapped; another is confused why you aren't turning the tables right now - flip her and ride out her cunt on the couch. Some passing thought, or just a fraction, the only one that matters in that particular instant, wonders what Irene would do, will do - has done - in your situation. How her hips would roll. How Karina’s moan might sound when she dug a nail right into a sweet spot.

You push Karina's skirt a little farther up her body and try to gauge the moment she's finally decided she doesn't mind.

“How about you keep your eyes on her, and I'll suck your cock while you do," ends up being the short and not-so-sweet of it all. “-or maybe you can get off between my tits.”

She wraps those fingers around your base and pulls gently. It's not a decision, but merely a continuation, a culmination: a gesture made entirely to pull the response: the hitch to the throat. Her nails skim that ridgeline as her eyes track across the cut of your features. It makes you groan into her next kiss, to say, "if you wanted it so bad, babe, you could’ve just said. Would save us a lot time-"

"Are you complaining?" she husks, pulling your pants down your thighs. Your cock is in her hands and she smiles like a cat - licks her teeth when it twitches at just the slightest touch. "Yeah, I didn't think so," is how the breathless laugh leaves her lips.

You catch the quirk of her brows, her tone: straight-up, like nothing. You’re almost buying into that until she's got your shirt on the floor, those lips of hers in the divot of your collarbone, and her tits wrapped around the base of your cock, and, well, fuck-

She actually wastes no time - none at all. A couple feet away, Irene covers her laugh with one hand. There's a brass award in her other. And the television casts this soft, pale glow.

Karina tips her head, and a curtain of her dark, silken hair spills across the ridge of her breast. She runs those big eyes over you, all wide and round and vaguely-deviant. There's the perfect amount of motion, of squeeze, just a light-bit of pressure, and she's got a face smug-arrogant in an instant, knowing. Fuck, her hands on either side start pushing into the line of her cleavage as she bounces and rocks and draws every inch of your cock up through her soft tits and back down again.

"Fuck," is the harshest exhale she's ever dragged out from you.

She hums a low sound, all self-satisfied when it's her own namesake: your body wants her, like you know the full weight of her needs, your touch, how badly she's fucking craving to get off and still not admitting to anyone it might be more than sex. Like it's really as easy as her next breath, the flutter of her lashes: Karina wants your eyes, the weight of your attention and she's not going to beg for a fucking thing. The feeling, you think, is mutual.

"Irene," she says, her smile as open as it could ever get. "She's just so gorgeous, right?"

On one hand, she’s speaking between the lines. A perfect tincture of deceit - the bawdiness-by-nature: watch me, look at me - is what she might as well say - look what I can fucking do, the whole lewd display. And, god, how she knows every way to make a guy want it, like she wants you to remember it.

Because on the other, the movement is so, so direct. 

Karina twists herself in an upward tilt, just an easy, practiced thing; she lets her tits spill around your cock and through her fingers, full and soft - and her lips part, mouth slacking alongside yours, matching the sounds out your chest with her own. Like she knows exactly which slide of slippery friction will make you moan, or which pull and drag will send your teeth straight into your lip.

"Isn't it crazy," she lolls her head a little, letting her own saliva drip down the center, onto your weeping slit. "How much I want your cum filling my cunt, even knowing she's the one you'd rather put the ring on," the drag and drag and drag - her tits are fucking incredible, and she knows it. She pushes up with her fingers and gives you a long draw right through the press, right where the nerve endings run electric, right where she keeps moving, up and down, and up and down- 

“-it must be hard, I mean, jesus christ. Here I am, needy and hot. Begging you to wreck me and my only sin, hm - the sin of being second best, right-"

"Holy fuck, you're-"

"Obsessed," she says, and drops her tits against your waist again. "I know, I know. How could I not be?"

You're left muttering into the titfuck alone, watching her rub your precum up between their soft shape, feeling the slight give, how her skin goes warm. The act itself: such a simple-thing-bordering-on-the-absurd that you notice how you coil and flex beneath her curves, how she feels so soft and warm. The slight pucker of her lips every time your cock escapes her cleavage does little to help. It's probably the fault of the brain-fuck but the wet of her mouth is practically everywhere you look. You could eat her alive right here, spread her legs on the coffee table and finish with a bit of screaming, groaning and tearing, and no one would ever stop you.

But instead,

"-it's a good color on her, really; but then every color is a good color on her, isn't it so unfair?" She's taking your cock into her tits, deeper on every rock forward and back, holding them close - a gentle lock of those long manicured fingers keeping it all together. "Even wearing no color at all; you must just love how all the freckles are so easy to see," she murmurs, squeezing tight. The sound is wet, messy. A filthy chorus between her dirty words and the dirtier action, and just that glimpse of friction when she strokes down again is maddening. You're all slippery. So sticky-slick, so tight.

Of course there's not a fucking inch of a reaction out of her; you want to get off so bad-

"You could close your eyes," she tells you. "She would still be there. The sound of her laughter. The image. In that dress or not," and her mouth furls into a half-smile before she pauses. Reaches down, pulls her tits around you impossibly tight. "Just so damn pretty-"

You cum just like that: 

"Babe," is what you let her have. The soft, undercurrent hiss. "Fuck."

You shoot clean up, all thick, hot splatter.

Well, mostly up - along the expanse of her neck and throat, coating where her breasts sit so pretty against the lines of your thighs. Across her sternum and the hollow of her neck - her body's covered in your shared mess: slick-filthy-hot, all strewn across her perfect tits.

"Jesus, Karina, baby you’re-"

"Completely covered in you." She's still smiling. That deep-cut and perfectly symmetrical curl of her lips. The gorgeous fucking shade, and her chin, how her cheeks flush, just a little - they've always turned pink in the most specific places when she gets fucking cum-soaked. “I know, just look.”

And her hands slide across her chest, trailing a path through the thick of your release, spreading the glaze all down her front. Making it messy, making the exact look a guy sees once and is driven to the ends of his sanity - just to spill his load out onto her. To get her all used, and trussed up: just how she likes.

(Sanity is being generous, considering.)

You can't do anything other than what's expected: take her up in a kiss, breathe into the mess you've made on her skin. The gasp is full, surprised - just enough, maybe, to count as genuine.

Such a mess - she murmurs - um, come on then, you can do a girl a favor. Bath bomb, bath towel, bath robe - and really it doesn't have to be a suggestion.

You’ll pin her down and fuck her right over the lip of the tub if that’s what she really wants. Just being in her company is indulgent and excessive and begging you to make a terrible habit of it. Have some self–restraint, she has this tone in her voice sounding more and more like a dare. There's just enough there in her hands: one reaching for you and the other reaching into the porcelain, swirling up the lather - and that look on her face, as if to say, can't believe you have me waiting, like some desperate, depraved pervert - only it’s more explicit than that. Only it feels worse - and her mouth is moving again, speaking into the air that already feels stifling hot, words cutting through the steam: you're not very nice, I mean really, it should come as no surprise how she turns out, having this jerk for a fucking boyfriend- 

Nevermind. Not a dare, it's a challenge. She was right the first day you undressed her, the brattiest girls always have the worst kinds of fantasies, the darkest little tendrils of self-destruction. How she's laying there, asking and telling, pushing and pulling; and how she thinks she's so clever too.

Though that is no reason, she laughs, for you to think she won't love having her pretty cunt cockwarmed and spoiled for an evening or more. - And so it goes, and so it goes, and so it goes, and so it goes.

-

(Really, to Irene’s credit, she had Karina pegged right from the jump. A character study in, well, herself.

She's seen as an ingénue by the press, and an outright savant to the executives. They know her as the obvious successor. They give her the runway, they watch the leggy-girl-turn, the model-posture, chin held high and aloof, looking down at the gathered throngs of photographers.

The protégé, the goddamn heir-apparent:  

But her favorite game - that bit of innocence served on a platter, ingenuous when it comes to spinning a flaw to gold, and the deception too - Karina loves and loathes every second she spends upstage from Irene's own, hectic, international production. Because if anyone asks her, that girl would claim it's never been a competition in the first place. 

So you see, if you and yours have both decided to ruin her-

It is a disaster-in-the-making, isn’t it.)

[ja3yun]

Royal Sacrifice | S.JY | pt.2

prince!jake x maid!fem reader warnings: tiny bit of fluff, angst, smut (mdni), unprotected sex, cream pie, fingering, nipple play, whiney jake, my attempt to write posh-ish (again), longing, not proofread, anything else lmk! wc: 12.5k synopsis: with prince jaeyun set to marry another woman, revelations of the true plans behind the marriage come to light which leave you struck with conflicting emotions and lead to an outcome you could never have anticipated. part one a/n: hi! it is me once again. this was heavily requested to have a part 2 so i am being ever so kind and giving it to you all! i held a poll to see if you guys wanted a long chapter or shorter and long won so ofc its 12k (sigh) anyway, please enjoy it! this was really fun to write even though it's not my usual style, i hope this ending serves you better than part one did hehe.

3 months. It has been 3 months since you last saw the prince, the love of your life. Ever since the king made his speech declaring the marriage of Prince Jaeyun and Princess Mia, your heart has not stopped shedding pieces of itself. With each part that breaks away, you hope they reach him somehow.

Currently, he is in Lethamhill, fulfilling a tour of the Kingdom that will best help him serve the country once the merger is to happen. You haven’t ventured past the walls of Glengyre, so as you imagine him exploring and getting to know the people, being his charming self, you can only imagine the backdrop to be similar to your home, hopefully with a little more prosperity. 

It has been hard to focus on your duties while your brain is occupied with a forbidden love, a love that can never be. Of course, you told him to do this, practically pushing him into the new role of a husband to a woman who is not you, yet, you don’t find any comfort in knowing you both did the right thing. 

He was willing to fight in the front line, to disregard any idea of marrying another, all for the sake of you and your love. It is a love that comes once in a lifetime and it is a love that has the power to destroy worlds. You could not sit back and in your right mind watch the Prince throw away his people for you, it’s unethical and illogical, thus, you had no choice but to push him away.

But you still loved him all the same, that fire of affection will always burn for him.

Despite your longing, his absence has made it somewhat easier to grasp the idea that you can no longer hold him or feel his warmth through your veins. Being in the same room as him will only hurt you more.

He has to come back at some point, and that point is any day now.

Princess Mia must also do her rounds throughout Glengyre if she is to be a Princess of this kingdom as well as her own. You aren’t one to gossip but the chatter around the servant's quarters is that she is spoiled and entitled, everything Jaeyun despises. There might not be any truth to it, senseless rumours about her attitude could easily be spread in response to some jealous people looking for an excuse to hate her all because Jaeyun is off limits now. 

It didn’t matter, true or not, they were to be wed in a matter of months regardless of personal feelings. 

As you dust off the ornaments lined up neatly on the mantlepiece in the hallway, you hear the main entrance doors open, a commotion following. You peer around the corner to catch a glimpse, curious as to who graces the castle at this early hour. 

Then you see Princess Mia with her arm hooked onto Jaeyun, smiling up at him with doe eyes.

That was another truth you did not want to face once he returned; that he could, in fact, have fallen in love with her.

“My boy! How was your trip?” The king’s ambitious voice echoes through the entire castle.

Jaeyun smiles gracefully, bowing as he approaches his father, “It went well, Your Majesty,” he says at a far lesser decibel than his father.

Princess Mia looks at Jaeyun like he is the only man in the world which only serves to make your stomach twist. It is so obvious this would happen, Jaeyun is so easy to fall in love with, anyone would be foolish to spend more than a few hours with him and fail to be enamoured by him. 

You almost knock over the clock you are pretending to dust as your eyes stay glued to the scene before you. Your brain is trying to determine Jaeyun’s feelings towards his fiance, are the feelings of adoration mutual or does he still see this as a contractual marriage? 

Does he still love you?

"Y/N, back to work, please. We do not eavesdrop on the Royals," Miss Son chides in a hushed tone, jolting you back to attention.

You bow apologetically, hastening your dusting with a newfound fervour, cheeks burning with embarrassment under Miss Son's pointed gaze. She says no more, retreating to attend to her own duties and leaving you to yours.

As you resume your task, the distant murmur of voices from the royals serves as a constant reminder of his presence despite the fact he is no longer in your line of sight. Jaeyun’s voice threads through the air like a siren’s song, beckoning you to his side once more.

But you cannot answer.

_____

As you diligently scrub the remnants of the Royal's lunch from the plates, the imposing figure of the Chamberlain disrupts the tranquillity of the kitchen, her presence commanding attention as she raps sharply on the wooden table.

“Y/N?” she asks quizzically as she does not know who the name would belong to. 

It’s tiny situations like this that make you miss Jaeyun even more. The Crown Prince's effortless familiarity with over a hundred staff members stands in stark contrast, a testament to his respect and appreciation for every individual, regardless of their status.

Turning to face the Chamberlain, you offer a respectful bow, "Yes, Ma'am?"

"Ah, excellent. Please cease your current tasks and accompany me. Your presence has been requested," she instructs, her tone brooking no argument.

Your heart skips a beat, thoughts racing as you wonder what could possibly warrant such a summons. Swallowing your apprehension, you quickly set aside the plates and follow the Chamberlain, your footsteps echoing faintly in the corridor as you trail behind her.

The corridors of the castle seem to stretch endlessly, each step accompanied by a mounting sense of anticipation. You steal a glance at the Chamberlain's stoic profile, but her expression reveals nothing, leaving you to speculate about why you have been called.

Maybe the King and Queen finally discovered your clandestine relationship with the Prince, perhaps this is the moment all of your past rendezvous catch up to you. What would this mean? Would they behead you, exile you from the very kingdom you call home, or was it something much more sinister?

Finally, you arrive at a grand door, adorned with intricate carvings and gilded accents. The Chamberlain pauses, turning to regard you with a stern gaze, "Remember your place," she warns, before pushing open the door and ushering you inside.

As you walk into the large dining hall, you see an abundance of eyes on you. The entire Royal family, along with their trusted valets have their attention on you.

You scour the table for Jaeyun, whose eyes glisten with longing and disbelief. He cannot believe you are standing in front of him once again, albeit in different circumstances than he would like. 

To him, you look as pretty as the day he was escorted away to Lethamhill, but he can sense that you haven’t been well; your tired eyes and slumped body are a testament. He could only wish to ease the pain from your body just as his soft hands used to do.

“Miss Y/N, is it?” the Queen inquires, eyeing you up and down.

With a nod, you avoid direct eye contact, “Yes, Your Majesty. Y/N L/N,” your hands tremble slightly as you speak, seeking stability by clutching your skirt, attempting to rid the clamminess that has settled upon them.

The King rises from his seat, intrigued by your surname and background, “L/N… Is that the same L/N who oversees the mill near the Dochart River?” he probes.

Regrettably, you must correct him, “No, Your Majesty. My father toils in the mines, and my mother gathers berries,” a tinge of shame colours your words as you recount your family's humble occupations.

Both your parents worked tirelessly to provide for your family, yet their efforts often fell short. When they left you with your siblings, it wasn't out of neglect but out of necessity, seeking better opportunities in other regions where wealth flowed more readily - a circumstance not dissimilar to yours right now.

The room falls into a weighted silence, the King's brows knit together in thought. “Ah, I see,” he murmurs, clearly disinterested in you now.

You brace yourself for judgment, but to your surprise, Princess Mia speaks up, a soft smile on her face,  “Hardworking stock, it is admirable,” she remarks with no hint of sarcasm, her tone warm.

A glimmer of pride graces your features at her acknowledgement, a brief respite from the anxiety flickering around your insides. You still don’t know why you are here, so you cannot let your guard down so easily.

"Miss L/N, may I introduce Princess Mia of Lethamhill. I trust you are familiar with her impending union with the Prince?" the Queen's gaze steers you towards the Princess, who maintains a gracious smile.

"Yes, Your Majesty. It is indeed an honour to be in your presence," you reply with a respectful curtsy, offering a warm smile in return.

She makes her way to you, holding out her hands to offer to you. Your eyes scan the table to see the look of shock on everyone’s faces, taken aback by her forwardness to a mere peasant, “It is my honour to meet you, Y/N,” her face exudes a kindness you see similarly in Jaeyun.

It breaks your heart.

They are clearly well suited, their characters and status mould together in ways you and Jaeyun could never.

“Y/N, you will serve as Princess Mia’s lady-in-waiting during her stay in Glengyre,” the Queen's announcement leaves you speechless, a wave of disbelief washing over you.

Typically, when Royals of other kingdoms venture to another, it is customary that they bring their own staff, particularly their maid of honour. 

Princess Mia's unexpected warmth catches you off guard as she expresses her hope for a harmonious relationship, “Pince Jaeyun spoke highly of you, Y/N. I look forward to our time together," she says, grasping your hands with genuine affection.

Confusion and resentment swirl within you. Was this Jaeyun's way of taunting you? To rub it in that you are no longer his?

Despite your inner thoughta, you maintain your composure and offer a gracious smile in return. "Thank you, Princess Mia. I am at your service," you respond, masking your apprehension with a polite demeanour.

As you glance around the room, you catch Jaeyun's eye for a brief moment, his expression one of mischief, “Thank you, Y/N. You know all the ins and outs of this castle,” he smirks, eluding to your secret nightly meetings in whatever nook and cranny you could find to be with him.

With a mixture of confusion and trepidation, you acknowledge his words with a subtle nod, unsure of what his intentions are at this moment. Despite the lingering doubts and uncertainties, you steel yourself to fulfil your duties to the best of your abilities.

“I appreciate the opportunity, Your Highness,” you say to Jaeyun, hoping he can read your confused features. Luckily after months of only being able to communicate through your expressions, he shakes his head, understanding your worries but dismissing them.

He just wants to keep you close, and if serving his future wife is the only way to do that, then so be it.

_____

The following morning marks the beginning of your role as a lady-in-waiting, a position typically earned after years of loyal service—a fact not lost on the resentful gazes of your fellow servants at the dining table. Even your chamber companions shun you, refusing to share the bunk, a clear display of their disdain. Although Princess Mia kindly offers you a separate bed closer to her quarters, accepting would only stoke the flames of their animosity.

As you walk the hallways adorned in your new uniform, a sense of pride swells within you. The sea blue cotton dress may lack the opulence of the Chamberlain's or any other higher ranking servant’s attire, but its significance is not lost on you. It represents a step up from your previous maid garments, a symbol of newfound status and responsibility.

The guards at the door inspect you and your new look, both smiling widely before stepping out of the way to give you a pathway to the Princess’ door. 

Tipping your head courteously, you knock on the grand oak doors, awaiting approval to enter. However, when it does not come, you open them slightly, examining the room to find your lady. A lump is formed under the covers of the bed, meaning she could only be in one place.

You gently shut the double doors behind you before carefully gliding over to the window to open the curtains.

Back home, your brothers had a tendency to do as the Princess is doing just now - hiding to avoid going about their duties. You expect it from teenage boys, not from the Princess of an entire kingdom.

“Princess Mia, you have an appointment this morning,” you say firmly, hoping she will wake up.

A muffled groan escapes beneath the layers of quilts covering her head, "Please, Y/N, I have a dreadful allergy to the sun," she jokes.

With a gentle tug, you draw back the final curtain, "My apologies, Your Highness, but I am under strict orders from the King to ensure you join them for breakfast," you explain with a warm smile.

She shifts beneath the covers before casting them aside, revealing her upper half with a resigned sigh, "I understand, Y/N. It is not your doing," she concedes, stretching as if aiming for the heavens, "But you should know, I harbour a great distaste for mornings. If I seem irritable, it’s hardly your fault."

You can't help but admire her even in her morning disarray, her features possessing an otherworldly allure. Though the kingdom boasts many beauties, encountering someone of her stature feels like a rare privilege.

Blinking away the remnants of sleep, she finally meets your gaze with a warm smile, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. "Shall we, Y/N?" she says, gracefully swinging her legs off the bed and rising to her feet with a fluid motion that speaks of innate poise.

“Would you like me to assist you with your bath or would you prefer some privacy?” you query, making her bed as she glances out the window.

Princess Mia is like any one of your friends back home, an ease of friendliness passes between you the more you speak. There's a pang of wishful thinking, a part of you hoped she'd embody the snobbishness rumoured about her, offering an easy target for animosity towards her relationship with your former love. But she is far removed from her rumours.

“Neither,” she begins to pull you away from your task of making the bed and pushes you towards the bathroom, “Perhaps I could use the company more than anything.”

Turning the taps to fill her bath, you steal another glance at her as she strips off her nightgown, marvelling at her delicate features: the velvety smoothness of her skin, the graceful curves that seem sculpted by an artist's hand, and the perkiness of her ass, reminiscent of a ripe peach. 

In contrast, your own reflection reveals a different story - dry skin marked by scars from old scabies, a dullness that overshadows any hint of radiance, and a figure that pales in comparison, lacking the perfection of hers.

You would be foolish to think for a second you could compete with her for Jaeyun’s love.

As she steps into the running bath, you prepare the soap, handing it to her which she accepts with a smile. 

“How long have you worked for the Glengyre royal family?” she asks, lathering up the soap and washing it over her body.

"Just under a year, Your Highness," you respond, realising in this moment that you have been here for much longer than desired. Being away from your brothers for this long was never part of the plan, and the ache to see them again gnaws at your heart, the letters exchanged barely enough to quell your longing.

Princess Mia lounges in the bath, leaning her chin on the edge as she speaks with you, “Tell me honestly, from a peasant perspective, are they good people?” 

The question is a hefty one, one that you are not prepared for. It is no secret that you have a distaste for the King and Queen, however, your judgement upon them can only lead to your travesty, so you ponder how to navigate the question while still maintaining some honesty.

“Well, the King and Queen try their best,” you begin, eyes pointed downward, “And the Prince…”

How would one describe Prince Jaeyun? Loyal, honest, kindhearted, fearless, a true King. But how do you say it while hiding your feelings for him? Your brain wants to tell the Princess how Jaeyun kisses with such desire and passion, and his whispers of affection and adoration serve you to believe he is straight from one of Shakespeare's sonnets. He was much more than a noble Crown Prince, he was the love of your life, and you wanted to scream it from the rooftops.

She pokes you gently with a finger, drawing you back from your reverie, "Y/N?"

"Oh, my apologies," you offer a strained smile, hoping she didn’t catch on to your longing gaze, "Prince Jaeyun is undoubtedly a man of great virtue and integrity, worthy to ascend the throne and lead his people," you reply, striving for a diplomatic tone that hides the depth of your affection for him.

"And how will he be as a husband?"

You fluster, your brain now inappropriately recalling his touches and lingering lips while his bride-to-be is a mere foot away, “I couldn’t possibly comment on that, Your Highness,” you deflect, inwardly cursing your traitorous thoughts.

“But from your perception, someone of your lower class has no reason to lie to me regarding your Prince, I would value your honesty,” she insists, playing with the water that envelopes her.

Sighing, you yield, “He will make a fantastic husband. His loyalty to those he loves knows no bounds,” you concede, swallowing the bitter pill of truth as you reluctantly paint a portrait of Jaeyun as a desirable suitor, knowing it may only serve to bring them closer together.

The Princess slips lower into the bathtub, leaving just her head above the water, "He does not love me, though," she acknowledges, her voice heavy with sorrow as if she were voicing the truth for the first time, "He made it clear that his heart belongs elsewhere, that he could never give it to me."

You feel a surge of tension at her words, a glimmer of hope blossoming in your heart at Jaeyun's implied feelings. It's a bittersweet realisation, knowing that he still holds love for you as deeply as you do for him, yet, not one of you can do anything about it.

Standing from the stool beside the bathtub, you pick up a towel and hold it out for the Princess to take, but she does not move, instead, she continues her questioning, “Who does he love, Y/N?”

The sickness that sits in your stomach bubbles to your throat, word vomit willing you on to scream at her that it is you he belongs to, that his heart is yours and yours is his. But you dare not utter such a confession.

“He loves his people, Your Highness, they are who have his heart,” you stand strong, pushing the towel further in her face, using it as a barricade so she cannot witness your wet eyes.

Princess Mia removes herself from the tub, idly lost in her thoughts, “We have that in common,” her tone airy as she remembers her people back home.

She is a good person, her thoughtfulness and kindness showcase this, and you know she will make a fantastic addition to Jaeyun’s faction. With her as his wife, they will do great things for Glengyre.

_____

As the first rays of dawn break through the stained glass windows of the castle, you find yourself standing alongside Princess Mia at the grand breakfast table, the delicate clinking of silverware and murmured conversations filling the air. Your gaze couldn't help but flicker nervously toward the entrance, anticipation mounting with each passing moment as you awaited Jaeyun's arrival.

It is hard to be so close yet so out of reach to someone you used to be tangled with.

Prince Jaeyun and his trusted valet, Heeseung, make their grand entrance into the opulent dining hall, instantly commanding the attention of all present. His piercing gaze sweeps across the room, briefly meeting Princess Mia's eyes before seeking out your own.

You have lined yourself up with the other maids, a habit from your past role. Heeseung approaches you with a warm smile, his voice carrying a hint of understanding as he addresses you, "Miss Y/N, valets typically stand to the left," he gently reminds you, gesturing for you to join him. Grateful for Heeseung's kindness and guidance, you offer him a respectful bow before obediently following his lead.

As you traverse the room, keeping your head low in deference, you feel a soft touch against your hand, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was, the touch sending sparks to your heart. 

Jaeyun is playing with fire, he knows it’s risky to even gaze upon you too long, yet his heart yearns for you and your touch, causing him to act irrationally. Your heart is a magnet and it is drawing him in the closer you are to him.

In a brief moment of recklessness, Jaeyun slips a folded piece of paper into your palm before releasing his grip, the covert exchange going unnoticed by everyone save the two of you. Quickly you tuck the piece of paper up your sleeve and stand in your designated space.

As the Royals take their seats, anticipation pervades the air, with the tantalising smells of the lavish meal enticing even the most controlled appetites.

“How fares the Princess this morning?” Heeseung inquires softly, a faint smile gracing his lips as he casts his gaze ahead.

“Quite well. And what of the Prince?” you respond, hoping for a glimpse into your former lover’s wellbeing.

Heeseung's sigh is filled with gravity, his words hint at a heavy burden borne by the Prince, "Disheartened, I'm afraid," he says quietly.

The confession elicits a sharp intake of breath from you, brows knit together in confusion as you silently implore Heeseung to elaborate. "I believe it's due to the wedding being expedited to this Friday," he declares, his words sinking in with unexpected weight.

“What?!” your exclamation escapes your lips before you can temper it, a mix of shock and disbelief colouring your tone, reverberating through the room with an unintended volume.

Jaeyun, catching wind of your distressed reaction, turns his gaze towards you, his expression a mixture of concern and curiosity. Sensing his eyes upon you, you quickly avert your gaze, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck.

You know you cannot be with him but you presumed you had more time to become accustomed to Princess Mia around the castle and before you lose him forever, “Isn’t the Princess required to occupy Glengyre for at least 3 months? Isn’t it customary for her to know our land and the people before she takes such a vow?” you question. 

“Apparently, she does not need 3 months. The arrangement has altered slightly,” he looks down at you. 

“How can that be?” You don’t mean to bombard the valet with your senseless questioning, but nothing makes sense to you, “How will she know what is best for this kingdom if she does not actively know it? How will she best know how to take the role of Princess of Glengyre?”

Heeseung breathes out, “She won’t be, Prince Jaeyun is to be crowned King Consort of Lethamhill once they marry and fulfil his duties there,” his tone is filled with sorrow. 

You're taken aback by Heeseung's revelation, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place, "But if Jaeyun becomes the King Consort of Lethamhill, what about Glengyre?" you inquire, your voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to speak the words aloud, “Who will take the place of the King once he passes?”

“It is blasphemy to speak about the King’s death so frivolously!” Heeseung exclaims in a hushed tone, his jaw clenched. Heeseung was a royal guard before he was Jaeyun’s man-in-waiting, the blood of the royal navy still runs rampant through his veins, his honour to the king noble even if slightly blinded.

You offer an apology, bowing your head and feigning shame, “Sorry, I shall never utter the words so haphazardly again.”

He nods, stature returning to his elegant stance, "It's a complicated matter," Heeseung replies, his tone laced with sympathy, "The merger between the kingdoms is more than it seems. Lethamhill is in dire need of assistance after the turmoil caused by the war. The arrangement serves to benefit both kingdoms but it is Glengyre who is set to prosper.”  

You are not understanding Heeseung’s words, which only causes hindrance in this conversation, “Excuse my ignorance, but I do not understand.”

“Lethamhill is on the brink of destruction, the King believes if Prince Jaeyun were to be crowned King Consort, he would be able to fully take Lethamhill for himself. King James and Queen Elizabeth will resign their titles for their daughter as part of the deal, leaving our Crown Prince in charge with only the need of convincing Princess Mia to follow his plans.”

You whip your head to face Heeseung, “So Lethamhill is to be no more? What of its people?” your heart races at the thought of thousands of innocent lives tangled in this game of political power.

“They are not the King and Prince’s concern, they serve Glengyre and Glegyre alone,” he says quietly.

There is a weight in your chest akin to an anchor, bringing your remaining hope and happiness for this merger down into the pits of your stomach. The merger is a visage, a guise for your King to be completely in control. 

This was never about peace, this was always going to be about power.

“And does Prince Jaeyun know about this?” you ask astonished. Surely, if Jaeyun knew of the inner workings of his father, he would put a stop to it all. Although Jaeyun lives to serve his people, he would never sacrifice others to replenish Glengyre, it’s the reason he has always voted against war.

Heeseung's gaze remains firm, "Of course he does," he replies sternly, "You think the Prince would be kept in the dark about something like this?"

As Heeseung's words sink in, a wave of realisation washes over you, accompanied by a sense of betrayal. You can only hope Jaeyun has a bigger plan, one that can save both kingdoms from perishing.

______

As night descends upon the castle, you navigate the dimly lit corridors with determined steps, your mind swirling with conflicting emotions. Jaeyun's cryptic note had beckoned you to the Council c

Chambers under the cover of darkness, although, you were conflicted with the idea knowing his plans now to infiltrate Lethamhill from within.

However, this served as your chance to speak directly to Jaeyun and figure out what his true intentions are. Every atom of your being is saying he cannot be so foolish as to destroy a country just in the hopes of building up his own, but you still approach the meeting with a wary heart.

With a heavy push, you open the door and the memories of your final night together flood your mind. But you refuse to be swayed by the urge within your body and heart; you must find out what is truly going on.

The room is cloaked in shadows, save for the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the windows. As you step inside, the air seems charged with tension, every creak of the floorboards echoing in the silence.

Jaeyun is leaning against the very desk he made love to you on countless times, the very desk you promised your undying love to him. His head whips up as he hears you enter the Council Chamber, his body lit by the moon and nothing more, yet, you can see the twinkle in his eyes as if it is a bright summer’s morning.

He stands as you edge closer to him, "It's been too long since I was graced with such beauty in my lone presence," he remarks, his voice soft and warm. His hand moves instinctively to find your hips, but you step back, the tension in the air palpable.

"Tell me it isn’t true," you implore, your heart pounding in your chest as you search his eyes for reassurance, desperate for him to dispel the troubling rumours that have plagued your thoughts.

Jaeyun's brow furrows in confusion, his expression a mixture of concern and curiosity, "Tell me what isn't, my love?" he responds, his voice laced with genuine confusion.

"Don't call me that. You have no right anymore," you respond sharply, your voice tinged with bitterness. The pain of betrayal simmers just beneath the surface, threatening to spill over at any moment.

"You'll always be my love, Y/N," Jaeyun insists, his tone pleading as he reaches out to you, but you hold yourself stiffly, refusing to be swayed by his familiar touch.

"But you're not mine, not if what I heard is true," you retort, your voice trembling with a mixture of hurt and anger. 

Jaeyun's expression softens, "What did you hear?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid of the answer.

In Jaeyun’s eyes, he has done nothing wrong. He has kept Princess Mia at a respectable length at all times, never shared the same bed, and made it abundantly clear that this marriage will harbour no love as he already gave his heart to someone else - to you.

Which could only mean you know one thing.

You feel a surge of frustration welling up inside you, threatening to implode as you confront Jaeyun with the truth.

"That you are to marry Princess Mia for the sole purpose of becoming king and take complete control of Lethamhill," you reveal, your voice trembling as you lay bare the painful reality of the situation, “Please, Jaeyun, tell me this isn’t true. Tell me otherwise.”

You feel the weight of each word as it leaves your lips. The dim light from the moon casts long shadows across the room, adding to the solemn atmosphere as you confront Jaeyun, the man you once thought you knew so well.

You are begging him to prove your mind wrong, to let you in on a lavish plan that bonds the countries together by outwitting his father. 

Yet he offers nothing.

For a moment, there is silence between you, broken only by the soft sound of your breathing. Your figure tightens as any hope you had for him, for this to be a lie, slowly dwindles away.

Finally, Jaeyun speaks, his voice barely above a whisper, "Y/N, please understand," he begins, his tone pleading as he searches for the right words to convey his thoughts, “It is not by choice.”

“There is always a choice, Jaeyun,” you spit back at him, head thumping with the realisation that Jaeyun does not have an ulterior motive, he is going along with the plan to destroy Lethamhill, “What was the point of agreeing to marry Princess Mia and avoiding war when you are only going to cause one anyway?” 

Jaeyun's shoulders sag under the weight of your accusation, his gaze dropping to the floor as he wrestles with his conscience, "It isn't like that," he protests weakly, his voice tinged with sorrow, "There will be no war."

“But people will be hurt and in consequence, they will die. That to me is no better than war,” you counter, your voice laced with agitation.

“Some may die but our people will be safe,” he insists, his words ringing around the room.

You seethe as he shows no willingness to relent; you sacrificed true love, your happiness, all for the better of the kingdom you call home, and yet Jaeyun sets make a fool of it. Your kingdom may flourish, but it will be covered in a sea of blood and power. Glengyre will no longer be a place you can call home if this were to be the case.

“But what of Princess Mia’s people? They will surely perish,” you argue, your heart breaking at the thought of innocent lives that will be lost in the name of power and control.

Jaeyun sighs, his expression haunted as he grapples with the weight of his decisions, "I took an oath to protect my kingdom," he murmurs, his voice barely audible above the din of your thoughts.

You step forward, jaw tightening and fists clenched, “And you will take an oath on Friday,” you remind him, your voice thick with disappointment, “To their kingdom, to be their leader and save them from their current state.”

“The King-”

“Enough! No excuses. The king does not have a final say once you are to be wed. You will be crowned King Consort of Lethamhill, you get to have the final decision as to what to do, what is best.”

Jaeyun's hand hesitates midair, trembling as if caught in a tempest of conflict. Your impassioned words strike at the very core of his being, awakening a sense of clarity amidst the fog. For the first time, he begins to see the shadow that his father's influence has cast over him, distorting his once unyielding sense of honour and integrity.

In your unwavering presence, he discovers a beacon, guiding him back to the principles he formerly valued. 

“My love-” he starts, but you interject once again.

“No. Until you return the Jaeyun I once knew, the man that I love, I am not yours,” you back away slowly, voice trembling as tears prick your eyes, “I belong to him, to my Jaeyun, not you.”

_____

Two days later, you stand outside Miss Son's office, the oak door imposing yet familiar. The flickering torches cast dancing shadows across the corridor, adding an eerie ambience to the castle's interior. Your heart pounds in your chest as you raise your hand to knock, the weight of your decision heavy on your shoulders. 

With the wedding tomorrow, you do not know how she will react to your request.

The door creaks open, revealing the warm glow of Miss Son's office. Stepping inside, you're enveloped by the scent of parchment and ink, a comforting aroma that reminds you of countless meetings and tasks undertaken within these walls.

"Come in," Miss Son's voice breaks through your reverie, and you enter, feeling a mixture of nerves and determination.

"Miss Son, I'm afraid I must pardon myself from my role," you state, the words coming out in a rush.

Miss Son's expression softens with concern as she listens to your explanation, “Why so suddenly? Is Princess Mia giving you a hard time?” She leans forward, her gaze unwavering as she waits for you to continue.

"No, no, she is quite lovely...I fear I haven't seen my brothers in a long time. I think it is time for me to go back and care for them," you explain, your voice faltering slightly as you try to mask the true reason behind your decision.

Miss Son's eyes narrow, a knowing glint in her gaze, "Are you sure this has nothing to do with the Crown Prince marrying the Princess?" she asks gently, her tone filled with understanding.

You swallow hard, feeling a lump form in your throat. The truth hangs heavy in the air, begging to be acknowledged.

"Whatever do you mean?" you reply, though you know she sees right through your facade.

“I mean, I am head of over one hundred servants, I know everything that happens within these castle walls,” she gestures around the room with her finger, eyebrows raised expectantly, “You and Prince Jaeyun lack discretion. Sneaking around, leaving traces of yourself which I have had to clean up, you are both useless at this secret love affair.”

Of course, she knew everything. You and Jaeyun were not exactly quiet in your passionate encounters and pieces of your uniform lay in different areas of the castle; you just thought you were both extremely lucky, but it happens that your luck is named Miss Son.

“I understand why you must leave but it will be a great shame to lose you, Miss Y/N,” she offers a smile of sympathy before gesturing you away quickly, “Now go get some rest and leave tomorrow morning. With the commotion of the wedding, you should be able to sneak out with ease.”

You bow appreciatively to her, muttering an almost silent thank you as you retreat to your bed chambers, your bones heavy with sorrow.

_____

The tranquillity of the maid's chambers envelops you as you nestle beneath your threadbare quilt, its thin fabric offering little comfort against the weight of your thoughts. With the royal wedding looming just 17 hours away, sleep eludes you as you mentally chart your journey back home.

The prospect of reuniting with your brothers brings a bittersweet relief, a respite from the tumult that swirls within the castle walls. However, when you think about your impending departure, you can't shake the lingering anguish that pulls at your heartstrings, tying you to this location despite your desire to move on.

Jaeyun.

As you ponder the situation laid before you, you wonder whether Jaeyun fully comprehends the ramifications of his decisions. Half of your heart longs to remain by his side, hoping to guide him away from the path of destruction. But you cannot be by his side, not after tomorrow.

The door to your room creaks open, the sound echoing softly in the dimly lit quarters. You lay still, pretending to be asleep, though your senses are alert to every sound and movement around you. You suspect it's one of the other maids, returning to collect some forgotten item before retiring for the night.

Miss Son has led the others to the tavern for a ‘light’ celebration ahead of the royal wedding. While it was meant to be a joyous occasion, the event only serves to heighten your anxiety. You would find little joy in the festivities, preferring the quiet solitude of your room.

As the footsteps draw closer to your bed, your pulse quickens, and you hold your breath, hoping to discourage any interaction. However, when you feel the mattress dip slightly and warm arms encircle your waist, your tension begins to ebb away.

The touch is unmistakably Jaeyun's, sending a jolt of both comfort and turmoil through your body. Despite your conflicting feelings, you find yourself relaxing into his embrace, seeking refuge in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“My love, I am sorry,” he says quietly, his lips peppering kisses to your shoulder blade, each kiss lingering longer than the last. His hands trace the outline of your figure as they etch along your waist and sides.

Jaeyun has never laid with you like this, the opportunities scarce in the secrets of the night, this moment only makes you wish you had taken more chances to hold one another close.

“Jaeyun, you cannot be here,” you state, trying to swallow your love and sorrow, but they’re far too big to choke down.

“Face me, Y/N,” he commands, his tone is not forceful but pleading. He needs you to look at him to fully see his emotions. As of right now, you think of him as a deceitful Prince, set to ruin innocent lives, and he will not stand for it, “Please.”

It is hard to face a man you love who seems to mirror only a shell of himself, yet, you turn around per his request. Perhaps it was the hierarchy that lay between you, or maybe it is just your love for him that outweighs any apprehension you have of him.

Your eyes meet and his heart stops, the tears in your eyes only exhibit how this is affecting you, “I cannot stand you being mad at me,” his lips pout as he speaks and you wish to kiss him like never before.

In your mind, if you kiss him right now it may cause a chain reaction in which he changes his mind on the matters of Lethamhill, but that is foolish thinking.

"Jaeyun, you know I cannot condone what you're doing," you reply softly, your voice laced with sadness, "This marriage, this plan - it is wrong. It goes against everything I thought you stood for."

He reaches out to gently brush a stray tear from your cheek, his touch sending a shiver down your spine, "I know, Y/N. Believe me, I never wanted any of this," he confesses, his voice laced with regret.

You search his eyes, grappling with conflicting emotions of love, anger, and betrayal. Regardless of the hurt, you can't help but feel a flicker of hope at his words. Maybe there's still a chance to sway him, to remind him of the man you once knew - the man who would never sacrifice his principles for power.

“My Jaeyun is in there somewhere, I know he is. Why can’t he be the one to rule as King Consort and make this right?” you beg, your hands playing with the tassels of his white nightshirt.

Jaeyun’s expression is unwavering with regret and pain, “He will be, I will make sure of it.”

“But how? I cannot see him when I look at you,” you retort, lip quivering at the prospect of losing him both figuratively and physically.

“He needs you to guide him, I need you to guide me, that much was clear today,” he begins, his lips find your shoulder once again, his teeth laying claim to you. All the marks from your previous encounters have begun to fade, leaving you bare for someone else to take hold, and he refuses to let that happen.

He must fix this.

Sucking on the base of your neck, his hands grip the back of your thighs, pulling you further into his body, your legs now sandwiched between his, “Today, you made me see my ways, how it was wrong of me to honour a vow to one kingdom and not another. I need you by my side.” 

Being surrounded by his father and his men, their constant words or assurance that this is the right thing to do for Glengyre swayed him to believe it too. Then you put him in his place, allowing him to see how preposterous the plan was. 

He needs you.

Jaeyun kisses up to the side of your mouth, his eyes now looking desperately into yours, “Please do not go tomorrow.”

“How did you know?”

“Miss Son, she told me,” he confesses.

Your hands lay splayed on his chest as you contemplate whether to bring him closer, or push him away, “How am I meant to stand by idly while I lose you and know of your plans?” you query.

It is selfish of him to ask such a request, he knows this, but he will not lose hope on you so easily, “Trust me, please, just trust me. If not as Prince Jaeyun, as your Jaeyun.” 

His words echo in your mind, battling internally whether to fully put your faith in a man who not a few days ago swore destruction to people like yourself.

The room feels suffocatingly small as you grapple with your thoughts, his touch igniting a storm of conflicting feelings within you. His lips trailing along your skin, leaving a trail of warmth and desire in their wake, only serve to cloud your thoughts further.

But amidst the haze of uncertainty, there's a glimmer of hope - a flicker of the man you once knew, buried beneath layers of duty and obligation. You can't help but cling to that hope, to the belief that somewhere within him, the true Jaeyun still exists.

His lips softly press themselves against yours, the feeling causing stray tears to slip from your eyes. You missed him and his kiss only served as evidence of his equal longing for you.

You grip onto his nightshirt and pull him to lay on top of you, the feeling of your lover in your arms is suddenly the only thing occupying your mind. All your worries and woes are now gone, washed away from your brain as his tongue slips into your mouth and his body is pressed heavily against you.

"I missed you terribly, my love," he murmurs against your lips, his words tinged with longing, "Tell me you thought of me?"

His yearning infuses his words, coaxing the last remnants of tears to escape your eyes, "Every waking moment was filled with thoughts of you," you confess, holding him tighter, seeking solace in his embrace.

Your admission blankets him with comfort, reassured by the enduring strength of your love. Initially, when you urged him to marry Princess Mia, part of him foolishly believed it was to liberate yourselves from secrecy and not just for the good of the people, that you grew tired of sneaking around the cold castle with him. Now, as he holds you close once more, your kisses igniting need, he realises the folly of that assumption.

With his right hand, he brushes aside the strap of your nightie, allowing your tit to spill slightly from its confines. The sight of your ample flesh awakens a hunger within Jaeyun, prompting him to lean in, his teeth gently grazing the curve of your breast.

His mouth leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses as he descends toward your nipple, delicately taking it into his mouth. With a mixture of tenderness and fervent desire, he nibbles and flicks the nub, his tongue swirling eagerly around it. His hands firmly grip your waist, anchoring your writhing body in place.

You're consumed by a desperate longing for him, craving his love once more, unable to wait as he teases your body.

Jaeyun knows that you both usually do not have time, opting for a quick session of raw passion before retreating to your chambers. But tonight is different. Tonight, there are no constraints, no fear of interruption or pressing obligations. Tonight, he is entirely yours, dedicated to fulfilling every desire and whim that you may have. Jaeyun had made sure every servant was out of the quarters till at least dawn.

What you thought was Miss Son’s idea was founded behind Jaeyun’s generosity. 

As Jaeyun continues to lavish attention on your breast, his ministries grow more fervent, driven by the desire to reconnect with you. His lips and tongue work in tandem, igniting sparks of pleasure that course through your body like wildfire.

"Jaeyun," you moan, the sound escaping your lips in a breathless plea as his hand slips beneath your nightgown and into your panties, "I need you," you confess, your fingers tracing urgent paths up and down his back as you attempt to remove his shirt, eager to feel the warmth of his skin against yours.

"I know, darling, I know," he murmurs, his words intermingled with kisses that caress the sensitive flesh of your erect nipple, "But tonight, I want to savour every moment with you, to show you just how much you mean to me."

His touch ignites a fire within you as two of his fingers glide along the slick surface of your arousal, drawing forth a soft purr of satisfaction from your lips. Your body hums with anticipation, aching for his touch as he guides his digits to your entrance, the sensation of them slipping inside you with effortless ease sending waves of pleasure crashing over you.

As Jaeyun's fingers delve deeper into your slick warmth, a gasp escapes your lips, your body instinctively arching into his touch. Each stroke of your walls sends ripples of pleasure coursing through you, heightening the intensity of the moment.

His lips are back on yours as he thrusts his fingers in at a fast pace, his thumb now finding your clit as he rapidly flicks it back and forth. The motion causes you to breathe into his mouth, your lover feeling as though you are injecting him with newfound life. He knew he had missed you but having you like this, surrendering to his touch only made it much more evident in his heart.

“You are so beautiful, Y/N. You are utterly captivating, a masterpiece brought to life," he whispers, his voice filled with awe. 

Despite your comparisons of yourself to Princess Mia that you made earlier, you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world with his words. And to him, you are. You will always be the most breathtaking girl he will ever see; not even Aphrodite holds a candle to you, especially not as your face contorts in pleasure.

Each curl and stretch of his fingers scissors you open, making you whine in his ear as you beg him to go faster, which he obliges, his forearm veins protruding as he tenses, putting all his might into pleasuring you.

His unrelenting tempo, along with the tantalising exploration of his tongue, drives you to the edge of bliss, preparing you for the impending release that pulses inside you like a building storm. "Jaeyun, I'm cumming," you manage to exclaim, your words muffled against his lips as you exchange air and need.

"Cum, my love. Let go for me," he pleads, his voice gruff as he grinds his hardness against the fragile flesh of your thigh, looking for some type of release. Trapped in his night bottoms, the throbbing in his loins worsens with each passing second.

With a rough curl of his fingers, you surrender to the torrent of sensation that crashes over you, crying out his name as pleasure consumes you whole. Your body convulses in the throes of orgasm, your essence spilling over his hand. You only wish it was his cock.

Luckily for you, he also dreams of being inside you, the friction on his dick unbearable as he watches you heave out short breaths as your body tries to regulate itself. 

Jaeyun removes his hand from your swollen cunt, kneeling between your legs as he takes in your already spent body. But he isn’t finished with you.

Swiftly, Jaeyun sheds his clothing, the fabric falling to the floor in a whisper of motion before crawling back on top of you. He reaches for your nightgown's hem, sliding his fingertips over the shabby fabric as he tugs it up and over your head. In the dark light, your nude body is bathed in a delicate glow, a picture of ethereal beauty that makes him gasp with need.

As your bodies meld together, skin to skin, the electric current of desire arcs between you. His lips capture yours once again in a searing kiss, hands roaming over your body as he longs to feel every inch of you.

You can’t help but wonder if this will be the last time you have Jaeyun in your arms like this, so you have to make it count.

Sitting up, you feel a burst of confidence rush through you as you push him onto his back, your hands firmly grabbing his shoulders to keep him in place. The horror on his face only strengthens your urge to straddle him, a natural need propelling you forward.

His eyes widen in surprise at your sudden assertiveness, unaccustomed to you taking the lead in your lovemaking. But there's a spark of excitement in his eyes, an eagerness to yield to your touch and let you have your way with him.

Positioning yourself above him, you guide his erect cock beneath you, your core pulsating with excitement. You lower yourself onto him with tantalising slowness, the smooth heat of your sex wrapping around his length inch by inch.

As you start moving, a low sigh leaves his lips, and your hips swing back and forth, The sensation of his hardness buried deep within you sends sparks of ecstasy coursing through your veins, starting a fire that threatens to engulf you both.

Jaeyun's whimpers of bliss fill the air, his hands tightening around your hips as he tries to match your relentless pace, pushing up to meet you with frantic desperation. "God, Y/N," he exclaims, his voice thick with need, "You feel incredible wrapped around me like this."

Your claws sink into his chest as you bounce with renewed zest, taking complete control. Your motions are quick and commanding, leaving him with no choice but to give in to the intense feelings racing through his body, "I've missed this," you admit, your voice heavy with desire, "missed the way you fill me up."

“You have?” he opens his eyes to see your tits bouncing up and down your chest, a sight he thought about most as he stroked his member in the shower while you were out of reach, “Do you want me to fill you up properly?” he asks in a mischievous tone, his hand pulling your head to meet his, cloaking your lips with his own.

Nodding, you mewl into his mouth as both of you groan simultaneously, the sound of skin slapping and your vocalised pleasure bouncing along the walls. It’s raw and passionate, it’s unlike any other time Jaeyun has fucked into you. It’s a memory you’ll cherish forever, especially if this was to be the last time.

“Y/N, my love, I can’t hold out much longer,” he confesses as his eyebrows scrunch together, trying to hold himself back from releasing into you until he knows you’re going to cum again.

Heeding your request, he grips your waist tight, halting your movements as he pistons into you, using all his might to bring you both to the peak. With 3 forceful thrusts, his hips stutter and legs tense as he shoots his seed into you, endless hot spurts painting your walls.

“Please cum inside me, let me feel it,” you beg between kisses, riding him so hard that your thin bed frame is on the verge of collapsing beneath you.

It feels like a dream to have his cum stuffed inside of you again, causing you to follow suit, cumming over his cock with a scream of his name, one that could surely be heard all the way to Lethamhill. 

Jaeyun proceeds to buck his hips up into you, riding out your orgasms together as you collapse on top of him. The inside of your thighs tremble from your combined pleasure, and the intensity of your lovemaking leaves you both breathless and exhausted.

As you come down, you find yourselves tangled together in a mess of limbs and sweat, your bodies still humming with the aftershocks of your shared passion. And as you lie there, spent and sated in each other's arms, you only feel the love between both of you radiating through your shared pants.

Looking up at him, you see his eyes glazed with satisfaction, a lazy smile plastered on the Crown Prince’s gorgeous face. He always spoke about how you were a vision, yet he is the one with a beauty so rare it’s almost impossible to understand how he is real.

But he is and he is holding you in his arms as he slips out of you, pulling your body up to rest more comfortably on himself. 

Your mind now clearing up from the fog of sex allows you to go back to your conversation before this impromptu session with him. 

"Can you truly change the course of this plan?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper as you search his eyes for any sign of reassurance.

Jaeyun's gaze meets yours, unwavering in its intensity, "I will do whatever it takes to make things right, I will find a way to reconcile my duty with my conscience."

"I want to believe you," you admit, your voice trembling with vulnerability, "But I need more than words, Jaeyun. I need to see action, to know that you're truly committed to making amends."

Jaeyun nods solemnly, understanding the weight of your request. "I will show you, Y/N. I will prove to you that I am worthy of your trust," he vows, his fingers gently tracing patterns along your skin as if to imprint his promise upon you.

“How?”

“I have a plan, but I must detail it out first before I speak it aloud. Please, just trust me.”

_____

The castle is filled with people here to watch the wedding, the wedding you have been dreading since Jaeyun left your quarters last night. He snuck out in the early hours of the morning before the rest of the staff came home. It was a bittersweet goodbye, your bodies that were tangled with one another for hours were pried apart, possibly forever.

The final kiss he placed on your lips is all you can think about as you stand obediently with the other staff, Heeseung by your side as everyone awaits Princess Mia’s arrival. The buzz around the hall is electric yet you feel like an insect, the closer you get to the nuptials, the closer you are to being zapped in the heart.

You feel uneasy as you see Jaeyun fiddle with his ring, the one he will take from his right hand and place on his bride. The more you ponder, the more you come to the realisation that maybe you should have just left, gone home with the cloak of the wedding as your opportunity to flee. 

But Jaeyun asked you to trust him, that he will do the right thing for everyone. The trust you have does not cancel out your breaking heart, however. 

Dressed in his princely attire, Jaeyun exudes a regal air as he stands at the altar, his uniform immaculate and his demeanour poised. Every detail of his appearance seems meticulously crafted to accentuate his undeniable beauty, from the crisp white fabric adorned with intricate gold detailing to the way his dark locks are artfully styled to frame his face.

As the royal band fills the air with music, the grandeur of the moment is punctuated by the entrance of Princess Mia, a vision of grace and elegance. Jaeyun's gaze shifts to her, momentarily captivated by her presence, and you feel a pang of sadness knowing that this is the beginning of the end for you.

This was it, you were losing him before your very eyes, but you cannot be selfish. This was the right thing to do, a sacrifice you must abide by for the kingdom you love. 

Truth be told, it is easier to come to terms with marriage now that you know Jaeyun will do whatever is in his power to truly bring solace between both Glengyre and Lethamhill. Before, once Heeseung revealed the malicious plans to you, you started to wonder if giving up your love was worth it or if it was all for nothing, but now you know it will not be in vain. 

Princess Mia greets Jaeyun at the alter and curtsies, her fiance mirroring her action while you swallow the lump in your throat. There is a glint in both their eyes, while you know it isn’t love, you do question it with a pierced heart. If Jaeyun were to fall in love with her, which is not implausible considering even in the short-lived time you acted as her maid-in-waiting you witnessed how humble and gracious she is, just as Jaeyun is. They match perfectly in every way.

You fight the urge to cry as the ceremony gets underway, the Bishop beginning to unify them both together. 

The moment arrives when the officiant solemnly intones, "If anyone present knows of any reason why this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace." The weight of the words hangs heavy in the air, the tension palpable as the guests hold their breath. 

Not a soul would be foolish enough to-

“We object.”

A choir of gasps fill the air as two harmonious voices speak their objection. Your eyes fall upon them as they smile at one another, letting go of their hands. 

Prince Jaeyun and Princess Mia objected to their own wedding. 

The shock reverberates through the room, eyes widen and murmurs erupt among the attendees. Not you nor Heeseung know what to do in this situation, both of you staring at Jaeyun with bewilderment, wondering what on earth he was doing.

Was this part of his grand plan?

"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed guests of Glengyre and Lethamhill," he begins, his voice steady yet filled with conviction. "I stand before you today not only as your Prince but as a voice for justice and truth. For too long, a shadow of deceit has loomed over our kingdoms, orchestrated by none other than my own father, the King of Glengyre."

He pauses, allowing his words to sink in, before continuing with a sense of urgency, "It has come to my attention that he was exploiting this marriage as a means to hold Lethamhill hostage, to seize complete control and dominate its people. This nefarious plan would only bring harm and danger to both our kingdoms, jeopardizing the lives and well-being of our citizens. The exact opposite of what he has promised you all."

Beside him, Princess Mia nods in agreement, her expression mirroring his determination, "Furthermore," Jaeyun continues, "Princess Mia has brought to my attention disturbing revelations regarding her father, King James of Lethamhill. It has been made clear to us that he seeks to exploit this union to unlawfully seize land and resources from Glengyre, with the intent of displacing our people to expand his own domain."

The outrage in his voice is palpable, his eyes flashing with defiance as he declares, "Princess Mia and I stand united in our outrage and determination to put an end to these injustices. We refuse to allow our kingdoms to be pawns in the power games of corrupt rulers. It is time for us to take a stand."

Jaeyun’s eyes flicker to you as he utters his next words.

“We will not be getting married.” 

Your knees buckle beneath you, a surge of relief and disbelief flooding through every fiber of your being. The love of your life, the one you were on the brink of losing forever, stands before you, his gaze locking with yours in a silent exchange of understanding. A small, reassuring smile graces his lips

Beside him, Princess Mia commands attention with unwavering confidence, her voice ringing out with authority, "They are not worthy to rule over our sacred lands," she declares, her words cutting through the tension like a sharpened blade. Her gaze pierces through the gathered officials, her unwavering resolve a stark contrast to their shock, "Their sinister schemes amount to nothing short of treason against the kingdoms they swore to protect," she continues, her tone unwavering, "We demand their immediate dethronement and call for this wedding to be transformed into a coronation for both myself and Prince Jaeyun."

The reaction from the royal box is instantaneous, a cacophony of outraged protests and indignant exclamations filling the air. The two Kings, their faces flushed with fury, rise from their seats in a display of unbridled anger, their voices drowned out by the resounding tumult.

“You cannot do this! I am the rightful King of Glengyre,” Jaeyun’s father shouts across the room.

Jaeyun smiles mockingly to his father, “You are right, we cannot do this, not without a vote from the people of our kingdoms,” he says matter of factly.

As the commotion reaches its peak, Jaeyun and Princess Mia stand firm, their resolve unshaken by the storm of dissent around them. Together, they face the fury of the royal box with unwavering determination, their eyes locked in a silent exchange of solidarity.

Despite the chaos, Jaeyun's voice rises above the din, his words infused with unwavering conviction, "We will not allow our kingdoms to be held hostage by the greed and treachery of a few individuals," he declares, his tone ringing out with authority. "It is our duty as leaders to uphold the values of justice and integrity, to safeguard the well-being of our people above all else."

Princess Mia adds her voice to his, her words echoing his sentiments with equal fervour, "We stand united against tyranny and corruption," she proclaims, her gaze sweeping over the crowd with steely resolve, "Together, we will forge a future built on trust, compassion, and unity."

Heeseung looks to you, eyes wide as if begging for answers, yet, you cannot offer him any. You knew Jaeyun had a plan but to go out on a limb like this was not what you were expecting. Shaking your head, your eyes scan the crowd to see their reaction, each face equally as shocked as they are appalled by the Kings’ true intentions with this union.

“Please stand with us. If you wish for Princess Mia and myself to be respective leaders of our kingdoms, Say I,” Jaeyun exudes confidence in his stature but you look at his hand which is fiddling with his jacket, a telltale sign that he is nervous.

Who would not be nervous? This could end in death for both Jaeyun and Princess Mia. If they do not have the people on their side, the Kings will seek to execute them, that much is a given.

The guests in the pews whisper to one another, the discussions hushed as they consider Jaeyun’s words. Your heart races as you await the collective response from the guests. Will they stand with Jaeyun and Princess Mia, or will fear and uncertainty prevail, leaving them isolated and vulnerable to the wrath of the Kings? The air is heavy with anticipation, each second stretching into an eternity as the fate of Glengyre and Lethamhill hangs in the balance.

“I,” a voice from beside you yells out, causing you to flinch. Heeseung, the once esteemed royal guard makes the first vocalisation of agreement. It shocks you considering he was always one to worship the king, “I give my faith to a new king,” he stands forward, kneeling before Jaeyun.

His actions cause a domino effect, echoes of ‘I’ and ‘Here here’ can be heard throughout the hall, each person projecting their trust in their Prince and Princess. 

The prince looks at you with pleading eyes, hoping your trust can be stretched to this moment. 

“I,” you say, the words are lost amongst the commotion but Jaeyun sees it, the love in your eyes, the trust in him to lead the kingdom you hold dear to your heart. Although he must get the approval of all his people, you are the one he needs it from the most. Without your support, he doesn’t feel fit enough to be King.

“Guards, please see the Kings out,” he orders before turning to face the bishop, “Would you do the honours of coronating us, your grace,” he bows, showing his respect.

“Kneel before me, Your Highness,” the Bishop speaks softly.

The hall once filled with chaos and debacle is now silent, smiles and hearts full as their honourable Crown Prince is made King of Glengyre. You have never felt pride for the royal family, but you know that will all change now.

As he is crowned, a hush falls over the hall, a reverent silence that speaks volumes of the significance of this moment. Jaeyun, now King of Glengyre, rises from his kneeling position with a newfound solemnity, his eyes shining with determination and purpose. Beside him, Princess Mia also kneels, her hand clasped firmly in his as they prepare to lead their kingdoms into a new era of prosperity and unity.

The Bishop's voice carries through the hall as he recites the ancient words of coronation, his tone reverent and ceremonial. With each word spoken, the weight of responsibility settles upon Jaeyun's shoulders, a reminder of the solemn duty he has undertaken to rule justly and with compassion.

As the final words of the coronation ritual echo through the hall, Jaeyun and Princess Mia exchange a meaningful glance, their bond strengthened by the vows they have made before their people. They will do what their fathers couldn’t.

“There is to be a party to celebrate the union tonight, the entirety of the kingdoms are invited,” King Jaeyun proclaims, beaming with pride before ushering Queen Mia out of the hall.

With the commotion of happiness and celebration, you get swept up by Heeseung, swinging you around in his arms. The feeling leaves you with a sense of purpose and gratitude to both rulers of the kingdoms. They did what most would be too scared to do, a testament to their love for their citizens.

_____

The night sky above Glengyre is ablaze with the glow of a thousand lanterns, casting a warm and inviting light over the festivities below. The sound of laughter and music fills the air, mingling with the tantalizing aroma of roasted meats and spiced wines. People from all walks of life gather in the grand courtyard of the castle, their differences set aside as they come together to celebrate the dawn of a new era. Never in your years of living did you think you would ever see such a promise for the people.

Jaeyun ordered carriages and carts to bring those on the outskirts of the kingdoms to the castle, making good on his promise. He wanted everyone to be part of this victory, especially those who had suffered at the hands of his father.

Effortlessly, Jaeyun navigates through the people, garnering respect and esteem from everyone he comes into contact with. He pauses to meet and converse with both royalty and peasants, his sincere kindness and humility converting even the most cynical minds.

Barrels of liquor and wine line the perimeter, and long tables creak beneath the weight of indulgent treats, transforming the courtyard into a true feast. Musicians play lively tunes, encouraging guests to dance and revel late into the night.

You, amidst the crowd of celebrants, are witnessing a momentous occasion. You are witnessing how a kingdom ripped apart by conflict and division can come together under a banner of growth and optimism. And you see that Glengyre's future is more promising than ever when you see the happy smiles of your fellow citizens.

“Thank you for trusting me,” Jaeyun’s low voice whispers beside you as he rests his hand on the lower part of your back. Instinctively, you go to move away, scared to be seen, but he holds you in place, hand gripped tight.

Looking into his eyes, you find yourself lost in the depths of his gaze, each flicker of light reflecting his unwavering determination. His touch sends a shiver down your spine as he gently kisses your hand, a gesture that feels both intimate and surreal.

"I trust you to be a fine king," you murmur softly, sincerity lacing every word. "It already looks good on you," you add with a playful smirk, admiring his regal presence and undeniable charisma.

Jaeyun chuckles, a twinkle of amusement dancing in his eyes as he spins around, basking in your laughter. The joyous sound fills the air, a melody that he never tires of hearing. When he finally stands before you again, his expression grows serious, his hands still clasping yours.

"You know, being a queen would look good on you," he remarks, his tone teasing yet earnest.

You scoff incredulously, unable to fathom such a notion. "Perhaps one could dream of that in another lifetime."

"Why not this one?" Jaeyun counters, his gaze unwavering as he meets your eyes.

Confusion clouds your features as you struggle to comprehend his meaning. Before you can protest further, he continues, his words carrying a weight that leaves you breathless.

"Well, I am a king without a queen. It does look rather pathetic, doesn’t it?" he jests lightly, his smile masking the gravity of his declaration. "But with you by my side…"

The implications of his words hit you like a bolt of lightning, leaving you reeling in disbelief. "You cannot make me queen, Jaeyun," you protest weakly, your heart fluttering erratically at the mere thought.

Jaeyun's smile softens, his gaze filled with tenderness as he squeezes your hands reassuringly. "But when I marry you, you will not have a choice."

The weight of his proclamation hangs heavy in the air, each syllable sinking into your consciousness with undeniable clarity. To marry Jaeyun is a dream beyond your wildest imaginings, a fantasy that you never dared to entertain. Yet here he stands, offering you a future that you once believed to be unattainable.

"That is preposterous, Jaeyun. You can’t marry a maid," you protest, the words tumbling from your lips in a mixture of disbelief and awe.

Shrugging, he lets go of your hands, “It is not the most scandalous thing I have done this week,” he smirks, eyebrows wiggling as you both recall the events that just happened a mere few hours ago.

Taking the ring from his right pinky finger, he holds it out to you, face serious now, "Marry me," he implores, his voice filled with earnestness, "be the queen our people need. I trust no one but you to help guide me to better serve this kingdom."

Your throat tightens with emotion, tears brimming in your eyes as you gaze at the ring before you, a symbol of love and commitment. It is a moment that takes your breath away, a choice that will shape the course of your future and the destiny of your kingdom.

As you reach out to take the ring, the weight of Jaeyun's words hangs heavy in the air. Marrying him would mean stepping into a world of royalty, a world you never imagined yourself a part of. Yet, with each passing moment, the idea becomes more alluring.

But reality crashes in, reminding you of the vast chasm that separates your worlds. "Jaeyun, you know I cannot," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, laced with both longing and resignation, "I am but a maid, not worthy of such a title."

Jaeyun's expression softens, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine, "You are worthy of so much more than you realise, Y/N," he insists, his voice gentle but unwavering, "You have already proven yourself to be a queen in every way that matters."

His words resonate within you, stirring something deep within your soul. For so long, you had resigned yourself to the confines of your station, never daring to reach for something beyond your grasp. But now, faced with the possibility of a future with Jaeyun, you find yourself daring to believe in the impossible.

Gently, he slides the ring onto your finger, and you feel a rush of warmth flood through you as if sealing a pact with destiny itself. Looking up at Jaeyun, you find yourself unable to speak, overwhelmed by the enormity of the moment.

Without a word, Jaeyun pulls you into his arms, holding you close as if to reassure you of his love and commitment. In that embrace, you feel a sense of belonging, a sense of purpose that you never thought possible.

“I love you, Y/N. I am at your mercy as your future husband and as your king.”

You smile widely, sniffling away the happiness of tears that fall from your face, “I love you, too, Jaeyun. I vow myself to you forever.”

Your husband-to-be kisses the top of your head as he pulls away, joy radiating from every atom of his being, “Let us celebrate, perhaps in the council chamber?” he teases, fingers trickling up your forearms.

With a sarcastic rolling of your eyes, you follow him. Not just for tonight, but forever.

[bitchiswild]

You’re Mine

G!P Huh Yunjin x F!Reader

Words Count: 3.5k

Warnings: rough, mean girl yunjin, slapping, choking, creampie, hair pulling, etc.

A/n: im yours yunjin 🧎‍♀️

Requested

"Move, you slut," the voice hissed before a forceful shove pinned you against the locker. Anger surged through you as you turned to confront your attacker, only to find yourself face-to-face with your long-time tormentor, Huh Yunjin.

You were no stranger to the elite atmosphere of your private college, where only the offspring of the privileged elite could gain entry. In this exclusive world, Yunjin reigned as the undisputed "Queen Bee," her status bolstered by the influential positions held by her parents among the upper echelons of society.

Despite the luxurious facade of the institution, its halls harbored the harsh realities of social hierarchy and power plays. For you, navigating these treacherous waters meant enduring relentless bullying from Yunjin and her clique, who wielded their influence with impunity.

As you squared your shoulders and met Yunjin's gaze with defiance, you steeled yourself for yet another confrontation in this battleground of prestige and entitlement.

With a defiant smirk, you pushed yourself off the locker, refusing to let Yunjin's intimidation tactics hold sway over you any longer. "You're the one who needs to move, Yunjin," you retorted, your voice laced with equal parts irritation and disdain. "Last time I checked, this hallway wasn't your personal runway."

Yunjin's eyes flashed with a mixture of surprise and fury at your boldness, but you held your ground, reveling in the taste of rebellion. "Oh, look who's finally grown a spine," she sneered, her tone dripping with condescension. "But don't get too ahead of yourself, darling. You're still just a peasant in our kingdom."

You rolled your eyes, refusing to let her barbs penetrate your armor. "Please, spare me the melodrama," you shot back, your words laden with sarcasm. "I may not have your pedigree, but at least I have the decency not to treat people like trash."

Yunjin bristled at your insolence, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. "You think you're so clever, don't you?" she seethed, her voice tinged with venom. "Well, let's see how long that mouth of yours lasts when I'm through with you."

But you merely smirked in response, relishing the opportunity to ruffle her feathers. "Bring it on, Jen," you taunted, your bravado masking the flutter of nerves beneath the surface. "I've dealt with worse than you."

With that, you sauntered away, leaving Yunjin seething in your wake, a small but satisfying victory in the ongoing battle for dominance in the cutthroat world of elite academia.

As you defiantly turned to walk away, determined to leave Yunjin's petty antics behind you, a sudden vice-like grip seized your arm. Startled, you stumbled backward as Yunjin yanked you forcefully into an empty classroom, the door slamming shut behind you with an ominous thud.

Caught off guard by the unexpected turn of events, you found yourself face-to-face with your tormentor, her features contorted with rage and something darker lurking beneath the surface. "You think you can just walk away from me, like you're better than everyone else?" Yunjin spat, her voice low and dangerous.

Despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins, you refused to show any sign of weakness. "Let go of me, Yunjin," you demanded, your tone firm and unwavering. "You're not worth my time."

But Yunjin's grip only tightened, her nails digging into your skin with painful insistence. "You're going to regret crossing me, you little brat," she seethed, her words dripping with venom. "I'll make sure you pay for every insolent word that's ever come out of your mouth."

Your heart pounded with a mixture of fear and anger as Yunjin's threats hung heavy in the air. Despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins, you refused to show any sign of weakness.

"Now get on your knees," Yunjin commanded, her voice a sharp whip of authority slicing through the tense silence.

Your defiance blazed hotter within you, fueled by indignation at her audacity. "You must be out of your mind if you think I'll bow down to you," you shot back, your voice trembling with suppressed fury. "I'm not some pawn for you to manipulate at your whim."

Yunjin's smirk twisted into something cruel as she leaned in closer, her breath hot against your ear. "Who says you're bowing to me?" she taunted, her tone dripping with contempt. "No, princess, you're sucking my cock."

Your eyes rolled instinctively at her words, a mixture of annoyance and disbelief simmering beneath the surface. "Oh, please," you scoffed, your voice laced with sarcasm. "As if I'd stoop that low for someone as pathetic as you."

Ignoring her, Yunjin roughly pulled down her skirt, her movements fueled by a potent mix of anger and arrogance. You couldn't help but roll your eyes again at the dramatic display, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips despite yourself.

But as her cock sprang into view, hard and angry, a different sensation washed over you. Despite your bravado, an undeniable thrill coursed through your veins at the sight of it, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. You squeezed your thighs together instinctively, a futile attempt to suppress the traitorous desire that threatened to consume you.

Yunjin's smirk widened at the sight of your reaction, a smug satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. "What's the matter, princess?" she teased, her voice dripping with derision. "Cat got your tongue?"

You fought to maintain your composure, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. With a defiant toss of your hair, you shot her a disdainful look, determined to play the brat to the bitter end.

But deep down, beneath the layers of bravado and defiance, you couldn't shake the unsettling realization that Yunjin's cruel games had stirred something within you, something dark and forbidden that threatened to unravel the carefully constructed facade you wore like amor.

With an exaggerated eye roll and a scoff that bordered on theatrical, you watched as Yunjin brought her cock closer to your mouth, her movements slow and deliberate. Despite the tension crackling in the air, you refused to let her see any hint of weakness, maintaining your bratty demeanor with unwavering determination.

"Oh, please," you drawled, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you leaned back against the nearest desk, crossing your arms defiantly. "Is this supposed to impress me? Because let me tell you, it's doing the exact opposite."

Yunjin's lips curled into a sneer at your defiance, her grip tightening on her cock as she hovered tantalizingly close to your lips. "You think you're so clever, don't you?" she spat, her voice laced with venom. "Well, let's see how long that smart mouth of yours lasts when it's wrapped around my cock."

You fought to suppress the shiver of anticipation that threatened to betray you, maintaining a facade of nonchalance even as Yunjin's cock loomed closer, the heat radiating from it palpable against your skin.

Rolling your eyes yet again, you tilted your head to the side with a dismissive huff. "Is that the best you've got?" you taunted, your voice laced with false bravado. "You'll have to do better than that if you want to impress me, sweetheart."

But beneath the surface, a tempest of conflicting emotions raged within you, a heady mixture of defiance and desire warring for dominance. In this twisted game of power and manipulation, you knew that maintaining your bratty facade was the only defense you had against Yunjin's relentless cruelty.

Yunjin's patience wore thin as she grew tired of your defiance. With a swift movement, she grabbed your head, forcing her cock through your lips, her grip firm and unyielding. The sudden invasion left you momentarily stunned, your breath catching in your throat as she began to fuck your mouth with a forceful rhythm.

Despite the initial shock, you refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing you submit so easily. With a muffled grunt of protest, you struggled against her hold, your bratty attitude flaring to life even in the face of this humiliating act.

"Mmmph!" you managed to protest around her cock, the sound muffled and garbled as she continued to thrust into your mouth with increasing intensity. Each movement was met with resistance, your jaw clenched tight as you fought against her, determined not to let her break you.

Yunjin's laughter echoed through the empty classroom, a cruel symphony of dominance as she relished in your futile struggles. "That's it, princess," she taunted, her voice dripping with mockery. "You're going to learn your place one way or another."

But even as Yunjin exerted her control over you, a flicker of defiance burned bright within your chest. With every fiber of your being, you vowed to endure this humiliation with your pride intact, refusing to let her cruel games crush your spirit.

As Yunjin's thrusts grew more forceful, your resolve hardened, a silent promise to yourself echoing in the recesses of your mind. No matter what she threw your way, you would never bow down to her, not now, not ever

Despite your best efforts to resist, a wave of conflicting sensations washed over you as Yunjin's relentless thrusts persisted. With each forceful movement, an involuntary moan escaped your lips, the sound muffled by the cock that filled your mouth.

The sensation of her cock sliding in and out, coupled with the tight grip of her hand on your head, sent sparks of arousal coursing through your veins. Despite the humiliation of the situation, a shameful heat pooled low in your belly, betraying your body's undeniable response to her touch.

As Yunjin's pace quickened, driving her cock deeper into your mouth, you found yourself succumbing to the overwhelming pleasure, your moans growing louder and more desperate with each passing moment. The friction between you, fueled by a potent mix of desire and defiance, sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, blurring the lines between pain and ecstasy.

Yunjin's laughter mingled with your moans, a twisted symphony of dominance and submission that filled the air around you. With each thrust, she exerted her control over you, relishing in the power she held over your body and mind.

Despite the shame that threatened to consume you, a part of you reveled in the raw intensity of the moment, surrendering to the pleasure that coursed through your veins. In this twisted dance of dominance and desire, you found yourself teetering on the edge of surrender, your body betraying you even as your mind fought to maintain a semblance of control.

Tears streamed down your face, a mixture of humiliation, frustration, and a strange undercurrent of arousal. Despite your attempts to suppress them, they flowed freely, betraying the complex emotions swirling within you.

Yunjin's hand moved from your head to gently wipe away the tears, her touch oddly tender against the backdrop of the dominating act she was performing. "There, there, princess," she cooed mockingly, her voice dripping with condescension. "You're so much better with my cock in your mouth."

Her words struck a nerve, a mixture of shame and defiance bubbling up within you. Part of you recoiled at the degradation of being reduced to this, while another part burned with an unspoken desire that refused to be extinguished.

Despite the conflicting emotions warring within you, you found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from Yunjin's piercing eyes. In that moment, as she held you captive with her gaze, you realized that this twisted dynamic between you was far more complicated than you had ever imagined.

With a defiant tilt of your chin, you met her gaze head-on, a silent challenge burning bright in your eyes. Beneath the layers of humiliation and submission, a spark of rebellion flickered to life, a silent vow to reclaim your power in this twisted game of dominance and desire.

As Yunjin's thrusts intensified, her grip tightening on your head, a primal urgency infused her voice as she gasped, "God, I'm gonna cum in your mouth. You better swallow it all."

With a surge of desperation, she released into your mouth, her essence flooding your senses. The bitter taste of her release filled your mouth as she emptied herself, each pulse a reminder of your submission to her will.

As she withdrew, a surge of defiance surged within you. With a defiant flick of your tongue, you spat out her cum, the act a rebellious assertion of your autonomy in the face of her dominance.

Yunjin's eyes flashed with a mixture of surprise and anger at your defiance. "You insolent little brat," she hissed, her voice laced with venom. "You'll regret that."

But even as she glared at you, a spark of triumph flared within you. In this moment of rebellion, you reclaimed a fragment of your dignity, a silent declaration that you would not be reduced to a mere pawn in her twisted games of power and control.

Yunjin's grip tightened on your hair as she dragged you up from your knees, a cruel smirk twisting her lips. With a rough shove, she pushed you over the desk, the cold surface biting into your skin as you landed with a thud.

Your heart raced with a mixture of fear and anticipation as Yunjin wasted no time in yanking down your skirt and underwear, exposing you to her ruthless gaze. A shiver of vulnerability coursed through you as her fingers teased your entrance, tracing agonizing circles around your slick folds.

Before you could gather your wits, she thrust her fingers inside you with a brutal force, eliciting a whimper of both pain and pleasure from your lips. The sudden intrusion left you reeling, your body straining against the onslaught of sensations crashing over you.

Yunjin's hand came down hard on your exposed ass, the sharp slap sending shockwaves of pain rippling through your body. The sting lingered, your skin flaming red under her punishing touch as she asserted her dominance over you.

"Take my cock like a good girl," she commanded, her voice dripping with cruel authority as she positioned herself behind you. With a brutal thrust, she buried her entire length inside you, the sensation overwhelming as she claimed you as her own.

Your breath hitched in your throat as she filled you completely, every inch of her cock stretching you to your limits. Despite the pain and humiliation, a shameful heat pooled low in your belly, your body betraying you with every desperate gasp and whimper that escaped your lips.

In this twisted dance of dominance and submission, you found yourself teetering on the edge of surrender, your body yielding to the relentless onslaught of pleasure and pain inflicted upon you by Yunjin's cruel desires

Yunjin's grip on your hair tightened, her fingers tangling in the strands as she thrust into you with a relentless force. Each brutal thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure and pain coursing through your body, the rhythm rough and unyielding.

With a savage intensity, she pulled your hair back, arching your spine and exposing your neck to her hungry gaze. The sensation of her fingers digging into your scalp ignited a primal need within you, a desperate craving for more of her dominating touch.

Your skin burned under her punishing grip, each slap leaving a fiery imprint on your flesh as she marked you as her own. The sting of her hand against your skin mingled with the throbbing ache between your legs, the sensations blurring the lines between pleasure and pain.

Through gritted teeth, Yunjin's voice reverberated with a raw hunger as she growled, "You like it rough, don't you, you filthy little slut?"

A shiver of arousal coursed through you at her words, your body responding to the raw dominance in her tone. "Yes," you gasped, your voice barely more than a desperate whimper. "Harder, please."

With a primal grunt, Yunjin obliged, her thrusts becoming even more forceful as she claimed you with a relentless ferocity. Each collision sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, your senses overwhelmed by the raw intensity of the moment.

Amidst the chaos of your entwined bodies, a symphony of dirty talk filled the air, a primal exchange of desire and dominance that fueled the flames of passion burning between you. In this raw, unbridled moment of carnal ecstasy, you surrendered to the primal urges consuming you, lost in the savage rhythm of pleasure and pain orchestrated by Yunjin's command.

"Take it," she commanded, her voice a husky whisper laced with authority. "Spread your legs wider for me."

Your body responded instinctively to her commands, yielding to her dominance as you obeyed without hesitation. With each directive, she exerted her control over you, guiding your movements with a commanding presence that left you powerless to resist.

"Look at me," she demanded, her voice a sharp command cutting through the haze of pleasure clouding your mind. "I want to see your eyes as I take you."

Yunjin's grip tightened around your throat, her fingers exerting pressure as she leaned in close, her lips brushing against your ear. "Feel good princess?" she growled, her voice a husky whisper laced with dominance.

A whimper escaped your lips as her words sent a shiver of excitement coursing through you. "Yes," you gasped, your voice barely more than a desperate plea. "Yes it feels so good.”

With a primal hunger, Yunjin complied, her lips trailing down your neck with bruising force, leaving a trail of fiery marks in her wake. Each bite and suck of her lips against your skin elicited a whimper of pleasure from your throat, the sensation of her teeth sinking into your flesh sending shivers of ecstasy down your spine.

As she marked you as her own, the sound of her hand meeting your skin echoed through the room, punctuated by the symphony of moans and gasps that filled the air. "You're mine," she growled, her voice dripping with possessiveness as she claimed you with each punishing strike.

With each thrust, the desk beneath you creaked and groaned under the force of your shared passion, the sound of your bodies colliding filling the room with a primal rhythm that echoed through the empty space.

Amidst the chaos of your entwined bodies, your moans mingled with hers in a symphony of ecstasy, the raw intensity of your shared pleasure reverberating through the room. In this raw and uninhibited moment of carnal desire, you surrendered to the overwhelming sensations consuming you, lost in the intoxicating dance of dominance and desire orchestrated by Yunjin's commanding touch.

"God, Yunjin, I'm gonna cum!" you cried out, your voice filled with a mixture of desperation and ecstasy. Despite the intensity of your impending release, Yunjin's thrusts never faltered, driving you closer to the edge with each relentless movement.

The table beneath you began to scrape against the floor, the sound of wood against tile adding to the cacophony of pleasure filling the room. With each collision, the friction between your bodies intensified, fueling the flames of desire burning within you.

Yunjin's grip on your throat tightened, her fingers digging into your skin with a possessive force as she growled in response to your cries. "That's it, princess," she snarled, her voice dripping with dominance. "Cum for me, fuck, I'm gonna fill you up so good," Yunjin groaned, her voice thick with desire as she thrust into you with renewed fervor. Each powerful thrust drove you to the brink of ecstasy, the promise of her impending release sending tremors of anticipation coursing through your body.

With each collision, the table scraped against the floor, the sound a symphony of pleasure and desire echoing through the room. Yunjin's grip on your throat tightened, her fingers leaving bruising imprints on your skin as she claimed you with a possessive intensity.

You moaned in response, the sensation of her cock filling you completely pushing you closer to the edge of oblivion. "Yes, please," you gasped, your voice barely more than a desperate plea. "Fill me up, Yunjin, I need it."

With a primal roar, Yunjin surrendered to the intoxicating pull of pleasure, her body tensing as she reached the brink of release. With one final, powerful thrust, she buried herself deep inside you, her seed flooding your senses as she emptied herself completely.

Pleasure washed over you in a tidal wave of ecstasy, leaving you trembling and breathless in its wake. As the echoes of your shared climax faded into the air, you lay spent and sated beneath Yunjin's commanding touch, your senses ablaze with the raw intensity of your shared passion.

In the aftermath of your passionate encounter, a heavy silence enveloped the room, broken only by the sound of your ragged breaths and the faint creaking of the table beneath you. You lay spent and tangled together, bodies slick with sweat, as the remnants of your shared pleasure lingered in the air like a hazy mist.

Yunjin's grip on your throat loosened, her fingers trailing lightly over the marks she had left behind, a silent testament to the intensity of your connection. Her eyes met yours, a rare vulnerability shining in their depths amidst the fading fire of desire.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of your shared experience hanging heavy between you like a tangible presence. In this moment of quiet intimacy, you found yourself caught in the delicate balance between desire and vulnerability, the boundaries of power and submission blurring into a tangled web of raw emotion.

With a soft sigh, Yunjin pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, her touch surprisingly tender against the backdrop of your heated encounter. "You're mine," she whispered.

[squoxle]

⛓️Laced with Love ~ Jake ff (18+)

⛓️pairing: Jake!bf x Reader!gf | ⛓️wc: 11.2k | ⛓️summary: You unexpectedly fall for Jake. The sweetest boy you've ever known, or so you thought |⛓️cw: 🔞MDNI!! heavy petting, oral sex f. & m. giving/receiving, unprotected sex, mentions of abuse, swearing, profanity (req by: anon) 𝑆𝑚𝑢𝑡 𝑆𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝐻𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑤／𝐹𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝐸𝑚𝑜𝑗𝑖❤️‍🔥

a.n: link to part 2

"Excuse me, ma'am. This is NOT what I ordered. I want a refund."

Here goes another Karen, complaining about an order they definitely made and just changed their mind after a sip. "Yes, you did Miss. If you have the receipt it should tell you right there," you replied trying to keep your cool. After all, this wasn't the first time someone like her tried to pull a stunt like this.

"I don't keep receipts, but I'm telling you that I most certainly did not order this. So you can either give me what I paid for or refund me my money." God her voice was so fucking annoying and you know she's lying, but you can't risk getting in trouble at work over some entitled middle-aged soccer mom.

"That's alright ma'am. We keep a merchant copy of receipts for situations like this," you proceeded to pull out a thin slip of paper showing the details of her order. "See ma'am. It's on the receipt, right here. A venti skinny matcha latte with almond milk," you pointed to the only item on the receipt.

"No, this can't be right. I asked for a light Caramel Frappuccino with oat milk." "Well that's not on the receipt and you've already finished most of the drink so I honestly don't understand how it took you so long to realize this wasn't your order before you decided to come up here." "You know what? I don't have to explain myself to you. I am not going to stand here and take this disrespect from some Gen Z brat. I'd like to speak to your manager. Where's your manager?" The woman proceeded to shout for the manager until he eventually came back from his smoke break.

Mr. Lee, but you usually called him by his first name. Well, only when you weren't at work. He was pretty cute, but also fairly young to be the manager. However, you couldn't deny the fact that he was the best manager you've ever met. You don't know if it was his big, brown, doe eyes or his perfect smile that seemed to make everything okay.

"What's going on in here?" "Are you the manager?" she panted frantically. "Yes ma'am I am. How can I help you?" "Oh thank god. This young lady is being very disrespectful. I came up here to inform her that my order was incorrect and that I'd like a refund. But she won't do it and I don't know why."

"Probably because you drank more than half of the damn thing before coming up here with that story," you butted in.

"Hold on kid. I got this," he said before walking behind the counter. "I'm sorry ma'am, but I can't refund your money for a drink that you claim to be the wrong order even though you sat there and drank it knowing that it wasn't right--" "I'm allergic to nuts!! Are you trying to kill me? Ahhh!!" "Ma'am you need to calm down. If you were truly allergic you would be having a reaction right now--" "I AM!! I feel like my skin is on fire!! I'M BURNING!!" she screamed before falling to the ground.

This woman was being absolutely ridiculous. Now she was faking an allergic reaction.

"Well then someone should call 911 and have you taken care of, right?" "No!! I'm afraid of hospitals are you insane?!" she shouted. "Ma'am it's obvious that you're faking so can you please get up and leave before I have you escorted by the police?" But she didn't get up, instead, she kept on screaming and hitting the floor. It wasn't long before one of the customers got up from their chair and proceeded to drag her out of the store. "Don't fucking touch me! Help! Somebody help me! This man is trying to assault me!"

"I hate dealing with people like that," you said rubbing your forehead. "Yea, I hate em' too. But look at it this way, that was the last customer for your shift," he smiled patting you on the shoulder. "Yea, I guess you're right," you sighed untying your apron and placing it on the hook.

Instead of taking an Uber home, you decided to walk. You didn't live very far away and you kinda wanted to take this time to clear your mind. Balancing school and work was challenging on its own, you didn't need energy vampires like Karen to stress you out.

You were walking through the city park as a dog ran up to you. "Woah! Down boy...or girl!" the dog tackled you to the ground and licked the left side of your face. "Ugh!"

PHWEEET!!

The ear-piercing whistle caught the attention of the dog hovering over your body.

"Here boy! Come on! Tsk Tsk." the dog bounced over to a dark-haired boy waving a frisbee over his head. "Go get it!" He shouted, flinging the plastic disk far away. You watched as the dog ran after the frisbee.

"Are you okay?" The boy asked, extending a hand towards you. You didn't even notice he was standing that close to you. "Oh, umm...yea. I'm good. Thanks," you replied as he pulled you up to your feet.

"I'm Jake," he smiled. "I'm Y/N," you replied. "Nice to meet you Y/N. Oh and sorry about Jasper," he chuckled. "Is that your dog?" "No, it's that kid's," he said pointing to the little boy that ran behind the dog you now knew as Jasper. "He's actually really sweet. And he likes meeting new people," Jake turned to look at the dog lying on his back while the little boy scratched his belly.

You took the chance to look at Jake. He was really cute and seemed like a nice guy. If you weren't covered in dog droll and walking home from work you'd probably stick around to get to know him a little more. But you were tired, so you decided to just go home.

"Hey, do you wanna go meet him? Well...meet him again?" Jake smiled awkwardly. "Oh, umm I--sure."

*Okay, never mind. I guess sleep can come later* you thought to yourself as you followed behind Jake.

"Bye. See you guys tomorrow," the boy waved as he walked over to his parent's minivan with Jasper. After about an hour--that felt like 10 minutes--passed, you were left alone with Jake. You actually had a lot of fun playing around with Jasper and Colin--that was the name of the little kid who owned the dog.

"You're really good with dogs and kids. Do you have any siblings?" "No, I'm an only child. But I've always managed to surround myself with enough people that it feels like I have one really big family," Jake went on to tell you about a few stories from his childhood. You loved how it was so easy to talk to him. On top of that, he was naturally funny which made him even more attractive.

"Ooh, I just got the biggest craving for ice cream. Do you want some?" "Yea sure," you giggled as you saw the expression on his face. "Awesome. There's a place close by. It's really good." You followed Jake to the small sweet shop around the corner. "There're only a few flavors and some basic toppings. They sell cake too," he beamed as he opened the door for you.

"Hi, Jake!" a girl smiled from behind the counter. "Do you want the same thing as usual?" she asked. "Yes please, thank you," he smiled. "Ok ok, and what would you like ma'am?" you read her name tag: Xoey. "Umm, I'll just take the same thing he got," you smiled awkwardly.

"Are you sure?" "Sorry, this is her first time coming here. Can you get her a menu?" "A menu? No way. She can have this," Xoey said picking up a mini spoon. "This is a newbie scoopy. It's for newcomers who don't know what they want. We have three basic types of ice cream: Strawberry Swirl, Chocolate Fudge, and Simply Vanilla. The toppings are pretty basic too: strawberry, chocolate, and caramel syrups. But--the special part is what you add in. That's how you make your own flavor. We have an array of mix-ins to choose from," Xoey then handed you three mini spoons with each ice cream flavor on it. You tasted them all. Creamy and delicious. "Oh, and we also have a recipe book of possible flavor combinations," Xoey added as she flipped out a colorful book, plastered to a rotating stand.

"Here ya go Jakey," Xoey smiled, handing Jake his ice cream. He watched as you created your ice cream concoction. "Hey, Xo. Just so you know I'm paying for her okay." "Save your money. The first cup is on the house Jakey," she smiled as she handed you your creation. "Enjoy," she smiled. "Thank you," you smiled back.

"Do you like it?" he asked. "I haven't even tried it yet," Jake picked up the spoon and put it in your mouth. "Mmn!" " So, how's it taste?" "Good," you mumbled with a mouthful of ice cream.

Jake giggled a bit after you said that. "What?" you mumbled again, tossing the cold cream around in your mouth, careful to cover your mouth with your hand. "You're just cute that's all," you couldn't help but get that warm feeling in your face at his words.

After finishing your ice cream, the two of you exchanged numbers. "Maybe we can hang out again sometime," Jake smiled as he tucked his phone in his pocket. "Yea, I'd like that," you smiled back. "Hmm. It's getting dark outside and I don't mind walking you home. Just to make sure you get there safely." "Thanks, Jake, I really appreciate it, but that won't be necessary." "Hmm, well I'll send you some money for a car." "You don't have to--" You felt your phone buzz in your back pocket. Jake had sent you $30 on CashApp.

"What the--" "I'll wait with you until it arrives." "You're really not gonna let me go home alone are you?" "Nope. So we're either gonna stand here until the sun comes up or you're gonna call an Uber." "It's just that I don't live far enough from here. An Uber would be useless." "Okay fine, then call me and stay on the phone until you get home alright. Does that work for you?" "Yea, that works," you chuckled.

As you agreed, you stayed on the phone with Jake until you made it home. "Alright, I'm home now." "Great. Well, I guess this is goodbye." "Hmm...yea." "Goodnight, Y/N." "Goodnight, Jake," you smiled before ending the call.

This was not the way you expected your evening to end, but you definitely weren't mad about it.

Weeks went by as you and Jake grew closer together. He loved you and he loved showing you in a number of ways. He really was the sweetest boy you ever met and you were excited to see him every time you'd see each other.

Today, you and Jake were just hanging out at the mall. "Hey, I wanna introduce you to my best friends, Sunghoon and Jay. They're really awesome and I think you'll like them too." "Okay. When do you want me to meet them?" "Today...if that's okay with you," Jake said shyly. "Yea sure that's fine," you smiled.

"Oh oh come on. Let's make a wish at the fountain," Jake laughed as he grabbed your hand dragging you to the mall's giant water fountain. "Okay okay! Jake! Slow down," you giggled behind him. "Alright, you go first," he smiled, handing you a coin. "Hmm, okay. I wish that Jake's friends would like me and I would like them too," You closed your eyes and tossed the coin in the water, opening your eyes after hearing the splash. You turned to see Jake holding the coin to his chest with his eyes closed. You watched as his lips softly mouthed some words before tossing the coin in.

"What'd you wish for?" "Ah ah ah. I can't tell you or else it won't come true." "No fair! I told you what I wished for," you playfully pushed him. "Fine, if you tag me I'll tell you." "Promise?" "Promise," he said before tapping you on the shoulder and running off.

You chased behind him before stopping to catch your breath. "Jake?" you called out, scanning the vast area. "Dammit," you cursed under your breath. "Boo!" Jake shouted from behind you, wrapping you tightly in his arms. "Ahh! Wait...I'm supposed to catch you remember?" "Oops," Jake said. "Tag! I win!" you smiled as you reached to tap Jake's hand with your fingers. "Hehe. Yup, you win. I guess I gotta tell you my wish now huh?" "Yup," you grinned.

"I wished for you to be my girlfriend," Jake said softly still holding you in his arms. You looked up to meet his eyes. "Are you being serious right now?" "Yea, I am. I've liked you for a long time now. I love how I can be myself around you. And I love you," you turned to face Jake who was now blushing a little.

You'd had feelings for Jake for a while now too, but you didn't want to say anything and mess up the little friendship the two of you had. But now, here he was, standing in front of you, confessing his feelings.

"It's okay if you don't like me back. It was just a silly wi--" You cut Jake off by kissing him on the cheek. His eyes widened and he gave you a puppy look before smiling and pulling you in for a kiss.

"I don't want to sound dramatic, but this is literally the best day of my life," Jake smiled before kissing you on the forehead. "Okay now I really gotta introduce my friends to my girlfriend," he giggled before holding your hand and walking out of the mall.

You and Jake were driving in the car on your way to Jake's apartment. You felt like his passenger princess the way he rested his hand on your thigh for most of the ride. This was your first time coming over to Jake's apartment so you didn't know what to expect.

He finally arrived at this beautiful complex that felt more like a gated neighborhood for spoiled, privileged kids living off of their parent's money. You weren't judging Jake, but the other people you saw hanging around the area looked like a bunch of dumb frat boys and preppy girls. Almost like something you'd see in some hyper-unrealistic college movie.

"I just wanted to let you know that Sunghoon and Jay are also my roommates. So, you'll be seeing a lot of them whenever you come over," Jake said as he parked the car. "Oh, that's fine. I don't mind." You felt Jake's eyes staring at you as you reapplied your cotton candy lipgloss. "What?" you asked, snapping him out of a trance-like state. "Oh, nothing. Sorry. You're just so perfect. I still can't believe you said yes," he stammered before getting out of the car and coming around to open your door.

Jake pulled out a keycard covered in stickers and waved it in front of the electronic lock.

*Beep Beep--Click*

"Guys, there's someone I want you to meet," Jake said as he opened the door. "Who? Your mom?" one of the boys joked as he walked in. "It's probably your mom, Jay. Huh Jake?" Jake laughed as he headed to the kitchen with you tailing behind him. "Hey, do you want something to drink?" "Sure I'll take a water," you said as Jake handed you a cold water bottle from the fridge.

"Alright guys, all jokes aside. This is my girlfriend, Y/N," Jake said as he walked into the living room with his hand around your waist. "Right...are you sure you're his girlfriend or did he pay you to come in here and say that?" the boy you now knew as Jay asked. "Ha ha, very funny Jay. She's actually my girlfriend," Jake responded before you could say anything.

"Well, it's just been a while since you had a girlfriend...and I'm sure you remember Becca right?" the other boy you assumed to be Sunghoon added. "Relax, Hoon. I've moved on from her a long time ago. Plus, Y/N is nothing like my ex," Jake replied nonchalantly.

"Okay well, I'm Sunghoon and this is Jay. We literally live here so if you two decide to have sex at any time while we're home, please either change your mind or keep it down. I'm not really a fan of hearing my best friend railing his girlfriend," Jay snickered before laying down his version of the house rules. "My only request is to clean up after yourselves. I don't mind helping out, but I'm not your maid. Also, be careful walking around the neighborhood at night time, they've got some weird ass people out here."

Mental Note to Self: Sex should either be quiet or done somewhere else, don't make a mess, and don't go out alone at night.

You hung around Jake's apartment for a few hours watching them play the game before you fell asleep on Jake's lap. The feeling of him stroking your head was so relaxing, that it was hard to stay awake. When you finally did wake up it was night time and you were alone with Jake.

"Where'd your friends go?" you asked in a sleepy voice. "They went to go order some food. Pizza. I hope you like that," he chuckled softly. "Yea, pizza is good. As long as there's no pineapple." "What?! No pineapple?! But it's so good." "No way. Pineapple and pizza are definitely not a match made in heaven." "Okay well, what is Miss Pizza Connoisseur?" "Pepperoni. It's a classic." "What if it's pepperoni with pineapple?" "Oh god no. That's even worse," you laughed.

"Have you ever even tried pineapple on pizza?" "No, but it sounds like a crime so it probably is." "Ha! You can't knock it until you try it," Jake smirked. "I'm not putting that in my mouth." "Well, what if I do it," Jake said as he grazed your lips with his thumb. "I-umm," you couldn't believe he was getting you all flustered just by touching your lips. "Here I'll even make it a bet. If you don't like it, then I owe you a fondue date. But, if you do like it then you owe me a surprise date. How's that sound?" You were still speechless from earlier, but you managed to mutter out "Yes," which made Jake laugh.

"Honey! I'm home!" Sunghoon said as he barged in holding two boxes of pizza. You and Jake went to the kitchen to grab a slice of pizza. "Hold on! Before anyone gets any pizza, Y/N is going to try pineapple pizza for the very first time," Jake smiled mischievously as he pulled out a cheesy slice of pineapple and ham pizza. Jake caught the end of the cheesy string with his tongue and bit it off.

"Alright. A deal's a deal. Open up," Jake said as you opened your mouth to take the first bite. It actually wasn't as bad as you'd expected. Though you'd probably never order it for yourself. As you were chewing, Jake tilted your face to the side and licked the corner of your mouth. "There was something on your face," he smirked.

"Damn ladies! Get a room," Sunghoon cringed. Jake just leaned against the countertop and laughed at Sunghoon's remark. "While you two enjoy your pizza, I just wanted to let you know that I picked up a liter of Coke," Jay said as he reached to pull down 4 tall glasses. "Oh, thanks. Do you want some too?" Jake asked. "Yea sure," you chuckled awkwardly.

Jake walked over to grab a glass for you and him, filled it with ice, and poured in the dark, fizzy drink.

"Oh and if you want you can stay here for the night," Jake offered as he passed you your soda. "Ehh, that's alright. I have work in the morning," you sighed before sipping your drink. "I can drive you there. You know I don't mind." "That's sweet Jake, but I got it." "Hmm okay, well just let me know when you're ready for me to take you home."

After eating you joined Jake and his friends in the living room to play a few card games. You were on your fifth round of Uno and you were getting a little sleepy, but you didn't want to bother Jake with driving you home. So you planned to just take an Uber.

*Ring Ring*

You're phone rang in your pocket. It was your manager calling. *What could he want at this hour* you thought to yourself. "Hey, Jake." "Yea?" "My manager's calling me. I'm gonna step out and answer this okay. It shouldn't be too long." "Okay, but don't go too far," Jake said as you headed toward the door.

You walked a good little distance away from the apartment. Specifically, you stood next to Jake's car to answer the call.

"Hey Heeseung. Why are you calling me this late? Is everything okay?" "Yea, everything is fine. I just wanted to let you know that I won't be in tomorrow. I have to go to a doctor's appointment with my mom." "Oh my god. Is she okay?" "Well, she said her chest has been hurting a lot and she's been coughing nonstop. So, I just want to get her checked out." "I hope she's okay." "Yea me too," Heeseung was quiet for a bit before continuing.

"You'll be in charge tomorrow. I need you to cover the whole shift as the manager. If it's too much to handle, just let me know and I'll have someone else cover for me." "No, that's alright. I can handle it." "Thanks, you're the best. I owe you big time." "It's no problem, family's important." "Alright well, that's all I needed to talk to you about. Goodnight, Y/N." "Goodnight, Hee," you said before ending the call.

"Meow!" you heard an unfamiliar voice catch your attention. "Excuse me?" you scoffed as you saw a frat boy from earlier walking your way. "Hey, beautiful. Wanna swing by my place for a few drinks?" he asked as he looked you up and down. "No thanks. I'd rather drink bleach." "Aww come on. I just wanna play with you, Kitty," he said flicking your shirt up. "Hey, what the fuck is wrong with you!" You spat pushing him away. "Stop playing hard to get. I know how much kitties love milk," this time the boy pressed his body against you, grinding his hard-on against your pussy through your jeans. "GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME DICKHEAD!!" you shouted as he leaned over to breathe his alcohol-tainted breath into your ear. "Shh baby. Unless you want my friends to come out here and join the party," he proceeded to cover your mouth, pressing your head into the hood of Jake's car. "MMPH!!" you grunted as you tried to push the boy off of you. Tears started to fill your eyes as you felt defeated. The boy struggled to unbutton his jeans while you laid crushed under his body weight. He let out a slight chuckle as you closed your eyes tightly.

You heard a loud smack before feeling the weight of the frat boy fall off of you. Jake had punched him straight in the jaw, knocking him to the ground. Sunghoon trailed behind him and stomped on the boy's head and he laid there with his pants halfway down his legs. Jay came out with a wooden baseball bat as Jake turned around to face you.

"Are you okay?" "Yea, yea I'm fine," you said as he pulled you into his chest. "Let's get you inside," he said as he quickly rushed you into the house.

"I'm gonna fucking kill that guy," Jake spat as he paced around the room. He had taken you to his room for the night. "You're staying here. And I'm taking you to work in the morning." Seeing Jake right now you were in no mood to argue on this one. You felt everything but fine at the moment. You were almost raped and if they hadn't heard you...you don't know what else would've happened.

"We kicked his ass real good and the cops got him," Jay said as he walked into Jake's room. "How's she doing?" Sunghoon asked. "She said she's fine, but I know that's not true," Jake sighed in frustration. "I'm sorry, Y/N." "It's not your fault Jake." "What if I didn't get there in time?" "But you did. All of you did and I really appreciate that."

Jake placed a kiss on your forehead before standing up. "If you want to take a shower and wash that asshole off you can put on my clothes," Jake said as he walked toward the door. "Where are you going?" you asked, sitting on his bed. "I need to cool off, before I do something I regret," he said as he pushed through Sunghoon and Jay.

"Don't worry. He'll be alright. But you really should get yourself cleaned up," Sunghoon sighed. "Yea, and I can wash your clothes to have them ready for the morning," Jay added, flashing a comforting smile.

You went to Jake's dresser to pull out a folded vintage band tee. Then a pair of sweatpants and boxers. Yes, wearing Jake’s boxers felt extremely strange, but in your mind it was better than going commando.

You grabbed a towel from the stack of fresh ones under the bathroom counter and started the shower. You almost didn’t even want to go to work tomorrow, but Heeseung needed you. Plus, your bills aren’t waiting for you to get over this little shake up.

After your shower you wrapped your clothes in the towel you used to dry yourself off with. “Umm, Jay,” you asked awkwardly. “Where do I put my clothes?”

“I’ll take them,” he said walking in your direction. “We have a washer in the laundry room. You can go to sleep in Jake’s bed.” “Okay, thanks. Has Jake come back yet?” “Uhh no, but he’ll be back soon. You should get some rest though. You have work in the morning. But if you’re scared to be alone just let me know. I don’t mind staying in there until you fall asleep,” Jay said in a comforting tone. “That’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

Jay nodded his head before walking away to the laundry room with your clothes. You really appreciated Jay’s kind gesture, but you didn’t want to send him through anymore unnecessary drama. He was right, you needed to get some rest for work in the morning. Since you’ll be managing for the day you have to get there early.

>>4:15 am Friday:

*Beep Beep*

The alarm on your phone woke you up before the sun. You managed to get about 4 hours of sleep, which was hopefully enough to power you through the day. You had slept so well that you didn't even notice that you were in Jake's bed...wearing his clothes. "Jake?" you called sitting up in the bed only to see him sitting across from you fast asleep at his desk. You quietly tiptoed out of the room, careful not to wake him up.

You walked to the bathroom to take care of your hygiene. However, without a toothbrush, mouthwash will have to suffice. You swished the minty liquid around your mouth before spitting it into the sink and washing your face with the white bar of soap that sat on a dish near the sink.

You left the bathroom and headed to the kitchen to get yourself something to eat. You scanned the counter for a fruit bowl. "Sorry, I didn't sleep with you last night." "Oh my god! Jake, you scared me," you jumped turning to see the sleepy boy standing on the other side of the counter rubbing his eyes. He was still wearing the clothes from last night.

"I just didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable...I was going to sleep on the couch, but I wanted to be there if you woke up and needed anything. I'm really sorry, Y/N." "Jake...it's okay. What time did you come in last night?" "Umm, I think it was a little after midnight. I just remember Jay telling me that you had gone to bed not too long ago."

"Did someone call my name?" "Good morning Jay," Jake groaned. "Morning you two. How're you feeling today Y/N? Better?"

"Yea, thanks for everything." "No problem. Oh, and your clothes are on the coffee table," he pointed to the stack of neatly folded clothes that sat on the edge of the coffee table. "Hmm. I didn't even notice them sitting there."

Jay walked to the fridge and pulled out a metal water bottle. "I'm going out for a run. I probably won't see you until after you get off. Well, that is if you come back over," Jay shrugged before walking back to his room to grab a baseball cap.

Jake dropped you off at work at 5:30 am. Heeseung was outside waiting for you to inform you of what to do in case of an emergency and a few other business-related things. "Okay, Hee. I got it. Don't worry. Go take care of your mom," you smiled as Heeseung pouted. "Call me if anything goes wrong okay." "Oookay. I will. Byeee," you giggled as you pushed Heeseung out.

Work was the last place you wanted to be today, but you had to do this for Hee. Plus, work wasn't too bad as long as you didn't have to deal with any...Karens...

"Get your finger out of my face Bitch," you heard a customer shout at a table near the window. *Oh no...here we go again* you thought to yourself.

After dealing with that problem, you prayed that you were done with drama for the day.

"Hey, I think those guys are looking for you," one of your co-workers whispered to you pointing in the direction of the two college-aged boys that just walked in.

"How can I help you, boys?" you asked in your best cheery customer service voice. "Uhh, we'll take two glasses of water." "Okay, anything else?" "No, that's good." You felt obligated to pull out your notepad, but two glasses of water were simple enough to remember. It was still a bit strange to you that two boys come in and order water...at Starbucks. However, you were in no mood to play Nancy Drew. You had about 5 hours left on your shift and this was the last order before you could take another 30-minute break that would most likely be taken up by checking on Heeseung and his mom.

You prepared the two iced glasses of water and placed them on a tray. As you walked back to the main dining area you noticed one of the boys was gone. "Umm, here you go sir," you tried not to seem suspicious, but you couldn't deny the bad vibes this duo radiated.

"Thank you," the other boy surprised you, causing you to bump into the table, knocking the drinks over. "Oh my god. I'm so sorry," you scrambled, grabbing the tissue box from the center of the table using more than half of them to pick up the spill. You slid the cold ice cubes across the table onto the tray you used to carry the glasses. "I'll get you boys another drink." "Take your time," one of them said as you quickly walked off.

You poured them two replacement glasses of water and carried them over to the table. *God that was so embarrassing* you thought to yourself.

You walked outside to take your first break and called to check on Heeseung and his mom. Luckily it was all good news. His mom just had an infection in her lungs that should clear up in a few days.

After your break, you headed back inside to see the boys still sitting where you left them. Most of the ice in their glasses had melted and they'd barely drank more than a few sips. You went over to check on them a few minutes later to see if they needed anything else, but all they said was, "We're just waiting for someone," with the fakest smile you'd ever seen plastered on their face.

It was time for you to close the dining area and shut it down for the night so you went over to tell the boys that they had to leave now. They were the last people to go as you shut off the lights. Most of your night crew stuck around to help you tidy up and left early, as usual.

You decided to walk home. You didn't really want to go back to that neighborhood by Jake...at least not right now.

You left out the back door exit for employees only that led down the trash alley. Turning the corner you saw the same two boys from earlier standing on the corner by a street light. The icky feeling returned almost instantly when you saw them so you decided to walk a different way home.

The sound of footsteps trailing behind you scared you enough, but turning around to see the footsteps came from the two boys made that fear even worse. Out of instinct, you took off running as fast as your feet could carry you. Unfortunately, it wasn't fast enough. The boys caught up to you, one pinned you up in a chokehold while the other pulled out a switchblade.

"You got our boy locked up kitten. I really hope you didn't think we were gonna let you slide did you?" the boy holding the switchblade said as he stepped closer to you driving the tip of his switchblade into your collarbone. You winced at the sharp pain and fought to hold back tears.

The boy who was holding you licked the side of your face, his breath alone was enough to make you queasy. The other boy chuckled at your reaction and cut your cheek in the spot that had been licked. Your scream was muffled by a hand. No way were you just gonna sit here and let yourself be taken advantage of.

You bit down on the boy's hand hard enough to draw blood, causing him to release his grip. You kicked the other boy right between his legs, dropping him to the ground. Immediately you took off running back to the cafe.

You scrambled to quickly unlock the doors and lock yourself in. You didn't hesitate to call Jake and let him know what was going on. "Stay where you are. I'm on my way," Jake said before cutting the call. You could hear the boys pounding on the door and shouting all the horrible things they were gonna do to you once they broke the door down.

The sound of a car screeching diverted their attention. For about 20 minutes, everything was completely silent.

*Knock knock knock*

"It's just me," you heard Jake yell from the other side of the door. Without hesitation, you opened the door and fell into his arms.

This was the second time Jake saved your life. "Where'd those guys go?" you asked as Jake drove you to his house. "I took care of them. Don't worry about it."

Initially, you didn't want to go back to Jake's apartment, but now you didn't want to be alone. Once you arrived at the apartment, you called to tell Heeseung what happened.

"What the fuck? Are you alright?" "Yea, I'm fine now." "Hey, if you want, you can take the week off. Just until everything cools down." "But--" "I'll pay you for your time off. Just think of it as a little vacation okay. And please call me if you ever feel unsafe alright. I don't care what I'm doing, I'll be there for you."

It was comforting to hear those words coming from him. Aside from being your manager Heeseung has been a very reliable friend to you ever since you first met.

"Who was that?" Jake asked. "It was just my manager," you shrugged, tucking your phone away. "What did he want?" "I was just telling him about what happened tonight. He said I can have the week off." "Oh well that's pretty kind of him," Jake said before walking away.

You were very curious about what exactly happened to those two boys that night. Not like you genuinely cared, but nonetheless, you wanted to know.

>>8:47 am, Monday:

You hadn't been back at your apartment in days. Ever since that night, you've been sleeping with Jake because you were too afraid to be alone. What if those guys were still out there? On your way to the kitchen, you walked into the living room to see Sunghoon on the couch sipping a hot cup of coffee while watching the news. "Hey, are these the guys that harassed you the other night?" Sunghoon asked upon meeting your gaze.

You turned to look at the television to see the faces of both boys and came closer to listen.

"The bodies of two college boys, Kenan Lanes, and Parker Ansley, were found this morning with their throats slit in an alley not too far from city park. The cause of death appears to be a loss of blood as well as damage to the brain most likely caused by a devastating blow to the head. We are under the assumption that their death was related to drug and gang violence based off of their previous criminal record."

You felt your stomach turn as you thought of the last time you saw them. *Did Jake do this?* you thought to yourself. *No way. There was no way he was capable of something like this*

Without saying a word you walked back to the room to find Jake still lying in the bed. "Did you kill those boys?" "What are you talking about?" "The boys from that night?" "No, why would you think that?" "Because..." "Because what?" "Nevermind," you couldn't bring yourself to accuse him of something like that.

"But if I did kill them, it would've been because of you. I'd do anything to protect you," He said as you walked away.

After about a couple days, you completely abandoned the idea of Jake doing something like that. Honestly, it felt like everything had returned to normal. You had gone back home, but you still see him almost every day. He had become very protective of you and honestly, the best boyfriend you could ever imagine.

>>2:07pm Thursday:

You and Jake were lying in his bed and out of curiosity you asked about his childhood and...his ex-girlfriend. He explained to you how his dad used to beat him and his mom and that his first relationship ended due to his girlfriend's infidelity. But what made it worse was that the guy she cheated on him with was her ex and every time he'd bring up the fact that she was being unfaithful she'd hit him.

"Hey, guess what I just remembered?" Jake asked as you rested your head on his chest. "What?" "I owe you a fondue date." "Oh, right I had completely forgotten about that." "I think it'll be a good way to take your mind off of things," Jake suggested in an attempt to liven the mood. To be honest, the past few days have been pretty gloomy, but he was right. You were going back to work in three days and some alone time with him would be pretty great.

>>6:50pm Friday:

You and Jake sat on his bedroom floor. "I know this isn't the most romantic setting, but at least we don't have to worry about grossing out my roommates," Jake chuckled as he stirred the hot chocolate with the mini wooden spoon. "Have you ever had fondue before?" He continued.

"Nope, but it seems fairly simple."

"Basically," Jake said, grabbing a metal skewer. "You take a strawberry and put it on the stick," he said, picking up a strawberry and shoving the skewer through it. "After that, you dip it in the chocolate. Be careful, it's hot," he dipped the strawberry, coating it completely with chocolate before blowing in it to cool it down. "There's coconut oil in it. So as it cools, it creates a shell that's the best part," he smiled. "Now open up," he said opening his mouth as he pointed the chocolate-covered berry in your direction.

You bit into the strawberry, causing a little juice to run down the skewer onto his fingers which he sucked off before handing you a stick. "Now you try."

You carefully followed the same steps as Jake and brought the chocolate-coated berry to his mouth. Just like when you bit into it, the juice ran down the skewer onto your fingers. Jake pulled your hand to his lips and sucked the sweet liquid from your fingers. You had no idea how a fondue date could be so sexual.

This process continued for a bit before Jake got creative. He dipped his own finger into the hot chocolate and you sucked it off. You could feel the sexual tension deepening now as the next berry Jake dipped he let some of the hot chocolate drip onto your thigh. He bent down to suck it off, this time leaving a mark behind.

❤️‍🔥

He pulled your top over your head as he began kissing your neck and breasts. You stroked your fingers through his fluffy dark hair as he pleasured himself between your tits. He then took another berry and dripped more chocolate onto your breasts following the same process as before, sucking and licking the chocolate up. You winced every time the hot chocolate touched your skin but anticipated his lips following after. The sensation of your touch led him to remove his shirt and crawl on top of you.

Jake reached down to tuck his fingers in between your hot wet lips. He inserted two fingers feeling the way your walls pulsated around his fingers as he pushed them in and out. He then took his fingers out and sucked your wetness off. Then he took one of the strawberries and used the tip of it to stimulate your clit. Spreading your lips he watched as your pussy dripped with clear cum which he caught with the strawberry and brought it to his lips.

"You taste better than the fondue," he giggled before leaning in to lap at your pussy. He leaned over to unplug the machine, cover it with a lid, and slide it under his desk. "Here, you try it," he said as he spit on your pussy and mixed your juices with his saliva. He held the strawberry in his mouth as he fed it to you.

Distracted by Jake mouth-feeding you a strawberry, you didn't notice when Jake pulled out his hard throbbing cock until you felt him pushing it through your opening. "Ngh!" you exclaimed at the sudden feeling. His dick was so thick, you could feel it stretching your walls. The pain came with pleasure as he pumped himself inside of you. You two were still exchanging saliva as he tongue fucked your mouth. You couldn't help but grind your hips against his as he pushed his dick deeper into your pussy. You moaned into his mouth causing him to fuck you a little faster.

"Mmm fuck, Jake," you moaned as you felt every inch and every vein coursing through you. You breathlessly moaned his name again, causing him to pound your pussy harder. "Fuck, Baby. I love it when you moan my name." Jake occasionally let out soft little groans which only turned you on more. "You like that?" he asked upon hearing your moans grow louder. "Ugh, fuck! Mhnn, yes," you whined as he continued to thrust himself inside of your throbbing cunt. "Mmm, your moans are so fucking sexy babe," Jake's voice quivered a bit as he said this.

He pushed your thighs back, exposing your pussy to him. You held onto the backs of your knees as he mercilessly pounded your aching pussy. "Ngh! FUCK! Jake, I can't hold it back anymore," you pleaded as you felt your pussy contracting. You arched your back as you felt your climax approaching. "Cum for me baby," Jake groaned in your ear as he fucked you on his bedroom floor. You moaned as you squirted on the floor.

Fortunately for you, Sunghoon and Jay weren't home at the moment. Otherwise, they all would've heard you moaning Jake's name.

Jake lifted you off of the ground. Your legs were still shaking from your orgasm. He walked you to the bathroom and started up the shower for you. You leaned over the bathroom counter to hold yourself up while Jake turned on the water. "Hold on, I'll be right back with some towels okay," Jake said before leaving the bathroom.

You reached between your legs to feel that your pussy was still oozing with cum and the stimulation from your touch made you crave a second round. Though your body was telling you 'no' your mind was saying 'yes.'

Jake returned shortly after with a stack of towels. "Alright, let's get you cleaned up," Jake smiled as he carefully guided you to the shower. He was only wearing sweatpants at the moment. Fortunately, you were able to use the railing and the rim of the tub for support, as your legs were still a bit wobbly.

You sat down and started to wash yourself, but decided to cum at least one more time before cleaning up. Just then you felt a cool wind behind you, it was Jake entering the shower with his rock-hard dick. He immediately saw the way you had your hands tucked between your legs, pleasing yourself. The sight of you sitting in front of him wet, naked, and horny caused his dick to twitch. "Hmm, looks like I'm not the only one in the mood for another round," Jake smiled, stroking his cock.

He approached your face, pulling your hair to tilt your head back as he inserted his dick into your mouth. "Suck it, baby. Suck my dick with those pretty fucking lips," he smirked as you bobbed your head up and down his shaft. He groaned as you pulled back to suck on his pink, fleshy tip that leaked pre cum. You maintained eye contact as you spit on his dick and jerked his cock a few times before putting it back in your mouth. "Ugh hmm," he moaned as you shoved his dick deep down your throat, nearly making you gag.

Seeing the way your eyes rolled back when his dick reached your throat, turned him on more. He grabbed your head and held it close while he grinded your face. You felt him repeatedly jamming his cock in your mouth before shoving it deep and holding it there while he moaned in your mouth. "Ngh, baby. I need your pussy," he whined as he pulled his sticky dick from between your lips.

You braced yourself up against the wall as Jake pounded your pussy from behind. You couldn't even speak at this point, you were letting Jake use you as his personal sex doll. You felt the water hit your back as Jake continued to fuck you harder and deeper, gripping your ass, waist, and tits which made him more excited. You heard him groan as he filled you with his hot, sticky load.

❤️‍🔥

You and Jake finished up in the shower before crashing, completely naked, in his bed.

A few days later, you returned to work and everything was great for the next month.

"Hey, Y/N. Do you wanna hang out today after your shift?" Heeseung asked as you wiped off the counter. "Yea, sure."

It had been a while since you and Heeseung went out for drinks, primarily due to the fact that you had been so busy with Jake and everything. Not that you were complaining, you loved Jake and Jake loved you. But you did miss spending time with Heeseung. So after your shift, you climbed into his car as he drove you to your favorite club.

You and Heeseung bought a couple drinks and caught each other up on what's been going on since you last spoke. You told him about how you'd been doing since the incident and he told about how his mom was feeling much better.

"Okay let's play a game," Heeseung suggested. "What game?" you asked. "Drink or die," he said. "Drink or die? How do you play that?" "Okay so basically, it's like truth or dare. And if you chicken out you have to take a drink. The game ends when one of us finishes our drink," you were already fairly tipsy, but a game didn't seem like a bad idea.

"Hmm, sounds pretty easy," you said as the bartender placed two suicide cocktails in front of you. These were the strongest drinks on the menu which made them perfect for a game like this. "Okay, I'll go first," Heeseung smiled readjusting himself in the chair. "Alright, truth or dare?" "Truth." "Have you ever peed in a pool?" "Starting easy I see. And yes. To be honest, I think everyone has at least once in their lives." "True, true," you nodded.

"Your turn. Truth or dare?" "Hmm...truth." "What's the strangest rumor you've ever heard about yourself?" "Umm, one time back in fifth grade all of the kids used to tease me about a bump on my foot. They said I was growing a third toe because I was some kind of alien." "That's crazy. Okay, my turn," Heeseung chuckled. "Truth or dare?" "Truth...actually dare." "Hmmm let me see," you said scanning the room. "Oh oh, I know. Whisper something dirty to the bartender," you snickered as Heeseung sighed before whistling to get the female bartender's attention. Whatever he said must've been pretty wild because that girl was blushing for the rest of the night.

"Your turn," he grinned mischievously. "What's your biggest sex fantasy?" You didn't hesitate to take a sip from your drink. "Aww come on," he whined. "You just made me do that freaky ass shit so it's only fair we make it even." "Okay, well ask me something else." "Uh uh. You didn't want to tell the truth so now you have to do a dare." "Ugh fine," you groaned, rolling your eyes before taking another sip of the cocktail. "Hey! I didn't even give you the dare yet." "I know, but knowing you I'll probably need it to complete it," he laughed at your remark before telling you to close your eyes which you did obediently.

You felt a set of soft, plush lips meet yours, gently pulling them in. A simple kiss soon joined by a little tongue action. Then you remembered...Jake.

"What the fuck is this!?" you heard a voice that ripped your lips away from Heeseung. "Jake? What are you doing here?" "I was coming to find you! I was supposed to take you home today remember?!"

You had completely forgotten that Jake planned to take you home today.

"Jake. I-" "I don't wanna hear it!" he spat before storming out. "Who was that?" Heeseung asked. "That was my boyfriend," you sighed. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I didn't know." "That's my fault. I didn't tell you," you said grabbing your bag. "Where are you going now?" "To apologize to him," you said, leaving Heeseung behind.

You ran out to catch Jake as he walked to his car. "Jake! Wait!" you called, but he didn't turn around. "Jake!!" you shouted again.

*Honk*

"Y/N!!" Jake yelled out. The loud blaring of a car horn caught your attention as you were nearly hit by an oncoming car. Jake ran to you, grabbing you by the arm as he dragged you to his car. "Get in," he commanded."Jake I--" "No. I don't want to hear a single word about what happened back there. Not until we get home." "Your apartment?" "No...yours," he said sternly, gripping the cold leather of the steering wheel in his hands as he pulled off.

When you finally made it home, Jake waited for you to unlock the door to your room. He sat down at the metal barstool in your small apartment. "I didn't mean for it to go that far, Jake. I swear," you said as Jake dropped his head into his hands. You listened as he let out a deep sigh. "I'd do anything to make you happy. Anything! And this is what I get? You sneaking around with your manager behind my back," he spat. "How would you feel if you caught me at some bar making out with my co-worker?" "I-I would feel betrayed." "And that's exactly how I'm feeling right now. Absolutely, fucking betrayed." "Jake, I'll never do it again. I promise. It was a stupid mistake and I regret it. You're the sweetest guy I've ever known and I don't want to lose you." "Well maybe you'll think of that next time," Jake said as he stood up. "I'm going home. I need some time away from you to cool down." "Oh...okay." "I love you, Y/N." "I love you too, Jake," you said as you watched the teary-eyed boy leave your apartment.

You fell to the ground and cried after you locked the door. You felt like a piece of you had just been torn away. And that piece was Jake. The boy who walked into your life when you weren't even looking for love. And you know that if Jake hadn't come in there, things would've been a whole lot worse.

Ever since that day, Jake's been a little different. You two were able to move past the Heeseung ordeal, in fact, your 6 month anniversary was just around the corner. For the most part, Jake was the most loveable, reliable, and supportive boy you'd ever known, but on the other hand, he was a whole different person.

Even his best friends Sunghoon and Jay had started to convince you to break up with him, but you couldn't. You felt responsible for creating the two-faced sweetheart.

3 months ago…

You were on your way to Jake’s apartment to go and spend some time with him. However, you were running a little late because you had stopped to pick up some food for the two of you.

“Where the hell were you?” Jake said as he opened the door. Your smile faded as you saw the frustrated look on Jake’s face. “Sorry I’m late, there was just a lot of traffic today. But I went to pick up lunch for you…your favorite.” “Oh yeah? And did you go anywhere else while you were out?” “Well i-“ you were cut off by Jake grabbing a handful of your hair.

“You what?” “Ow! Jake! Please let me go,” you whined nearly dropping the bag of food. “Not until you tell me where else you went. And don’t even think about lying. It’ll only make things worse.” “I went to the library,” you whimpered. “To go meet up with someone huh?” “Yes, but—AHH!!” Jake pulled your hair tighter and brought your face to his. “I had to give Evie my notes from class,” you winced with tears welling in your eyes. Jake loosened his grip, relaxing your body. “She was sick last week and missed the lecture…so she was studying…at the library,” you continued to explain.

Jake caught the tear with his thumb as it ran down your cheek. “I’m sorry. I hate to see you cry,” he pouted, taking the bag from your hands and placing it on the counter. “I love you so much. And the thought of losing you scares the hell out of me,” Jake said as he pulled you in for a hug. “How about we go and enjoy our lunch together,” Jake kissed you on the forehead before walking you to the table.

Jay and Sunghoon came into the apartment not long after you and Jake started eating. "Hey guys," Jay casually waved as he walked to his room. You and Jake both responded by waving back. Sunghoon stayed behind in the kitchen to grab a drink while he played around on his phone. Within a few minutes, Jay was already heading back outside.

Both you and Jake assumed Sunghoon left with Jay so when a notification popped up on your phone from a guy named "Nicholas" Jake went ballistic. You barely had enough time to register the situation before you were smacked in the mouth with your phone. A thin stream of blood peered through the broken skin on your lips.

"What the fuck is this huh?" Jake shouted. "Are you cheating on me?" He continued. "Wh-what are you talking about?" you asked still dazed from the first whack. Jake reached to wrap his hands around your throat right as Sunghoon got up to see what was going on.

"Jake! Are you crazy? What the fuck are you doing?" Sunghoon ran over to pull you away from him. "You need to fucking chill out. I-" Sunghoon stopped mid-sentence when he noticed the blood on your lip. "This is none of your business Sunghoon," Jake growled. "I'm not just gonna stand here and let you beat on your girlfriend like your dad beat your mom." Before Jake could respond Sunghoon had already taken you outside.

"Are you okay?" He asked looking at your lip. "Yea...I'm fine," you responded wiping the access with the back of your hand. "How long has this been going on?" "This is the first time he ever reacted this way," you replied looking down at the ground.

"Do you at least know why?" "He's afraid of me cheating on him like his ex." "This is so fucking stupid. He does realize that you're nothing like his ex right?" "Yea, but it's kinda my fault.." you sighed. "How?" "Well, he caught me in a bar one time making out with my manager. And since then, he doesn't fully trust me."

"That still doesn't give him a reason to hit you," Sunghoon shook his head. "I don't care about some one-time incident. Jake isn't a child, he needs to deal with his emotions like an adult. He could seriously hurt you. How do you think that would've gone if I wasn't in there? Huh?"

You rubbed your neck, remembering the way Jake tightly gripped your throat, "I...He would've choked me..." "And probably much worse," Sunghoon added. "I know you love him and I'm sure he loves you, but you can't stick around if he's gonna treat you like this--" "But it was just one time, Sunghoon. He'll never do it again," you didn't hesitate to defend Jake. You truly did believe this would be the last time.

"I hope not. If it happens again, just know I'll be dragging his ass out of the house instead of you," Sunghoon said before wrapping an arm around your shoulder. "Don't worry. I'm just walking you to my car."

You followed Sunghoon to his car, climbing into the passenger side.

*Click*

Sunghoon locked the doors. "I just have one question for you, do you want to go back in there or would you rather I take you home?" Sunghoon's question danced around in your mind. You were afraid of what Jake might do to you if he was still angry, but you also didn't want to leave him.

"I want to go back in there with Jake," you answered. "Well, that's your choice, but first we're going to get something to eat," Sunghoon sighed before pulling out his phone. "What are you doing?" "First, I'm texting Jay to meet up with us. Second, I'm telling your crazy ass boyfriend where I'm taking you so he doesn't do anything stupid."

>>Present Day:

As badly as you wanted to believe that was the first and last time Jake would ever hurt you, you knew random outbursts were inevitable. But at least he hadn't done any physical harm to your body...right? You've got into some pretty heated arguments where Jake has broken things around you. Another incident happened when the two of you were arguing about him wanting you to quit your job and move in with him.

Though you wanted to move in with him, you didn't want to quit your job. Sure the customers were annoying sometimes, but you loved that place. You'd been working there for over a year now and it almost felt like a second home. But Jake wasn't trying to hear that. He raised his hand and you closed your eyes tightly, bracing for impact. Instead, the sound of glass shattering caused you to jump.

Jake had thrown a glass bottle to the ground and walked away.

Jay came home just as Jake walked away. He rushed over to help you clean up the mess. "What happened?" Jay asked. "Nothing...It slipped out of my hands," you lied. And thus began a trend of you lying to cover for Jake.

Soon after, you moved in with Jake, while secretly keeping your job. Whenever he'd drive you, you told him to drop you off at a store that was a good little walk away from your real job. Yes, you felt bad for lying, but Jake was already controlling so many aspects of your life. You at least wanted this for yourself.

Nevertheless, you were excited about your date with Jake. He had planned a little weekend vacation at a resort not too far from where you lived. Lucky for you, Jake had calmed down a lot over the last two months so you weren't afraid to be alone with him.

Only one day stood between you and your little rendezvous and the both of you were getting very excited to spend some alone time together. As usual, Jake dropped you off at your fake job before you walked away to your real job. "Good morning, Y/N. What's got you all excited?" Heeseung asked upon seeing the smile on your face. "Me and Jake are going on a date this weekend," you beamed. "Sounds fun," he smiled back. "Well let's hurry up and finish your shift, so you can go home and get ready," he giggled. You immediately pulled your apron over your head and started taking orders.

Jake wanted to surprise you with flowers and chocolate when you finished your shift. So he ran over to a florist and picked up the biggest bouquet available. "What's the special occasion?" the lady asked as she rang him up. "It's for my girlfriend. We're going out this weekend for our anniversary and I want it to be special," he smiled. "Aww, that's so sweet. I wish I had a boyfriend like you," she giggled before handing Jake the bouquet. "Thank you," he smiled. "Wait...give this to her. Girls love plushies," she said, handing him a fluffy bear wearing a blue and green bow. "Oh my gosh. Thank you so much. She'll love this. How much is it?" "Don't worry about it," she waved her hand. "It's on the house. Enjoy your date."

Jake just had one more stop to make before coming over to pick you up. A box of chocolates.

He drove to your fake job with the biggest grin on his face, thinking about how you'd react to his surprise. When he finally arrived, he walked in and waited for you to come out. You supposedly worked as a server at this fancy restaurant. So when Jake didn't see you come out even once, he went to find the manager.

"Excuse me. Where's Y/N?" "Who's Y/N?" "She's one of your servers. Here's a picture of her," Jake said pulling out his phone to show the manager a picture of you. "I'm very sorry young man, but I've never seen that girl in my life. And her name is nowhere to be found on the roster. I believe you may have the wrong establishment," the elderly man said adjusting his glasses. "Maybe you're right," Jake chuckled. "Sorry for bothering you. Thank you for all of your help," Jake flashed a fake smile before walking off to a corner to call you.

You didn't answer the first call because you were in the middle of taking an order, but Jake didn't know. So he tried again. One of the servers saw the distressed look on his face. "Hey, who'd you say you were looking for again?" the waiter asked. Jake pulled up your picture and told him your name. "She's my girlfriend and I'm just really worried about her right now," Jake said rubbing his forehead. "Ohhh, I know her. Well, I know her face. She works not too far from here. At the Starbucks down the street. She's a cashier so she'll be in the front. Actually, I saw her there this morning. She's probably still there," the waiter said before walking off. "Ahh, thanks, man. Here's 50 for your time," Jake said handing the waiter a $50 bill. "Woah! I mean, you're welcome," he said holding up the bill to see if it was real.

Jake drove down the street to see you taking orders at the register before turning around to signal for someone to take your place.

*Ring Ring*

Jake's phone rang. He picked it up to see you calling. "Hello?" he answered. "Is everything okay?" you asked. "Yea, sorry. I butt-dialed and tried to call you back to let you know," Jake chuckled. "Oh okay. Well, I have to get back to work. My shift is almost over." "Alright, I'll be over in a bit to pick you up." "Okay, love you." "Love you too," he said before ending the call.

Jake pulled into a parking spot and waited for you to get off of work. He watched as you walked down the street and stood in front of the building to your fake job.

After waiting a few minutes, Jake drove around the block to pick you up. You climbed into the car to see Jake smiling with a bouquet of flowers, a box of chocolates, and a cute plush teddy. "Aww, Jake. What's all this?" "I wanted to surprise you at work," he said before pulling off. "Thank you so much, Jake. This is beautiful," you smiled before placing a kiss on his cheek. You went on to tell him about your day at work as he drove you back to his apartment.

You were completely unaware that Jake found out you had been lying to him for the past few months about where you worked and he was very upset. This weekend of romance may have just turned into a trap for you. You were going out of town to a secluded area alone with Jake. There will be no Jay or Sunghoon to protect you from the monster Jake could be.

And the worst part was that you didn't even know you were walking to your own doom...

❀ Thank you all so much for reading! Make sure to check out other works on my masterlist!

❀ 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝:

@chlorinecake @hoyeonheeseung @nikisdubblchococake @sussyjake @furious-eagle @cherrriesss @abbyizzy @weyukinluv @addictedtohobi @thatonenoona @wavykook @givemeyourtmihyun @jaeljn @hoonmywk @valennshit @19-yunalyn @hoonbby @frostedblankets @hoonsyo @no-mannerism @perfectxserendipity @chubbibish @ihrtlix @bunniesforsoobin @thereadersparadise @thatbooknerdfr @aiden2001 @belongstoheeseung @jakeybabe @donut-crazs @rizzhee @nikimeows @woonieees @uarmyxtae @rebecca-johnson-28 @they2luv1naia @isa-2007 @silcry @riverscafe @pearlwhitesoul @nikohiroshi @thatbooknerdfr @wonniewonwon @sughoonieeee @babyy-bambii @adrika04 @sehunsharpasseyebrows @nikisblkgf @wtfyangjungwon @fr-3-akn-4-stymf @rikiloversworld @shawyle @sunoosrightbuttcheek @uarmyxtae

[kissitbttr]

I think mean cheerleader has a single mom who is her best friend and biggest supporter. Eddie is super nervous to meet her because he's so used to being judged but mc's mom immediately loves him. She sees he isn't like all of mc's exes and eventually thinks of him as a son. Knowing how busy Wayne is working, she always is trying to feed Eddie and ask if he needs help with anything. MC loves her two favourite people get on and that Eddie is part of her family. Total fluff stuff!

oh my god yes this idea is perfect anon! I’ve been thinking abt the mean cheerleader!reader having a single mom too! bless your heart for this💞!

eddie meeting mean!cheerleader mom for the first time <3

-

“she’s gonna love you baby, no need to be nervous” she leans over to peck his cheek, intertwining her hand around his as the two of them walk towards the house,

“not so sure about that princess” he lets out a nervous cackle, “every single parent that lives here hates my guts. no matter what i do, I’m always the bad guy in their eyes. it’s cool though.”

if her heart could ever make a sound, she would hear it break into pieces over the choice of his words. how cruel do you have to be as a person, that you think you are entitled to make a person feel like this? especially when this person is eddie. none of those people deserved him. they never did.

“i can assure you, eddie my love.” she stops walking, tugging his wrist to face her. “that my mother isn’t like the rest. she’s less judgmental and really nice. also she makes a mean chocolate pie. one bite and you’ll be addicted”

she will do whatever it takes to make him feel comfortable. because after all he has been through. all the insecurities he poured that one night as she held him close to her chest. crying softly in her embrace. enough is enough. this man has been longing for warm love and comfort, so that’s what she’s gonna give to him.

he shoots her a smile, tucking a strand of loose hair behind the ear before cupping her soft cheek. “i love you, sweetheart. god, i just feel so lucky to have you right now.”

“i know” she sasses, earning a laugh from her boyfriend. “i love you too. now, you ready to come in? it’s almost dinner time, i think she’s cooking something.”

she guides him towards the front door and eddie surely feels like his knees starting to buckle. he’s heard stories about her mom before. how her mother is her biggest inspiration and that she has become the most important person in y/n’s life. probably that’s why he’s nervous. because if he couldn’t get her blessing, then he’s probably done for.

“ready” he blows a huge breathe, fixing his jacket and hair to make himself looking presentable. “shit why am i like this”

“calm down eds” she giggles, unlocking the door before stepping. “ma? I’m home!” she calls out, gesturing eddie to come in with her hand. an excited grin plastered on her face,

eddie however still a tad bit nervous, though it seems to lessen after y/n hooks her arm around his to ease the nerves he has inside. he silently thanks her.

“where is she? is she-“

“i’m in the kitchen, darling! just took out the best pot roast you will ever have!”

“i know that because you’re a good cook ma” she says, walking towards the dining room with eddie walking beside her. “oh and uh-ma I brought eddie. my boyfriend. hope that’s okay.”

‘here we go’ he thinks, another look of disappointment he’d be receiving from another parent. not that he’s going to be surprised. she notices the tight look going on his face, so she plants a reassuring kiss on his lips in which he’s grateful for.

a few minutes later, her mother comes into view. with a gravy stained apron tied around her body and her hair is pulled up into a bun. her lips stretched into a large smile before removing the gloves,

“of course it’s okay, y/n. so this is the infamous eddie I’ve heard about huh? oh sweetheart, he’s cuter in person!” she walks over to the two of them, “how are you, darling?”

“uhm ms. y/l/n h-hi, nice to meet you” he awkwardly extends his hand to shake, seeing the frown upon her face when she sees him does that.

“oh we only do hugs in this household sweetheart, come here” she wraps her arms around eddie before he can say anything, catching him off guard.

this feels oddly unfamiliar to him because he hasn’t been hugged by a family member in a long time but this also feels… nice?

his body just begins to freeze, not knowing what to do. that is until y/n goes behind her mother and mouth ‘it’s okay’ to him, sending him a soft smile. silently letting him know that in this house, you’re free to let your emotions go.

with that, he slowly hugs her back. screwing his eyes shut as he begins to take it all in. because this embrace will somehow heal his inner childhood trauma. it’d help him a lot. i guess that’s what you get for not receiving many affections as a kid. someone touches you once then you’ll begin to break

“y/n has told me a lot about you, eddie. such a shame that she didn’t bring you sooner. in which i told her to” she starts after pulling away from him,

y/n rolls her eyes, placing her purse on the table and shrugging off her white puffer jacket. “we weren’t dating that time ma, god!”

“yeah yeah” she waves her off, chuckling at her daughter. her eyes turn back towards eddie who keeps a nervous smile on his features “well eddie, make yourself at home, okay? stay for dinner.”

“oh I couldn’t ms.y/l/n I don’t want to bother-“

“nonsense! you could never be a bother. grab a seat, have some pot roast and we can have my infamous chocolate pie after. y/n told me you like chocolate.” she pokes his side, going back to the kitchen and grab some utensils,

“yeah, a lot actually.” he laughs a bit, taking a seat next to his girlfriend who plays on a dopey smile, causing him to mess with her hair. “what are you smiling at?”

she sighs, propping her elbows on the wooden table. eyeing her pretty boyfriend who shares the same look. “i told you, she likes you.”

“you think so?” he cranes his neck to where your mother is, “well, you know i gotta make a good impression”

she nods, rubbing her knuckles lightly against his cheek. “my mother has no shame in showing her dislike towards someone in instant. if she doesn’t like you, she tells you right away. either by her expression or action.”

he hums. “like mother like daughter, huh?” his finger pokes the tip of her nose, causing her to scrunch it

“what can i say, baby?” she shrugs, a giggle follows after. leaning forward to press a soft kiss on his lips. just because.

“y/n? be a doll and help me with these mashed potatoes?” she hears her mother call out,

“no need to ask mama” y/n stands from her chair, staring down at his gorgeous eyes. “be right back. sit tight.”

eddie nods, kissing her hand before she walks into the kitchen. that’s when he takes the opportunity to eye each and every corner of the house. it’s definitely not what he thought it be like. just a normal house with minimum decorating, few baby pictures of y/n by the fireplace that makes him smile.

he carefully removes himself from the seat, slowly making his way towards where the picture stand. there’s one where she was dressed in a ballerina outfit, looking straight to the camera showing off her pearly whites. she looked so damn cute,

“she wouldn’t take off that ballerina outfit for two weeks after that”

he whips his head back to see her mother standing couple feet from him, seeing her smile at the memory. “really?”

with a nod, she takes a couple steps forward. “was such a hassle to try to take it off of her. so i just sort of let her did her thing and hoped she got sick of it.”

“that definitely sounds like her” he laughs, earning one from her too. “has it… always been the two of you?”

“ever since she was three. her poor excuse of a father bailed the minute he found a younger girl for him to date.”

“i’m sorry to hear that, ms. y/l/n.” he eyes her with sad eyes. “nobody deserves that”

“nothing to be sorry for, darling” she gives him a smile, placing a hand on his shoulder to give a light squeeze. “you got my little girl in a cloud 9, you know that?”

hearing her say that, makes his heart bloom in pride. he can’t help but let out a sigh of relief and a grin breaks out. “i do, ma’am?”

“oh, absolutely. coming home all joyful as if three cupids were hovering above her. no more dull or plain emotion. she’s in her happy place and i, thank you for that, eddie. my daughter needs it. and I’m grateful that it’s you.”

there’s something in the way she says it, that makes eddie just wants to break down and cry. how many people have come forward and tell him that they’re grateful for his existence? let alone say a ‘thank you’. not even when his parents were still around. for that reason alone, it made him think that he’s good for nothing. and he’d turn out just like his old man.

“i never-“ he cuts himself off with a cough before continuing, “i never had someone in my family tell me things like that. growing up it was just me and my uncle, even that we don’t really talk much. he’s a good man though, it’s just-sorry” he sniffles, tears threatening to spill from his eyes, “I don’t get to hear that often”

y/n’s mother nods slowly, sympathizing for the young man standing before her. screaming from the inside, just begging to be cared and understood by the people that are close to him. that’s it. and he couldn’t even get one single thing? what kind of parents does that?

“you know something, darling? you need to stop saying sorry for things you have no control for. and this. is not your fault. everything that happened, was not by your doing. you’re just a kid. and i applaud you for holding on. there’s only much you can handle with your age.” she rubs his back in circular motion, something she does when her daughter gets sad. “when everything gets too much, you can always come here. i promise, i will welcome you with open arms. you’re a good person eddie, i can just tell by the way y/n talks about you.”

eddie’s glossy eyes turn to look at her. now that’s a look that he has been waiting for from someone. and he just can’t help but feels so overwhelmed with love and hospitality that his girl’s mother brings. of course, it surprised him to know that she wasn’t exactly like the rest of the parents in hawkins. soon when he walked in, she didn’t give him a dirty look , instead she hugged him.

she hugged. him

“thank you so much, ms. y/l/n. truly i- god this is the second happiest day of my life.” he laughs through his light sobs, wiping the tears with his sleeves.

“what is the first?”

“winning your daughter’s heart” his cheeks are blushing, hearing her mother chuckle,

“good answer.”

y/n is carrying a steaming hot mashed potatoes when she walks in, smiling to herself immediately as she witnesses two of her favorite people share a hug. something that she thought she’d never see.

“dinner’s ready” she says, breaking them away from the embrace as she saunters towards the table. placing the bowl on top. “come, come.”

“thank you, baby” her mother keeps her grip on his shoulder, looking over at him with one last look before saying, “oh and eddie? I’ve heard about what they said about you. so I’m here to tell you, i don’t believe a single shit. if they did something, you come straight to me, got it?”

eddie is quick to nod, not letting the grateful smile off his face. hands shoved in his pockets. “yes, ma’am”

“good. now let’s have some dinner.”

-

i have so much fun writing this because it’s really cute! EEK. hands up if you have daddy/mommy issues!🙋🏻‍♀️

​i think im definitely gonna write more abt eddie interacting with mean cheerleader! mom !!

[codename-adler]

My AFTG take is that I'm actually baffled by how little people see the Riko/Kevin dynamic as having a sexual undertone. Like they were romantically involved in previous drafts of the story and for me it shows? And I don't even mean as they necessarily being exes or even an unrequited love situation, I just think Riko comes off as someone who feels entitled to ALL of Kevin. They are sooooo toxic codependent teen girl friendship to me.

(prefacing this by, again, admitting to not reading the EC. it's starting to feel a lil shameful in here... but i'm stubborn like my mama (she's actually not, that's just what the father says) so i'm still putting that off as long as i can)

you is absolutely right. it's not a coincidence AFTG's antagonist is a man who has no concept of boundaries whatsoever, and that the main characters, and main couple, are people who have been severely hurt and traumatized by others disregarding their boundaries. it's the whole goddamn shtick of the story.

Riko knows no limits. i don't even believe he knows he can, and should, have his own. "no," "stop," "too much," "wrong," and "boundaries" are simply not part of his vocabulary, and i mean that. these words mean nothing, represent nothing; they're completely foreign, because he hasn't been taught, hasn't been shown, what their meaning is. nobody ever told him no, but nobody ever heard his no either. nobody ever told him to stop, but nobody ever stopped when he told them either. so when you give him a team, when you give him a toy, a pet, a companion, it's only natural he does unto them what he's only ever known. and i'm not saying that to take away his responsibility, to pity him. i'm trying to articulate how genuinely he believes he has access to another person. Riko is terrifying because he truly knows no limits. he cannot be taught. he cannot be changed, persuaded, helped. not in the short time the story unfolds. everything is happening so fast, Riko is so unrelenting, the threats are coming from everywhere and taking Riko in, helping him and undoing his toxic psyche is just not a viable option.

and so with Kevin... Kevin being the only remnant of normalcy and good Riko has been allowed to keep from his childhood? but Kevin refusing to be the way Riko is? it's an exposed, raw nerve begging to be pulled. does Riko keep digging deeper into his monstrous self in the hopes to corrupt Kevin? or is to force Kevin to watch and hope, despite all, that he'll still stand by his side and love him? Kevin does not know how deep his claws are buried into Riko. he doesn't even know he has claws, and much less powerful enough to grip the entity that is Riko. but Riko knows. imagine being a limitless man whose one thing holding him back isn't even aware it's doing so. imagine having the one thing you could consider your other half not giving his all like you do in everything. you go mad. and you don't care. you go all the way, because it's the only way you know how to do anything.

the lines from psychological violence and manipulation to physical violence to sexual violence are only lines to us. to Riko it's all a blur of the same thing. to Riko it's not even violence, it's the natural way things go. they're not "new" methods of torture; if one goes, anything goes, it's only a matter of what is available to him in the moment. everything is dark, everything is toxic, everything is pain.

"Riko comes off as someone who feels entitled to ALL of Kevin."

yes. that's exactly it. you cannot reason with him why certain things he is not allowed to have when Kevin has given him other parts of himself. why couldn't he touch Kevin like this when Kevin has given him his game? why couldn't he be allowed to have Kevin like this when they share a locker room and public showers? why could Thea kiss him just so and make him moan like that and not him? Riko does not know the difference. does not understand the intricacies, does not see the nuances. his world is divided in this is mine and this isn't mine yet.

and Kevin. Kevin, Kevin, Kevin. a childhood with Riko and a passion for the game is not enough to justify the tension he's got with Riko. but that's the Nest for you. it's not called a cult for nothing. the tension tumbling into sex or sexual is inevitable. Riko managed to break Kevin's mind, break his game, his body. all that Kevin can get back with the Foxes. but a broken heart? a broken intimacy? only Riko has that powerful hold on Kevin. only him could potentially heal Kevin. but the thing is, he doesn't see those things as broken. they're simply done, and his.

Andrew's promise to Kevin wasn't to physically take on the Moriyamas. it was to push Riko out of his head when things got hard. Riko is so deeply embedded into Kevin's being, his veins, his stomach, his back, his tighs, his hands, his eyes, his neck, his chest. Riko is so much part of Kevin that Kevin himself starts to fade, and when his feet take him back towards Evermore, it's not because Riko's voice convinced him to, it's because Riko is in Kevin, and Riko belongs in the Nest. that is what Andrew has to protect Kevin against. that is the job he's been dealt: untangle Riko from Kevin.

[ilovehugslikealotalot]

Alcina’s New Maid (Series)

(not my gif)

Alcina Dimitrescu x fem!reader

Surely, Alcina thought this through…surely

┌───── •✧✧• ─────┐ Tell Her Pretty Little Lies └───── •✧✧• ─────┘

WARNING MINORS DNI 18+: MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED fluff, angst, smut

Part 4

“Go on, Alcina! TELL HER YOUR PRETTY LITTLE LIES!” Melina shreiked, no one had the courage to scream at Alcina like this. No one. Miranda would raise her voice but not screech and shriek at her like this. “I’m doing what’s best for m- FOR HER. I’M DOING WHAT’S BEST FOR HER” Alcina screamed back, rising out of her office chair, her claws were just itching to come out and slice someone to ribbons. “You are the most, entitled, selfish, and horrible person I have EVER met” Alcina scoffed at Melina’s words, the countess could truly care less.

Y/n wasn’t important, she was a mere maiden and Alcina was a Countess. No amount of love could ever change that. Besides, Alcina didn’t love y/n anyway, Alcina had a job to do and surprisingly enough it included y/n. Miranda had given Alcina a job, ‘earning the girls trust, reveal to her of her royal origin, she marries you, I have an alliance, you kill her, I inherit a kingdom.’

“You are playing with this girls feelings, it’s best if she doesn’t know of her royal roots. What happens when the King of all people finds out his true daughter was given to a poor couple in the village who raised y/n as their own. Then, comes to this castle as a lowly maiden.” Melina explained, standing her ground, she had known for a long time about this extravagant plan. But, she had never approved of it. She thought that it was just disgusting how Alcina was willing to take advantage of y/n like that.

Melina couldn’t do anything without risking everything, she hated Miranda but tolerated Alcina. Though, she’d do anything for Y/n to be safe. She truly was split over the decision she had to make. Alcina let out a low growl, her face bitter, she had always been that way ever since…Charlotte, her lover and Fiancée had gone missing.

———————————

1976 | Dimitrescu Castle

Charlotte’s portrait had officially been hung on the grand wall of Alcina’s gallery. With a giddy smile, Alcina clapped her hands together and walked off to find her fiancée. “My love, you seem quite rather distraught today, what seems to be the matter, draga?” Alcina frowned a bit, her eyes filled with a little worry. “Nothing! I just haven’t eaten anything today! Yep, I- uhm- just feel a little lightheaded” Alcina tsked and order a maiden to have some tea and snacks up immediately, “I’ll go make sure the maidens make your tea properly, draga. I’ll be back. How about you go change, love?” Alcina smiled, leaving a small kiss on her lover’s forehead. Charlotte nodded, waiting till Alcina was gone, walking to the nearest phone Charlotte dialed her mother. “Everything is set, I’ll be gone by morning. Then I’ll steal what’s left and be on my way, she’ll never know it’s gone.”

———————————

Melina had left still fuming, Alcina rolling her eyes, taking a long drag of her cigarette. Huffing as she stormed onto the balcony of her office, leaning on the carved stone rails, the cold night air hit her porcelain skin. There was glowing in the distance and the faint sounds of laughter coming from the village. Even the castle radiated a warmth as the cold winter approached. It seemed as though everyone was having the time of their pitiful lives.

While Alcina stared of into the distance stubborn about her decisions, yet, a small voice in the back of her head caused her to hesitate.

No, no, she had to follow through. She had to.

Alcina grunted, frustratedly yanking off her gloves and throwing them behind her, shoving the cigarette between her lips, taking another, deeper, drag from it. The countess embraced the night breeze, causing her thin night gown to flow behind her seeming like a mist. A small creak came from behind Alcina, the matriarch’s body tensed, about to snap at whoever dared entering her study without knocking. After a few seconds she recognized the heartbeat, “Draga, what brings you to my study?” Alcina said with a half-hearted smile, clearly still tense, “I wanted…check on you” y/n sputtered out, her speech getting better by the day, the tall countess felt a flutter in her chest. She felt incredibly proud of y/n.

“Mă descurc bine, iubirea mea” (I’m doing fine, my love)

“Uhm…you…look pretty” The maiden smiled, her kindness was foreign to the taller woman. She hadn’t felt a feeling of love or appreciation in the past few decades, only from her daughters.

“Thank you, Draga Mea. Do me a favour…lock that door for me”

✿ஜீ۞ஜீ✿•.¸¸.•*•.•ஜீ☼۞☼ஜீ•.•*•.¸¸.•✿ஜீ۞ஜீ✿

Tags: @marilynthornhilllover @willalovexx @willowshadenox @simpformelissa @pinklybleu @niceminipotato @tintedrose12 @koing-slvtvt @enchantressb @poorwritingandstalecoffee @winterfireblond @ssinfulprayers

I’m so sorry this chapter is so short, I’m trying to finish requests! I might have an irregular posting schedule (not that it was ever regular in the first place 😭)

[peterpparkrr]

Pinned (pt. 2)

Series: Pinned

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x f!reader

Summary: Lord Bridgerton continues to find ways to be in his seamstress’ presence. A truth is revealed that poses as a harsh reminder of the way the world works.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: The first part of this story (which was supposed to be a oneshot) got so much love, so thank you for the patience, and here is part 2 of an ever-growing story. Let me know what you think of it! And what you’d like to see from this story in the future!

First part // next part

It was easy to fall deep into a reverie when you were working. There was something so methodical and repetitive about sewing that it was easy for you to end up woolgathering while your hands completed the work they’d been trained for the past few years to complete so effortlessly.

And these days it felt like you had more and more to think about. 

Your bizarre evening with Lord Bridgerton had left you far more rattled than you wanted to let on. 

The entire thing had felt like a fever dream. 

You still had no idea what had taken a hold of him in the moment that he had decided to escort you to your meeting. It had seemed remarkable out of character for a gentleman to take an interest in you that was not overtly sexual in nature. 

But Lord Bridgerton seemed to lack the entitlement that men usually held when approaching you. 

Which in turn made you all the more suspicious of his motivations. 

You don’t like not knowing what to expect.

“Miss,” You heard a voice call out, suddenly snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Oh!” You turned around and looked up to see Lord Bridgerton standing on the other side of the counter. “Lord Bridgerton, what can I help you with?” You ask him as you move to set aside the pair of trousers you were hemming.

“I find myself in desperate need of another suit,” He tells you.

Your brows furrow in confusion as you look up at him.

“But you just-”

“Are you trying to talk me out of buying something at your shop?” Anthony asks, gently teasing. “I am more than happy to take my business elsewhere,” He adds with a sweeping arm motion to the door.

“I-I uh,” You stutter slightly as you stare back at him with wide eyes. 

You spare a glance back towards the office where Mr. Raugland is balancing the books. Thank God for that small mercy. It was the only time during the day that he has the door closed and can’t hear much of anything coming from the storefront.

“That was meant to be a joke,” He tells you after a moment.

“I suppose I did not find it very funny,” You reply sharply. “My lord,” You add quickly.

“My apologies,” Lord Bridgerton tells you. “But I really do need another suit.” 

“I already have your current measurements, do you know what style you’d like this one to be?” You ask him politely.

Lord Bridgerton studies you for a moment as he seems to consider his answer. 

“No, I’m afraid I don’t, could you help me pick something out?” He asks. 

“Of course,” You reply as you step out from behind the counter. “You can follow me right this way.”

“This is some of our selection,” You explain as you begin to rattle off your usual sales pitch. gesturing to various cuts and styles as you lead him through the samples.

“Would you like to see how any of them fit?” You ask him as you turn to face him again.

Lord Bridgerton nods but doesn’t give you any indication of which ones in particular, so you select some of your favorites as you walk him over to the dais by the mirrors.

He’s quiet as you help him out of his jacket and vest, it’s not until you’re helping him into one of the first vest styles that he begins to make conversation.

“How long have you been a seamstress?” He asks out of the blue.

“I’ve been sewing since I was old enough to hold a needle steady, and I got my first job when I was thirteen,” You tell him quietly as you focus on the buttons.

“And how old are you now?” He asks.

“I thought with all that genteel breeding that your sort were supposed to know better than to ask impertinent questions,” You comment as you smooth the fabric of the vest over his shoulders, making the mistake to look up at him as you do so, only to find him already looking down at you. 

And that is when you realize you are standing far too close to him.

You quickly step back off the dais and pretend to busy yourself taking in the cut of the vest before helping him into the matching jacket.

“What do you think?” You ask as you his reflection in the mirror, only to realize that his gaze is instead focused on your reflection.

“I should be asking you that,” He tells you. “I want to know what you think of it.”

“I think it fits you very well,” You tell him. The Viscount looks incredibly handsome in the dark vest and jacket. In your strictly professional opinion, of course.

“Do you?” He asks, a wide grin crossing his face as he notices your expression.

“Do not tease me,” You warn him gently as you step up to help him out of the jacket.

“That’s right, you do not like teasing,” He acknowledges as he unbuttons the vest. 

“I do not like being made the butt of a joke,” You correct him as you take the vest off as well.

“I would-” Lord Bridgerton begins to protest before you quickly cut him off.

“Perhaps you wouldn’t, but I do not know you, my Lord,” You point out as you turn back to face him. “But I have known enough men like you,” You add quietly.

He looks like he wants to press further but when you hold up the next vest he only slips his arms through it and focuses on doing up the buttons. 

“Obviously on you, this would be taken in here,” You tell him softly as you pull the loose fabric taut against his body, your other hand pulling down on the fabric in front so that the lines are straight.

“Obviously,” Anthony parrotted back quietly, though his muscles tensed nervously under the fabric that your hand was pulling at.

It really is a shame, this new style does such wonders for the male anatomy, yet they’re still hidden under long jackets, tails, and overcoats.

“It’ll match well with this jacket, I think,” You tell him as you move to grab the brighter blue velvet.

He slips his arms in and you smooth the shoulders and back before moving back around to the front to pull the fabric so that it hangs nicely and he can better idea of what it might look like for him. Your fingers linger as they trace up and down the front lapels.

“So what exactly do you need another suit for?” You ask him as you start to pull at the hems, folding and cuffing where you need to.

“Is it not enough to want to see you?” He asks lowly as he dips his chin down slightly to catch your eye.

You roll your eyes, though you can feel your cheeks begin to heat against your own volition as you avert your gaze.

“I am being serious,” You clarify.

“Well, because this is the season that I intend to marry, my mother has decided that we must attend every event,” He tells you. “And since that doubles, if not triples my usual social obligations, I figured it best to get another suit before my mother could berate me for my clothing on top of everything else.”

Married? Did he already know whom he was going to propose to? Had he already proposed to some young debutante? 

You had thought yourself a sensible woman. And you’d never had a problem with your place in the world. But the way your heart had stuttered at Lord Bridgerton’s causal admittance of his impending nuptials? It had hurt in a way that you had not expected. Stabbing at the tender softness in your chest that had not yet been hardened.

He had spoken to you like he cared about you. Truly cared about you, and you’d been naive enough to believe it true. All the while he had been planning to marry someone. 

Someone else.

You were far more naive than you had realized.

“Oh,” You reply after a beat. “I see.”

“Which do you prefer? This one or the first?” You ask him, quickly snapping back into real life. Needing the reminder that you were working, that you were in the middle of a consultation for a customer.

Nothing more.

“They’re both fine, do you have a preference?” He asks as he turns to look at himself in the mirrors.

“You’re the one who has to wear them, you ought to choose,” You point out as you turn to busy yourself with clearing away the garments you’d set aside.

“This one, then, I think,” He tells you.

“Very good, my Lord,” You reply politely, trying desperately to keep your tone distant as you set up to take the jacket from him, avoiding his gaze as you do so. Building your walls back up as you do so. Trying not to focus too hard on how quickly you had been willing to let them crumble in the first place.

“Are you alright?” He asks after a moment as he steps towards you. You can hear the concern laced into his words, and you wish you could just believe him, to talk to him. But you should have known from the beginning that this could never happen. 

“Of course,” You reply quickly, your voice turning chipper and false as you turn to put the garments back on their hangers. 

“I said something wrong,” Lord Bridgerton surmises astutely. “What did I say?”

“Nothing, my lord,” You reply as you take the vest from him, placing them over your arm as you begin to move back through the shop. “I’ll have these garments ready for you by the end of the week.”

“And will you be delivering them?” He asks, and you think you might see a glimmer of hopefulness in his eyes. One that you see in an entirely new light after his previous comments. A hope that you cannot allow to stand, not in relation to yourself.

“That is what the delivery boys are for,” You remind him, harkening back to your first real conversation with him. 

“I see,” He replies slowly.

“Yes,” You state as you move back behind your counter. Finding some semblance of safety with the barrier now places between you.

“I am sorry,” He offers. “For whatever I said-”

“You said nothing wrong,” You tell him quickly as you look up at him, already shaking your head. “I’m sorry.” 

You see a pair of gentlemen walk through the door.

“I have to help those customers,” You tell him before you turn away from him, not looking back until you heard the door close again and you see Lord Bridgerton making his way down the pavement.

Distance. All you needed was distance, to remind you that you lived in two very different worlds. Worlds that would never truly overlap.

[starstruckkittensweets]

chapter one

Fandom: My Hero Academia Pairing: Dabi x Reader Words: 6.2k

A/N: The first chapter of my lil Dabi passion project. Partially inspired by "Haunting Adeline" (awesome book but PLEASE heed the warnings in it). The full list of warnings is included in the main masterlist, but individual ones will be posted at the beginning of each chapter. Also this is my first time writing from both Reader and Dabi's perspective, so I hope it's not too bad. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: 18+ only (minors DNI), explicit language, mentions of arson, mentions of violence, stalking, breaking and entering, working in retail (I'm sorry), Reader lives in a cute lil house in the middle of the woods, Reader also has 3 plushies (that all have names, because I'm a dork)

"Kerosene and Butterflies" Masterlist

It’s raining again, for the fourth day in a row. Barely any light to work with at the little workspace you’ve made for yourself at the kitchen table. So instead you rest your hands on your arms, watching the rain patter against the window panes. Pen and paper pushed away and left forgotten on the surface.

Rain always makes you feel nice. Not happy or sad, just nice. Gives you something to look at, the sound mindless enough to put you at ease. Soft and warm, more often than not lulling you to sleep with its voice. It’s hard to explain, but it seems to make sense in your mind.

Your phone lights up on the table with a text. It’s your mother again, sending her weekly check-in text. Even though you’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself and living on your own. But it’s more for her than you; you think it helps her cope with one of her kids living abroad, so far out of her reach.

Well, that’s what enticed you about this house in the first place, but you’ll never tell her that.

With a yawn you grab your phone and send a quick reply. Yes you’re okay, you’re getting enough sleep, you miss her home cooked meals. Call her tomorrow, put her mind at ease. Buy another few days of freedom before the cycle inevitably repeats itself.

When you finish and place your phone back down, you give the paper and pen one last look. Maybe you could try one more time, see if anything comes to mind?

Your chest deflates at the thought. No, the spark is long gone. Try again a different day, get some sleep for now. You need it.

You can almost hear it laughing at you, the uncapped pen lying dangerously close to its blank skin. You’ve been hearing it for the last hour or so, wracking your brain to come up with something, anything. Words, ideas, or even bullet points you can just jot down in your chicken scratch handwriting. Just a sliver of something to get those creative juices flowing.

But your eyelids are already drooping, the rainy weather not helping you one bit. Your brain feels like it’s all dried up, giving you a never-ending headache. Telling you that you’ve already reached your peak; that nothing else you make will ever come close to how you want it to come out.

Oh well. Tomorrow’s another day, right?

But you know damn well you’ll be back to square one tomorrow night, when you get home from work. Staring at that blank page with your head in your hands, praying for the words to come. For the inspiration to strike—to make you feel anything other than this.

At least the paper’s still good, maybe you can use it for a shopping list later in the week. That way it’ll get some good use out of it.

Your job isn’t exactly the flashiest; definitely not what you envisioned yourself doing at twenty-four years old. Working at a dead-end department store in the shady part of town, along with four or five other people—and none of them are close to you in age. But it keeps the bills paid and food in your fridge, so you guess it’s not as bad as it could be. You could do without the annoying entitled customers, though.

At least your shift stretches into the latter half of the day, meaning you only have to deal with them for about four hours, five tops if you end up taking your lunch break late. Then the store closes, the customers are ushered out, and you spend the rest of your time stocking the shelves and getting ready for the next busy day.

Most nights the store’s already empty, with only a handful of customers roaming the aisles. That gives you some extra time to start stocking; you prefer putting stuff back on the shelves rather than ringing on register anyways. Register gets boring and repetitive fast, but working on the floor always gives you something new to do.

“Excuse me, where can I find the laundry detergent?”

“Down the next aisle and to your left, all the way down at number twenty-four.”

“Where’s the soup and all the instant meals?”            

“Right over here actually, on the middle shelf.”

“You have any beer?”

“Last aisle down, all the way to the end. You’ll see the freezer straight ahead.”

Every interaction gives you a rush of excitement, as sad as it sounds. In all honesty, your job isn’t the complete worst. Most customers are fine and even pleasant to deal with, and it always makes you feel good when you’re able to help them find something on their lists. Besides, it tests your knowledge of the store, almost like a matching game; after three years of working in the same place, you pretty much know it like the back of your hand.

Tonight seems like one of those lazy nights, with only a couple customers roaming through the aisles, the lone cashier at the registers looking like he’s about to fall asleep. You’re sorting through the grocery bin at the front (either what customers decided they didn’t want, or items found randomly throughout the store). There’s quite a bit today, must’ve been pretty busy earlier in the day.

It doesn’t take long to put the shelf-ready stuff into a cart and trek down to the grocery section. Most of it is candy anyways, which is in the first couple aisles. One item after another, until you start to see the bottom of the cart.

You step back from the shelf, a handful of candy bars clenched between your fingers, when your back suddenly collides into something—or someone, judging by the grunt they let out.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean that, I should really watch where I’m going, I’m really sorry about that—”

The words die right there on your tongue as you glance up at the person. You can barely see his face behind the dark mask over his mouth and his hood pulled over his hair. But something catches your eye—something dark and heavy beneath his eyes.

He’s got some serious bags under his eyes, poor guy must be working himself to death. Must be a college student, you know how it feels.

Wait a minute…bags?

Your head begins to buzz. You don’t think you’ve ever seen bags bad enough to leave the skin so…wrinkled. Almost like they’re—

But he’s already walking away, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. Head hanging low and shoulders tense as he disappears down the next aisle.

It’s not until another customer asks you where the hand soap is, that you remember to blink—and breathe. It takes a bit of effort, but you manage to give them the right aisle across the store. But then you’re staring off into space once more, thinking about the strange person in the black hoodie and mask.

Dark patches under his eyes… Could it really be…?

No way, stop thinking like that. You know where your mind is going, don’t you dare entertain the thought.

You shake your head. You’re being ridiculous. It’s getting late, anyway. You didn’t get that much sleep last night to begin with, it’s early to bed when you get home later tonight.

You file the last of the candy in its proper home on the shelf before heading down the main path towards the registers. Pet food, paper goods, detergent, body wash… A couple aisles here and there for every department. You should check and see if there’s any chemicals up front that need to go back on the shelf. Probably the easiest department for you to handle, other than food and appliances—

Your jaw drops when you turn the corner and come face-to-face with the dark stranger from earlier. Staring down at you with those dark eyes—no, the patches are dark, his eyes are actually quite bright, and oh my fucking God they’re blue—

There’s something sticking out of his pocket—the red and white label of a box of Band-Aids. And that’s not the only thing in there, judging by the awkward bulges and pointy corners. Maybe some extra medicine or painkillers.

You glance back up at him. Neither of you make any move to leave.

“…I won’t tell if you won’t.”

The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. All you can think about is how this little corner of the store lacks any functioning security cameras, and how it’s probably only a few dollars, it won’t necessarily put the store out of business if he gets away with it. Just this one time. No one has to know, except the two of you.  

He’s glaring now, probably curling his lip at you from behind the mask. You swallow the growing lump in your throat, your heart throbbing furiously against your ribcage.

“Can…I get you anything else?”

“Fuck off.”

He shoves his way past you, shoulder nearly knocking you on your ass. Your throat runs dry as his words echo in your ears, his voice sending chills down your spine.

You know him, but from where? You know his voice, his looks—but why can’t you remember him?

You glance over your shoulder but he’s already gone, most likely heading towards the exit. Not like you’re gonna stop him.

Still, you can’t get your little encounter out of your mind, even as you try to busy yourself with your work. Not even ten minutes pass by before you grab another box of bandages and a bottle of rubbing alcohol, mumbling to your coworker, “Store use, I’ll claim it out when I get back,” all the while feigning injury as you cradle your wrist against your chest (where a small pack of cotton balls is pressed between your fingers).

The back of the store leads out to the dumpsters in the back alley. A prime spot for smoke breaks, despite smelling like absolute crap. Chalk marks and spray paint decorating the walls, trash bags spilling out of the dumpsters in the corner. You clutch the supplies to your chest, head swinging wildly in search of the stranger.

But there’s no one out there. He’s gone for good this time—and for some reason, you can’t explain the sudden ache in your chest.

You don’t know what makes you leave the bandages and alcohol in the corner of the alley, hidden by the shadow of the dumpsters. Or why there’s a pang in the pit of your stomach, as you remember how bright his blue eyes looked.

Here’s a tip for any aspiring writers out there: get comfortable with constantly going on the internet. Whether it’s looking for an obscure random fact about Victorian houses in the 1800s or learning just how long it takes to recover from a bullet wound in the shoulder, search engines like Google will become your best friend. It won’t always provide the most accurate information, but it’s a start to get the ball rolling.

But this particular search doesn’t stem from a story in your drafts; all you can see are those mysterious blue eyes from the store, and the dark wrinkled patches beneath them.

It doesn’t take long at all to find your answer: a thread of articles and blurry photos of the infamous League of Villains—the same ones that have been terrorizing the country for the past year or so. Casualties, crimes, and even past victims. Every word brings another wave of goosebumps, but you can’t tear your eyes away.

Of course. That’s where you knew him from. Makes sense now.

There’s a handful of people in the photos, each one more terrifying than the last. A young girl with a feral smile, associated with a string of murders involving severe blood loss. A man capable of decaying anything with just a brush of his fingers. And the same stranger you saw in the store, known for over thirty murders and thousands in property damage, all thanks to those dangerous blue flames.

You slam the laptop shut and suppress a shiver. What were you thinking? Acting so casual with a villain—you knew you recognized those eyes somewhere—and oh my God, were you really going to try to meet him outside at the back?

And for what? Some bandages that he’d clearly already stolen? Hell, you’d let him walk away even when you knew he was planning on stealing them!

Hopefully your boss never finds out about that.

You glance out the window of your living room, pulling the lapels of your jacket closer to your chest. The door’s locked, the windows are latched, and the curtains are closed. Nothing out there but the trees and the moon and the gentle rainfall.

Calm down. Why would he come after you? You didn’t do anything to piss him off, did you? So what makes you think he’d try to figure out where you lived? What would he have to gain from that?

Still, you triple check the lock on the door, before moving backwards towards your bedroom. Also clicking the lock into place once you’re safe inside.

A villain. You can’t believe you came across an actual villain.

Villains were a common presence even back home, and you knew before moving abroad there was a possibility you could encounter some of them. But they always kept to the shadows, staying out of the spotlight for as long as they could. Only showing up in cities far away from your own. You’ve never come face to face with one of them, never been so fucking close to one of them before—

You crawl into bed and throw the covers over your head. Trying to focus on the pitter patter of the rain against the windows.

But you can’t get those images out of your mind. No matter how hard you squeeze your eyes shut, or bury your face into the pillow, you can still see his face. Those horrid wrinkled patches beneath his eyes. The same shade of blue as the flames from his palms. The way he looked at you as though you were nothing but a smear of dirt on the bottom of his boot.

He could’ve burned you right then and there.

You don’t fall asleep easily that night.

Despite your paranoia, the next few days go by without any issue. Work, errands, go back home. Your life continues just as it did before you met that crazy villain—and knowing that, you can breathe a little easier when you rest your head on your pillow for the night.

The little pile of medicine and supplies you’d left in the back alley had disappeared the next morning. Someone else had probably picked them up, who could say no to free medical supplies? There’s a slim chance that villain came back and took them for himself.

You know it’s a long shot. And yet there’s still some part of you that clings to it, wondering if he’s still sticking around this part of town.

Come on, what’s wrong with you? Are you really that eager to put your life in danger like that?

The rational part of your brain says no. But there’s another part, a much more vocal part of your brain, that can’t stop thinking about your little encounter. And what you would’ve done if he’d been in that alley that night.

Probably cry your eyes out. Then get killed like the dumbass you are.

Still, no matter what you do or what you try to focus on instead, he keeps coming back to your mind. And you find yourself visiting those damn websites, those stupid forums night after night when you get home from work, speculating just who he might be beneath those painful scars and bright blue flames.

What kind of life did he lead before joining the League? Does he have any regrets about becoming a villain? Does he actually enjoy being on the run like this?

It’s only when you’re lying wide awake in bed at close to two in the morning, still worn out from a long day at work that the more innocent questions start to plague your mind:

What’s his favorite color? Is it blue, or does he actually hate it? When is his birthday? Does he have any friends, either before he became a villain, or anyone in the League? You wonder, what’s his real name?

“Why am I even thinking about this? Not like I’m ever gonna see him again…” And you should be grateful for that.

But there’s still an ache in your chest, an awkward swirl in your stomach, every time you remind yourself of that simple little fact. And you don’t really know what to make of it.

Another hour passes before you push yourself out of bed and right to your desk in the corner. Grabbing one of the little notebooks you’d bought for story notes and ideas, but haven’t really touched in the last few months. Sliding into the seat with a sigh and clicking open one of the many black pens from the drawer at your side. Flicking on the small desk lamp and squinting against the sudden brightness.

It’s not uncommon for the inspiration to hit at ungodly hours of the morning. Honestly, you do your best writing between midnight and six a.m.; the only drawback is being unable to stay awake at work the next day. But at least you have some damn good writing to show for it.

But that hasn’t happened for months now. Not since you moved and started working nights. Now you have to hit the hay almost as soon as you come home, if you want any chance of a normal sleep schedule.

The pen moves on its own. Every breath brings another word on the page. Ink starts to smudge the side of your hand.

They appear in front of you: all the questions circling around in your mind, begging to be answered. The honest, the childish, even questions you think of on the spot. Anything and everything you would ask him if you were ever given the chance.

What are you doing? You should be in bed trying to sleep. Not doing…whatever this is.

You swallow hard as a single word appears before you: Dabi.

And immediately you start to shiver, your cheeks growing warm beneath the scathing looks of the ink and pages.

You’ve always had a strange complex when it comes to writing out people’s names. They’re much easier to speak out in your mind, or even say verbally. But once you write them out, it becomes almost final. It’s different to actually see those letters right in front of you, rather than just imagining them in your mind. Guess it makes everything seem so much more real that way. 

It’s stupid, so fucking stupid.

But you don’t stop, even when your hand begins to cramp. Because this is the first time in almost half a year that you’re actually letting your pen guide you. The first time you truly feel at ease, not even caring about what you’ve written, or even stopping yourself to edit it.

What’s it called, word vomit? It’s therapeutic, but incredibly hard to do sometimes.

It’s not until the sun rises a couple hours later, and you’re half-asleep at your desk. Your arms curled beneath your head, the muscles in your hand throbbing like crazy. But then you see all those words you’ve written, all that ink staining those pristine white pages…

And you can’t help but smile as you drift off to sleep.

The air is stale with the scent of smoke and ash. The city always smells like shit, but it’s usually better on the outskirts. But the burning pile of flesh at the end of the alley begs to differ, and his hands still ache as blue flames lick at his palms.

Another shitty night coming to an end, thank fuck.

Dabi’s been in this damn city for the better part of two weeks now, boss’s orders unfortunately. Scouting for any possible members, new blood they could add to their ranks. But every group is the same; they’re either loud-mouthed fucks with more muscle in their arms than their own damn heads, or they’re practically children, fresh out of school and all set on playing hero. Still thinking this is a fucking game, and that they can stand to take the League out from the inside.

He’s already had one guy try it a couple months back, but he knew better than to go through with it. Can’t say the same for the rest of the dumbasses burning in the alley, though.

Oh, well. No doubt the heroes will find them tomorrow, if they even bother showing up. Not many of them like to venture all the way out here, especially if it means real danger.

He slides a pack of cigs out from his pocket, choosing one and lighting it with the tip of his finger. He’s walked these roads too many times in the last few nights, practically knows them inside and out. And it’s not long before that silly little department store comes into view—the same one that oh-so-generously let him borrow some of their stock last week.

Didn’t even need to use his quirk to make it happen, either.

The double doors slide open, the blaring lights a stark contrast to the shadows of the streets. He barely has time to step back before someone steps out, waving their hand behind them with a smile on their face.

Oh, the same one from that night. He can’t help but smirk at the memory.

It’s a girl—and if her face and height are anything to go by, he’s starting to wonder if she’s even old enough to work at a place like this. Apparently her brain must be impressively small too, with the way she’s walking down the darkened street without a care in the world. One hand fastened on the strap of her purse and the other dangling down at her side, a dark lanyard wrapped around her wrist. She must have a shit-ton of keyrings on them, judging by how hard she swings it back and forth. As if that’s going to protect her if someone tries to jump her.

Fucking dipshit.

He rolls his eyes and takes another long drag of his cigarette. Watching the stupid kid out of the corner of his eye—and nearly dropping the cig altogether when he watches her veer off the sidewalk and head straight for the forest.

What the fuck is she doing? Does she want to get herself killed?

Maybe it’s sheer curiosity—or maybe it’s hoping something out there will pick her off so she’ll learn her lesson—whatever it is, it has his feet moving on their own. Picking up the pace to keep her within his sights, the cigarette barely hanging from his mouth.

Didn’t anyone teach her not to go walking around this late at night? For fuck’s sake it’s nearly one in the morning, does her shift really last that long? What compelled her to take a walk in the goddamn forest of all places? No way she lives all the way out here, she’s probably got a place somewhere in the city. Probably just looking for a cheap thrill so late at night.

Stop it. She’s not your problem to worry about, so quit it already. Just sit back and watch the show.

He follows her down the old trodden path, waiting for her to hit a stray root or trip over a rock and fall flat on her face. But nothing happens, other than a few scuffs of dirt on her ratty old sneakers. Almost like she knows these woods—like the back of her hand.

It’s a struggle to keep his footsteps soft. His boots do nothing to quell the sound of leaves crunching, dirt spraying across the path. Luckily she doesn’t hear, either that or she just doesn’t care.

Where the hell is she heading at this hour?

His answer appears in the form of a house. A pretty shitty-looking one, if he’s being completely honest. Shabby roof, flimsy door, moss creeping over each and every corner. Almost like no one’s bothered to visit the place in the last decade or so—at least.

The girl steps right up to the door, swinging that stupid lanyard at her side. Shuffling around until she finds the right key, before disappearing into the house altogether. A light flickers on in the window, her shadow visible behind the aging curtains.

Fuck him, she does live here.

In the middle of nowhere, secluded from the rest of the world. She’s stupid, isolating herself from all those people in town. Help’s not gonna come if you’re stuck in some random forest, she’s probably better off in the heart of the city. Then again, it must be nice for her. Being able to wake up in the morning without the blaring of sirens in your ears. Tucked away where no one can find you, safe and sound in the comfort of your own quiet home.

He almost envies her. Almost.

The longer he stares at the little mossy house, watching her shadow flit back and forth behind the curtain, the more he starts to wonder what she has inside. Must be stocked on food and medicine; that shit’s hard to come by these days. Might be worth a peek once she’s gone. She’ll probably leave tomorrow night for her shift, right? He’ll slip in then, see if she’s got anything worth his time. Better this random cottage than an apartment in the city, right? From what he can tell there’s not a soul in sight, save for the looming trees and starry sky.

He’s smirking now, slipping back into the shadows of the forest, right beside the old trodden path. She never even sees him.

The house is dark and empty by sundown. The path is easier to walk in the daylight, but he still waits until nightfall before scoping out the house. Just in case she getany bright ideas and decides to return home sooner than she should.

It’s a two-story house, and while the front door’s latched shut, the windows sure aren’t. It slides open with a squeak, like it hasn’t been touched in years. Looks like the kitchen—or a sorry excuse for one, if he’s being honest. A small table with only two chairs, neither of them looking like they’re from the same set. Papers and books and pens litter the surface, with the napkin holder knocked down on its side.

Not that they have a better one back at the base. Hell, they’re lucky enough if they’re able to sit down for most of their meals, if they can get their hands on any.

Which reminds him of his mission, and he’s scanning the room for any possible food. And there, to his left: a crowded counter stacked with boxes of cookies and candy, below a pair of cupboards with even more food stored inside.

Jackpot.

The League’s not picky when it comes to food, anything will do when your stomach’s keeping you up at night. Well, Dabi can’t say the same for himself—he fucking hates fish. He’d much rather deal with an empty stomach rather than scarf down a few meager bites of sushi. Just the thought of it makes him want to puke.

He can’t take too much the first night, that’ll only make her wonder. It’s best to have as little people in this secluded house as possible. So for now he stuffs his pockets with small snacks for the guys back at base…and maybe even a few candy bars for Toga. Last thing that little psycho needs is more sugar in her system, but he’d rather not hear her whine that he didn’t get anything for her when he gets back.

Plus, this girl doesn’t seem to have any pomegranates around (or any fruit or vegetables, for that matter), so candy will have to do.

When both pockets are jammed with food, he takes a step back to survey the rest of the house. At least the inside looks marginally better than the outside, save for the abhorrent dining room. Simple and sweet, even if it’s a little bland in color.

A gray couch with a couple of pillows in bright colorful pillowcases. A side table with one too many remotes on it, along with a paperback that’s definitely seen better days. A kitchen isle with a sink cluttered with dirty dishes, and a single stool resting beneath the opposite end. Not a single house plant in sight, but plenty of photos throughout, some on the wall but most taped on the fridge. Must be friends and family—but so far, he can only see one person living in this house.

How sad, she must be so lonely without anyone else here…

He rolls his eyes and trods up the creaky set of stairs. Might as well take a peek at the rest of the house, right?

The hallways split up into three major bedrooms. One is filled with storage totes and moving boxes, still waiting to be unpacked (though, by the layer of dust on each of them, he’s not thinking any time soon). The other bedroom is filled, and he means filled, with books. Every square inch is either vacated with an old aging shelf or a stack of hardcovers on the floor. It’s messy and cluttered and he slams the door shut as soon as he opens it.

Lives like a fucking slob, doesn’t she?

The final bedroom turns out to be the biggest one of all, and it’s the only one in the house that actually lives up to its name. A dresser, a desk, and surprise, surprise, another fucking bookcase. There’s also a bed with a thousand plushies on the covers, each one more ridiculous than the last. A giraffe, a raccoon, and whatever the fuck that is. Some weird fuzzy brown creature with a large snout and a bitchy expression on its face. Toga probably knows the name of it, but Dabi couldn’t care less.

There’s also a set of double doors that leads out to a little terrace. It looks better than the rest of the house—must be a newer addition—overlooking the forest beyond. Overall it’s a cute little spot to live in.

And still no sign of anyone else living here with her.

He’s smirking now, thinking of all the things he can sneak out of here in the next few nights—when something else catches his eye. A strange outline under the blanket of the bed, in the center of all the damn toys staring back at him.

He has half a mind to burn the little giraffe to a crisp as he reaches in for the mysterious object. And it’s…a book. Fucking shocker.

No, wait—it’s a journal. Only a few pages filled in so far, the ink messy against the bright white pages. It’s the size of his palm, with a black leather cover and a matching black string attached to the spine, probably to act as a bookmark. And sure enough it’s stuck in a certain spot in the book, the entry dated to just a few nights ago.

I want to see him again. I know that sounds wrong, but it’s the truth. I can’t really explain it, no matter how hard I try. Everything that comes out just sounds wrong…but in my head it makes perfect sense.

I know I’m probably screwed in the head for thinking this. For thinking about him like this. Like I could be the one to change him, to be the only one he wouldn’t kill on sight.

No, wait a minute. I was, wasn’t I? We saw each other that night at the store, and he didn’t even try to hurt me.

He can feel his brow inching further up with every word he reads. What the fuck is she talking about? He flips to another random page—

And the answer’s staring him right in the face, in stark black ink.

Dabi

Dabi

Dabi   

Dabi

I want to see him again. Ask him so many questions, the same ones that keep rattling away in my head. Why did you become a villain? Where did you come from? What is your favorite color?

Please, just one more time. We don’t even have to talk to each other. I just wanna see him with my own two eyes. Now that I know he’s real, that he’s the villain everyone’s afraid of. And I know I should be too, and I am…but I think I’m more curious of him. Maybe that just makes me stupid.

Yeah, I’m just stupid.

The words are swimming on the pages, blurring together, screaming in his head so loud he wonders if he’s read them out loud. But no, it’s dead silent in this room, in this house. Just him and this little black book, written in the hand of that little weirdo. The same one that chooses to live in a creepy old house in the middle of the forest, the one that works at a sketchy department store well into the night. The same one that didn’t scream once she saw him—but instead offered to let him go, even when she knew he was stealing.

And for some reason, he can’t hold back the smirk that stretches across his face.

Of all the people in this city, in this whole damn country, he thinks he’s found the one that intrigues him the most.

Poor girl, doesn’t even know what she’s caused. Just mindlessly writing her thoughts down in her diary, hoping no one will ever read what she’s written.

As carefully as he can, he tucks the book back in its place under the covers. As tempting as it is to take it with him, he knows that’ll only cause more suspicion. Still, he wants to leave her a love letter of his own—something that lets her know she’s not alone in her fascination.

So he does.

And a few minutes later he’s climbing out the kitchen window and making the trek through the forest, pockets full with snacks and a shit-eating grin on his face.

You hate Saturday nights. Arguably the busiest night of the week, and yet you’re still so short-staffed the cashiers end up taking the full brunt of the work. Ringing register, sorting supplies, stocking shelves—oh wait, we need you back up front to do register. Wait why aren’t you working on that cart I told you to finish? Excuse me, can you unlock this item for me? Can you help me check out, and only me, these lines are too long for my liking. Why can’t you be in two places at once?

Not that you ever find it fun to come to work…but Saturday nights just make it a little less fun. And once it calms down and the store closes up, you have to make the journey back home half-asleep. It’s a miracle you haven’t woken up in the middle of the forest yet.

Tonight is one of those nights, where you stumble your way back home like you’ve just had one hell of a night at the bar. But no amount of rubbing your eyes or chugging the bottle of soda in your hands will keep you upright. Eventually you see your little house in the distance, and your chest starts to feel a little lighter at the promise of sleep.

You fumble with the keys twice before managing to unlock the door. Latching it shut behind you, you don’t even turn on any lights before heading straight to your room. The dishes and laundry can wait till tomorrow. Right now, all you need is some fucking sleep.

The trio of stuffed animals on your bed greet you when you step into the room. Before coming to live here, your mother insisted you bring along some childhood stuffies with you, just so you wouldn’t get too lonely. And you hate to say it, but she was absolutely right. More often than not do you find yourself cuddling up to them, wondering about your family back home.

You kick off your shoes and drape your jacket over the back of the desk chair. Then you flop face first onto the bed, not even bothering to change into pajamas. You know you’ll be out cold within five minutes, so what’s the point?

“Goodnight, Rascal,” you mumble to the little raccoon, “goodnight, A.J.,” you pet the little giraffe, “and goodnight, Maxwell.” The little capybara toy is your favorite, but you’ll never admit it out loud. (Not when the other two can hear you.)

You roll over onto the bed, but something sharp juts into your side. You groan and force your hand beneath the covers to yank it out—oh, that’s right… you forgot you’d left your little notebook in bed with you. Must’ve fallen asleep while writing in it last night.

But there’s something sticking out of it, something that prevents it from closing all the way. You open it up and a scrap of paper falls out; not a loose page from the book, but a folded-up index card. One that’s got a note of its own written messily on the side.

One that makes the exhaustion all but vanish from your body.

You should keep this book in a safer hiding spot. You never know who might be reading all your little love notes, doll. 

[snakebites-and-ink]

Positions - Part 1

Yes, I skipped chapter 8 for now because it was giving me trouble. It was basically a filler chapter so it’s fine to skip and come back to later. All you really need to know is Asher went on another casual outing with some coworkers, so he’s been having some somewhat-positive interactions that aren’t just work.

I was gonna add more leadup at the beginning of the scene, but…I got a little stuck. So I’m just gonna drop you right into it. You’ll figure out what’s going on, it’s pretty straightforward if you have any familiarity with the BBU.

CW: BBU, pet whump, bullying

“Position 12.”

The command was all too familiar, even though it was coming from someone who had no right to give it. Asher’s training was so ingrained into him that he started to move into position automatically. His knees bent and he started to slightly lower himself towards the ground before he caught himself and straightened.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

Asher shot him an angry frown. “You’re not my owner.”

“Maybe not, but I’m not a pet and you are.” The man smirked.

“You don’t have the authority to give me orders like that without my master’s permission,” Asher asserted.

“Then why did you start getting into position?”

“That was out of habit, not obedience.”

“‘Not obedience?’ Sounds like someone isn’t a very good pet.” The man stepped closer and placed a threatening hand on Asher’s shoulder, then shoved him down. “Position 8.”

Asher’s knees hit the floor as the shove sent him towards the ground faster than he could react, but before he actually assumed the position, he twisted and stood back up. He glared at the other man.

“You really should do as you’re told, Asher.” He stepped closer and flicked the metal tag dangling from Asher’s collar.

Asher took a step back but resisted the ever-present automatic urge to placate. That was often the best strategy, but in this case it would just encourage this kind of behavior, which had already gone on long enough. “You really should mind your own business. I already told you, you don’t have the authority for this.”

“Come on, pet, don’t you want to be good?”

That was unfair. Asher scowled at him. “I am good. Just not for anyone like you.”

Asher tried to walk away, only to have his path blocked. He stopped, wary of being pushed towards the floor again, or possibly even risking worse violence.

“Let me go. Please.” The please just slipped out automatically, but it drew an almost vindicated smirk from the other man.

That didn’t last long, though. The drama had drawn the attention of a few other people, a couple of whom were properly within earshot by now. One of them stepped closer and grabbed onto the guy’s arm before he could make another move. “Just let him go, seriously. You’re being a jerk.”

Asher watched quietly, with a hint of nervousness. His attacker looked angry but didn’t seem to have a retort. Probably because his “justification” for what he was doing would just make him sound like the jerk he was accused of being.

“Come on, aren’t you both supposed to be working?” Another chimed in.

“Yeah. You should get back to work,” the jerk said, looking at Asher, perhaps in an attempt to take back control of the situation. Asher didn’t say anything back; he would be more than happy to do so, but he worried that agreement would make the guy feel like he’d won Asher’s obedience. Let him feel like he had the last word, but not vindicate his perceived entitlement to Asher’s submission. That was probably the safest way to deescalate this.

The man was turned and gently led away before he could get worked up over the lack of response. Asher watched them leave, giving a small, thankful smile to his rescuers when one glanced back.

Once he was alone again, Asher let out a long, shuddering breath. Trying to breathe out the tension and fear still buzzing within him. He ran a hand over his collar. He was a good pet. He was okay.

[l4long-winded]

i. the freefall (ergo, the beginning)

summary: you're bored with the available clientele you're scheduled to appease. you're on your way out of the tavern when you stumble upon, literally and figuratively, geralt of rivia. how long had he been sitting there? (geralt of rivia x afab!reader)

reflection: i couldn't sleep and i had the idea for this lodged in my brain. it has undergone little editing, but persevere. there is some story in there... kinda. enjoy, and feedback is always encouraged and appreciated.

warnings: brothel!reader, mention of the word whore, cursing, dirty talk, oral, riding, destiny, p in v, overstimulation, praise, longwinded descriptions, obedience, teasing, girl talk, thumb sucking, original characters (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 4,367

previously: prologue

( this work has been cross posted to ao3 )

It’s a busy night at the inn, there are scattering men jesting about their conquests and journeys at every turn, all talking at once until the voices meld into one another, white noise buzzing in your ears as you search across the bar for possible clients. It’s a birthday party of some sort and you’re degradingly a part of the package they signed up for in celebration of their mate… who is currently laying face down in his barstool right next to you. You grimace as you nudge his drooling face away from you, recalling how he fell asleep through a few minutes of conversation. Next door, a ten minute distance, is the brothel that you and your colleagues work for. Seeing that it’s only you and two other women, Janci and Talla, both of whom are chatting up possible prospects, you groan in your solitude and opt for a mug of mead to drown your sorrows away. Parties such as these hardly did your commission’s rate any good. By contract, you’re required to be paid by attendance. The bare minimum that is. If you wish to earn and save a living, you must actually participate and garner it, for the establishment and for your sake.

You hopelessly sigh as you watch the drunkards play games that make little to no sense, basic questions asked with the purpose of drinking no matter the answers presented. At this point, you don’t think you want to take any of them to bed in this state. They’re handsy when they’re inebriated and entitled in such a fashion that implicates how well you can stay in character. You stand from the stool, prepared to head out and confess your weakness, your failures back home, the door beckoning you up ahead behind a shirtless man with an overgrown beard. It’s about time to cut your losses and stay up in bed disappointed rather than sulk and do so in public at an inn’s tavern. Your heels click on the floor, four steps away from the bar, your hands lifting your heavy skirts so you can continue walking without restricted movement. In doing so, a man’s back bumps into your shoulder with enough force to knock you down to the floor.

You stagger as you fall backwards, aiming for the nearest seat as there were so many sporadically placed from men moving them about, switching spaces the more excited they became. Accurately, you do land into a seat, but it’s not a chair. It’s a person and you somehow missed him this entire time, he must’ve slipped in undetected very recently. It’s a miracle, you think, how such a large man slipped under your radar, how the cloak over his head conceals rigid, masculine features you believe prove the existence of the divine and how she has her favorites. You glance to the left to see sunglow emanating from this patron’s eyes, to see that sunglow completely focused on you, the woman who fell clumsily into his lap. The warmth of his irises contrasts the ice of his silver hair, of his pale skin tone, of the opaque he dons in body armor that’s digging into your side. Come to think of it, you don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone like him.

“No respect, fools of influence,” he mutters, baritone entrenched in his tone, gravel sitting nicely on his vocal chords. You’re glad your first experience hearing it is so close to your ear, it’s almost as if he intimately whispered it just for you alone. From how loud the inn currently is, he might as well have.

“You’re clear to stand,” he says and it’s tempting since it was a previous desire, but he’s drinking from his mug now, his adam’s apple bobbing as he gulps the liquid away. His jawline comes down when he’s done, the mug set down into the surface behind your body. You should stand, but you’re entranced by him, under a silent incantation. It’s not like he’s bolstering or pushing you away, either. His eyes trace your movements, how little they are, and he resolves something in his head as he allows his hand to travel to your hip. The steady weight of it tells you he’s made peace with the circumstance.

“Or stay there. Take your time.” He leans back into his chair, his legs outstretched to give you a better seat, more room of muscle mass that you can feel flex from the adjustment. You maintain your balance by hanging onto his shoulders, a slight gasp leaving your mouth from how your skirts ride up your knees and thighs. You catch his glance there and then his eyes are glued back to yours. Something in the pit of your stomach gnaws away at you from how intense his gaze is. You would usually shrink away from someone so intimidating, that is, if that same intimidation didn’t spur fire within you like it’s presently doing.

“What’s your name?” He asks, the hand on your hip coming back to memory as he strokes his thumb along you. You shiver at the contact, even somehow through the layers of fabric he’s doing this through.

“Clove,” you say, rehearsed as ever that he squeezes your hip for.

“Your real name?” He questions next, but you’re unable to divulge that much. You shake your head, and he nods his own in understanding to your surprise. He doesn’t even pry further than that, other men would have tried to and then thrown tantrums.

“So, Clove, any reason I shouldn’t usher you off my lap so I could acquire a room and get some sleep?” He nudges you, changing the subject. You could feel your confidence depleting sitting atop of him. It’s mimicking your luck for the night and you’re afraid he would refuse your advances. You’re afraid you wouldn’t be able to handle him.

“I… I’m not sure,” you stutter out. This isn’t your first time picking a man up, but god were you bad at it. None were as patient as this man is, who taps your hip, calling attention to his stroking again.

“You’re not?” One arm rounds your waist, trapping you into him. You swallow harshly as you shift your hips involuntarily. It’s friction that lights your core, a shaky sound slipping from between your lips. No one else turns to look, but the hardened tent beneath you illustrates how this man heard you loud and clear. He inhales with purpose, gathering the fabric of your skirt between his fingers. You don’t know what he could be thinking about, but he’s regarding you with hunger you’ve seen and are familiar with at least.

“I may…” you slide your hips back, locating his arousal to grind against. His grip on your hip tightens, limiting your gyrations, how dull the pressure is as you chase his clothed cock with your desperate attempts. He grunts into your ear and already you’re imagining this with less clothing, with less individuals, with less discussions surrounding you, with only each other in a private room to do whatever he wanted. “I may know how to ride.”

His hands cover both your hips, halting your motions much to your chagrin. Your first instinct is to believe you’ve done something wrong, your eyes tracing his facial features to decipher what it could have been, if you went too fast too soon, or maybe you moved in a way that he didn’t like. Except, as molten gold meets your gaze, it’s a thinner ring of pigment as he roots you into him, dilation honed in on you, caused by you. You had him the second you fell into his lap, it’s your revelation because you’ve barely said a thing and he’s sizing you up, gauging you like a predator and its prey. You could feel his cock throbbing like this, expanding with pulses right up against your leaking center. He’s interested, been interested, and he’s gripping your jaw into his hand.

“How much?” He all but growls.

Geralt of Rivia, the name of the man who signs his name for a room with you, lavs at your cunt until you’re preening and kanting your hips towards his face. It rocks you almost violently and it shocks you how quickly it happened. He licks you through the aftermath, caresses your pulsing button with the flat of his tongue in efforts to appease the sensation floating over you in deep waves. You mewl as he removes his mouth, as he sits up on his knees to wipe it with the back of his forearm and wrist. His lips still glisten with you after the fact, with the sweat coating his brow and thinly coating his free chest, his shirt and armor discarded carelessly through the eagerness you both let get the best of you. You fumbled with the key to the room as Geralt stood behind you, his voice promising of what he would do, dropping in octave and volume as if you weren’t already alone, as if he were reciting a secret in confidence. Nerves visibly danced in your hands and he did nothing to help, amused by your struggling, cool and collected as his nose nuzzled against your neck and shoulder.

“You’re trembling,” he noted, “That won’t stop… I won’t stop.”

When you finally pried the door open, he displayed to you how little of his resolve he had left since he immediately pushed you up against it. His lips and teeth occupied themselves with your neck, your leg hooking him by the hip to bring him closer. He used the opportunity to lift you by it, doing so as if you weighed nothing, carting you to the bed to sit and pull your skirts up while he removed his upper layer of clothing. It’s quite a sight to recognize how the armor’s mold has been crafted to represent muscle, but it’s another to see just how much of it was hidden away under there. It’s like he somehow got bigger if it were even possible.

It’s prominent to you now as you stare up at him, skirts disheveled about your hips, thighs spread open, his form right in the middle of the space. He commands attention, the lantern of the room illuminating his features. He uses two fingers to trail over the seam of your entrance, gathering the wetness, your voice surrendering to a whimper. You will yourself not to close your legs from how stimulating it feels post-orgasm, you don’t know if you’ve ever been so sensitive to touch in your life.

“So soft,” he murmurs. The pads of his fingers are rough, but astonishingly gentle, perfect for friction, not perfect for recreation. It’s not possible to replicate with your own hand. You’re just going to have to make this night count for all it’s worth.

Geralt stalks the weight of his body over you, his hands caging you in from how they plant on the mattress below at either side of your head. He stares at you without saying anything. He observes you cautiously, doesn’t move a muscle despite how you’re panting underneath him. It’s because of how wound up your body is, how short of breath you are from chasing and reveling in your high thanks to him and his skillful mouth. A mouth you want to kiss, but there are rules in this, rules that you can tell he knows without having to be told. Just as he’s not your first client, you’re not his first whore. So, you feel a surge of pride at the slick right under his bottom lip, at how it descends to his chin. You wish you could taste his tongue to taste yourself on it having never done that before, but you’ll settle for the next best thing.

Your hands cup his face as they would if they were bringing someone in for a kiss and Geralt allows it. He, and all his power, doesn’t stop you as you guide his head down towards you. He’s puzzled by what you’ll do, quizzical in his expression as you don’t attach your lips, but you do lick along your own lips as you conjure the courage to carry on with your plan. Then, you lap your tongue over your slick, what he missed still on his face. You can hear his knuckles crack from how he tightens his fingers into the sheets below. It’s fucking filthy, and he knows it, you’re sheepish as you fall back down into the bed, staring up at him with doe eyes that he sees right through.

“Wrap your legs around me,” now not necessarily said aloud, but punctuating his sentence in essence with the minacious look he levels you with. You do as you’re told, your legs claiming his torso, and suddenly, the world spins and you’re sprawled on top of him. Geralt grabs a nearby pillow and he maneuvers it under his head, gesturing after to your spread thighs on him.

“You’re going to ride me,” he begins, “You’re going to show me what you know.”

You feel dumbfounded. It’s what led you to the bedroom, but there’s extra pressure at stake. You want to please him as he’s pleased you and now it appears to be a tall order in comparison. You’re not sure how you can rise to the occasion, trembling from how good his tongue felt on you, from how needy he’s rendered you when it should be the other way around.

“But I’m… shaking,” you admit. It’ll hinder your performance. Unlike him, you’re not at full strength and you’ve been blindsided by his prowess.

“I’m aware. You’ll sheath my cock wonderfully,” he reassures you, an encouraging hand on your hip making you believe him. If he praises you like that again, you’ll believe you could fly and leap off a tower if he professes it.

You undo the laces of his trousers and summon your ability to focus on the task without paying mind to your clumsy fingers. He’s patiently watching you from above. It’s conflicting. One, because he’s giving you free reign to dictate the pace and you’re unfamiliar with such a phenomenon. And two, you’ve been told and taught for years that a man should be writhing and squirming to get inside you, that’s what desire is. You fear the possibility of desiring him more than he’s desiring you. Surely, it’s insecurity with someone so experienced, but you’re the one being paid here. You’re striving to honor him, to satisfy him and earn his coin, not make him feel as if he was robbed.

Soon, his laces are undone and you utilize your hand to slip him free of his trousers. He hisses at the contact, his hips slightly shifting into your hand. The girth of him in your palm throbs, a pearly substance dribbling from his tip in thick beads that run down his shaft. You fight the urge to taste him and shuffle your skirts up to align yourself with him. Geralt’s hands find your hips to aid you in lowering yourself down, the fat head of him breaching your entrance, nudging your walls apart past a limit you didn’t know you had. You brace your hands on his chest so you don’t fall forward and gravitate away from the deep stretch his cock’s bending you into. He lets out a grunt as you gradually slide down until he’s at the hilt, your hips rocking enough to create minor adjustments for comfort, for your knees, and curiously, he mutters “fuck” in reaction. Your head snaps up to assess his features and he’s already staring right back at you. Only, his eyebrows are creased and his hands compress the hold they have on your hips. You squeak, your walls hugging him tighter in that instance and he pulses faster, more incessantly. You can almost feel it on your clit.

“You better move… before I move you,” he relents. Finally, a tell that he’s drawn up as tight as you, his control slipping by the seconds.

You do as he wills, your back erect as you sit up tall for him. You lift your hips up and then lower yourself onto him, his cock spearing deep inside with every fall downwards. It’s heaven being split this wide open for Geralt, hearing the obscenities that fall from his lips as you repeatedly sink on him. He’s hot and swollen inside of you and you can feel every ridge of him from how his width pushes up against your tightening walls. You moan to the ceiling as he separates his thighs and outstretches them in the same fashion that he did earlier with you in his lap (well, how different is this, really?) and it causes your own to stretch further. You sink lower by proxy and it catches you so off guard that your upper body hangs forward, one hand on his pectoral, the other on his rib. You have a better view of his face this way, hair strands fall into your vision as you trace his eyes and continue your gyrations. Your mouth falls open as your hips crest back, impaling yourself on his length, watching the pleasure overtake his features as he groans along with you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, you weren’t ly-... lying,” he sputters, his thumbs finding the junctions under your hip bones that he clutches and tests. Your flesh feels like it’s on fire and you double over, milking his cock without pause, digging your fingernails into his skin and the scar tissue you find collected there at your right hand. You mewl as he ruts his hips up into you, meeting you on the downstroke, jabbing beautifully at that bundle of nerves inside of you that you could never reach with your fingers, much less with other men. “Fuck-fuck, I want to fuck your mouth,” he rambles, discarding your hip from his hand so he could cup your cheek. The image springs to life in your head and you cry out as he cradles your chin, as you continue to desperately fuck yourself on him and corral your hips despite being bent over him.

His thumb traces over your lips, your moan vibrating into his skin. “You’d let me, wouldn’t y-you?” He dips his thumb into your mouth and you immediately latch on with roaring enthusiasm, the tip of your tongue licking the pad. “You’d let me f-fuck your mouth, gods, nngh,” you suck his thumb in tandem with your moving hips, “until I filled it, hm? Until I’ve f-filled it full of m-me.” You have no choice but to moan at the lewdness of it, against his thumb still in your mouth. His fingers tighten on your jaw and you feel like you might float away at this rate, slick on him, lightly coated in perspiration from gliding along his cock. “Just like I’m going to pump y-you full right now,” he growls, removing his thumb and hand so he could push you back by your shoulder.

You sit up on him and take the hint, maneuvering faster on him, humping him with voracity you didn’t know you were capable of. You’re chasing after another high at the same time that you want to deliver him to his. As you busy yourself with your speeding hips and your thighs silently crying out in protest from the strain, you watch Geralt’s hands pushing your skirts away from your center, where the two of you connect. It reminds you of when you were trying to get the key into the lock earlier, frustration in his movement that doesn’t resemble the steel control he had before. Unlike you, however, he doesn’t keep trying until the skirts are in a suitable position for him… he simply tugs and you hear definitive rips resound throughout the room. The fabric is finally out of his way so he could buff his thumb, the same one that was in your mouth, the same one still doused in your saliva, over your keenly sensitive clit. He runs along it with your hip rolls and it’s perfect, satisfying, mind-bending, and then it’s all too fucking much at once.

You croon as you climax, mindlessly rocking your hips through it, and thankfully, Geralt doesn’t move his thumb over your pulsating clit. It’s so stimulated that you know your spine would stutter in reaction. He just keeps it there, nobly letting you orgasm with warmth and security you deserve, driving his hips up to settle his cock deep within you as he cums. Hard. His neck strains as he moans, as he fills you to the brim just like he prophesied moments ago. The flood seeps from where he’s still buried inside, oozing from your outer lips down to his base and pelvic bone. You feel boneless, and that much is shown with how you crumble on his chest, panting in the afterglow of ultimate euphoria. Geralt draws shapes on your back, the thrum of breathing heard as you both come back down together.

You can hear his heartbeat like this. It’s not erratically beating like yours is, but the tempo is heavy. Like the heart of a horse.

“Skirts aren’t cheap,” you whisper, frowning as you think of the new slits Geralt made in your attire, right down the middle where you conceal your money maker under. Said money maker who’s currently raw and gushing, beaming with delight of the cock that shreds away her vacancy.

“Hmm.”

Geralt doesn’t say anything. You already know he’s a man of few words. From how short your exchange had been earlier in the tavern, you understand how he likes to get to the point. You’re grateful for it since you loathed the small talk, the flirtatious personality you had to don on for simple-minded suitors who fell into your hands. If you had known of his bluntness, you would have fallen into his lap sooner.

You’re comforted. Oddly so. He pushes your hair away from your shoulder and works his mouth against it. Your eyes slip closed. It tickles, his stubble does, but it’s… it feels different. Geralt is different.

You’re suddenly moaning again as Geralt thrusts up into you. He’s still hard, again proving to you that he’s different because it’s rare for men to have this much stamina, to be hard again after that much stimulation. His strong arms hold you to him and you weakly cast your eyes up at him. He thrusts once more, your head hiding in the crook of his neck as you brokenly mewl for more. More, more, more, you think, and as if he can hear your brain, he snaps his hips up.

“You’re shaking,” he recites, humor in his tone. You gasp as he shifts you to your back, his cock still inside. He hooks your knee up at his hip. “Like a fucking leaf.” He pounds into you, then, with no abandon, your tight channel slick with his cum.

He did warn you he wouldn’t stop.

You’re sitting with your girls, listening as they chatter on and on about their bouts from last night. They’re mostly complaints and usually, that’s how it goes. You join in, they take your side, you all condemn men, and then you laugh. It’s a routine of the morning after. Though, this morning, you’re having trouble focusing on any word coming from Janci’s mouth. You just keep thinking about Geralt, how you woke up distorted and alone in your room. The bed was still warm and it gave you indication that it hadn’t been long since he left. A bag of coin sat in his empty spot and it’s bittersweet because it’s good payment, but it certainly doesn’t compare to the man’s body it replaced. You held it to your naked chest as you recollected the events, much like you’re doing now as Janci speaks, and then dressed so you could deliver it to your madam Grix.

Speaking of the devil, you can see Grix pass by the table out of the corner of your eye.

You realize your name’s been called about four times by Janci and the image of Geralt sliding his tongue over your clit slowly fades away from your mind’s eye. “What was… what was the question?”

There’s a fit of laughter. You know it’s at your expense since you were daydreaming, and you would really like to get back to that, but you wait for it to clear so Janci could fill you in.

“I asked how it went for you. It’s like you disappeared. One second you were alone at the tavern and then none of us heard from you for the rest of the night!”

“Oh, I heard her last night,” Cecil says into her cup, her utterance low, the giggles fleeing from mouths yet again.

You could feel your face burning at the accusation. You don’t have time to defend yourself as a clink of metal resounds on top of the table. A bag of coin sits in front of you, you all look at madam Grix standing there with her usual grimace. She pats your shoulder.

“Your witcher was generous,” she says. The sound of the word witcher ironically ceases all conversation among the girls. They stare at you blankly, no longer in amusement. This is… this is your commission. You just wish Grix didn’t hand it off to you in front of the others. You can just feel their eyes burning on the bag as your own head tries to decipher what the hell a witcher was.

You don’t say anything else, you just reach for the bag, thank madam Grix, and you stow away to your room. You open the bag and place its contents with your other savings. This is not the amount you agreed on, you thought it felt too weighted earlier. It’s more actually, and you’re unsure why madam Grix let you keep it, she’s notoriously greedy. Then, at the bottom of the bag, you find a scrap of paper. It’s in handwriting you don’t recognize, but you know who it belongs to. And it makes you smile.

For your skirts, it reads.

[alexanderlightweight]

Wednesday prompt :) what if the reason Valentine made Luke a wolf was that a wronged nephilim in a parabatai bond can declare the other an oathbreaker, to trigger divine judgement, and if the judgement finds fault with the other you get back your soul piece and the other is punished? What if Alec, faced with another entitled and selfish rant, just snaps and declares Jace an oathbreaker?

okay so I couldn't figure out a way that would work like you were wanting but i did really like the idea that traditionally, a ritual with the silent brothers as a conduit to raziel is the only one allowed to judge and break a parabatai bond

this is actually an au of all your cracks i'll paint gold. because my thought is that an alec who didn't have the faith or hope to wait to give jace till the very last minute (because until the first rune is taken, some part of alec still believes jace is coming). this alec knows he's about to be deruned and he wants to lose his parabatai bond on his own terms. because fuck if he's going to let the clave tear him from jace, he's going to ask raziel to judge them and whoever ends up taking the brunt, so be it. because only raziel can judge the bond between him and jace.

also a part of alec expects to be the one judged as an oathbreaker. he's really tangled up in his own thoughts at this point and he knows he's not thinking straight which makes him doubt himself.

alec wants answers and to fuck the clave by not letting them get their way.

also tbh, for parabatai, i think the loss of the bond itself, especially not knwing what is happening would feel like divine punishment itself. especially for two peple who are so devout to the bond.

i hope you still enjoy <3

lumine

-

Alec doesn’t know what to do, but there is only one thing left to try and Jace is going to lose him either way. This is the most selfish thing Alec’s ever done in his life and he almost doesn’t do it, until he thinks about how long he’s been sitting here, alone.

Jace isn’t coming. Alec knows that at this point. Wherever his parabatai is with Clary, it’s far beyond anywhere that Alec can reach him in time.

And Alec can’t stay sitting here, waiting to be deruned whenever Imogen gets bored of making him wait.

Treated like he isn’t a Commander and not even given the choice of someone as a witness of his own to keep watch.

“I demand the presence of a Silent Brother for an oath.” Alec rasps to the next shadowhunters who pass, and they wince, looking at him with concern but they shake their heads.

Imogen has scared them all with his imprisonment and Alec is paying the price. Alec is normally the backbone of his Institute, the shield between him and the clave and while they trust him to do that, Alec’s never been their official leader or had the chance to make these hunters completely his.

It’s with a snarl and the determination of spite in his heart — because what was the point of any of this? Of denying himself and Magnus even a moment of anything if this is the way things end — and Alec spits his blood and saliva onto the ground.

It’s grueling work.

Alec was already tired from patrol and the mess with Meliorn when they dragged him to a cell and pronounced him a traitor.  There’s been no soul sword and no trial. They want an example and they’re not afraid to use Alec as one.

Where once, Alec would have assumed he had the protection and privilege of the Lightwood name, he knows now that none of it is true. He’s protected himself and his siblings by his own merits, despite their name, all of these years.

So, Alec reaches deep within himself and calls forward the blood magic that every nephilim is told about but rarely any ever attempt.

It’s a brutal, vicious magic that can turn even the simplest of magical desires into an onslaught of eldritch curses.

Alec uses the blood from his split lip and cut cheek and paints a series of runes before placing his hand down and willing it to activate.

His fingers shatter from the pressure he’s using t push down at the same time the array activates and Alec smiles in satisfaction, copper thick on his tongue.

—

“The Silent Brothers have been summoned and so will remain, especially for a trial we were not notified of.”

“Because this isn’t a trial.” Alec rasps out, “I’ve been asked no questions and offered no recourse. I request two things of the Silent Brothers, one of each.”

“Your requests?”

“I declare a broken oath between parabatai. I wish to let the angel judge my parabatai and I’s bond, not the clave.”

Alec isn’t going to fight his deruning, he can’t.

But he’s not going to let the clave strip away his bond, the angel himself can do that.

“The second request?”

“After the first is finished.” Alec says firmly, not about to let them know that his request depends on how the ritual goes.

“Very well. You will need a warlock to maintain your vitals.”

Alec hates to do it, but there isn’t a warlock who he trusts more than Magnus and Alec is very tired of being betrayed.

—

“What is going on?” Magnus asks tightly, because the Institute is full of strange nephilim and there isn’t a single one he recognizes. Which normally isn’t strange, except it wasn’t like this even a week ago.

“You’ve been requested to monitor and maintain the vitals of the nephilim, Alexander Gideon Lightwood, during a ritual.” The Silent Brother escorting him informs him with their invasive way of communication.

Magnus freezes, because this sounds dangerously close to the idea that he’ll be holding Alexander’s life in his hands.

“And he knows I am the warlock working with him?”

“You are the only warlock he would agree to work with.”

Magnus wonders at what that means and curses the flare of hope in his chest. As he enters the room he frowns, noticing it’s heavily guarded by what are clearly clave guards.

They sneer as he passes and Magnus lets his glamour drop, smirking as they flinch from him.  The cell-like quality of the room means he’s not prepared for Alexander when he enters, though he should be.

Alexander looks exhausted and worse than Magnus has ever seen him, and his eyes are dull. There’s a small spark, the softening of Alexander’s gaze on him. When their eyes meet there is wonder and curiosity for a brief heartbeat before Magnus’ glamour goes back up and Alexander’s eyes drop to the floor.

“Well, this is not how I imagined seeing you again.” Magnus says, trying to soften his words but he’s surprised, and he can’t help it and the hope makes him coy. “In my dreams, I imagined crashing your wedding. Not being summoned here to keep you alive.”

Alexander lets out a hoarse, defeated laugh and shakes his head. “There’s not going to be a wedding to crash, Magnus. I’m being deruned for treason. If I’m alive in a week, it’ll be considered impressive.”

Magnus feels his heart crack with the icy hands that have suddenly grabbed it.

“Tell me, everything, Alexander. Now.”

Alec sends him a weary, hopeless gaze and then shrugs, his hoarse voice forming words that tear into Magnus’ cracking heart.

—

Alec recites the words of his oath, the one that will allow Raziel to judge the bonds of his and Jace’s soul.

If he’s to lose this, then he’s going to do it by his own choice.

He expects the pain, when it comes, but it’s more excruciating than he thought it would be. 

The part of Jace’s soul that is melded with his own is burrowed tightly. It writhes and tugs and fights leaving, and Alec is too tired to do anything but accept the pain and the struggle. He doesn’t even have the energy to fight for himself, he certainly doesn’t have the energy to fight for Jace one last time.

Instead, he lets him go and wonders, whose soul will be returned to who.

—

Magnus has never seen such a gruesome, intimate ritual in all of his life, and it galls him at how many are watching it.  He’s keeping Alexander’s heart beating only through the strength of his magic, or Alexander would be lifeless on the flat table they’ve laid him on.  There is nothing to comfort him or ease him from the cold marble and Magnus seethes that he wasn’t allowed to add any kind of magical cushioning.

It’s as if they want Alexander to feel the most discomfort possible.

He can see it in Alexander’s eyes, the surprise and confusion of waking up and it breaks apart the walls he tried so hard to hastily rebuild.

Alexander didn’t expect to wake up and Magnus was the only one he trusted to make sure that if he did die, he was properly taken care of. Death is an intimate affair for shadowhunters, and Magnus knows the honor he’s been given, but every part of this except keeping Alexander alive feels like a curse.

Because what could have happened in the mere days since they last talked and saw each other, to send Alexander spiraling so low? When he was so proud in his own misguided beliefs the last time they saw each other.

“His soul and bond have been judged. Alexander Lightwood’s soul has been returned to him; he has not broken the oath of his bond.”

Alexander doesn’t look pleased by the pronouncement, if anything the distress and grief grow before they’re hidden away.  It’s then that Magnus realizes, while there are a variety of important shadowhunters, there isn’t a single person there connected to Alexander. 

“Is family not allowed?” He asks casually, smirking at the Silent Brother, because all of their order know Magnus’ reputation enough that it’s better to indulge his curiosity.

“There was no family willing or available to come.” Is what he’s told instead of something like, ‘they’re not allowed’ and Magnus, Magnus itches with the urge to destroy something.

“And Alexander?”

Whatever information Magnus is about to learn, is interrupted by Alexander himself.

“My second request, to the Silent Brothers. To request the right of severance. A trial of law.”

Magnus is curious and he raises an eyebrow imperiously at the Silent Brother standing near him.  Magnus hears the mental sigh before he’s told, “to request such a thing, means the clave has first betrayed the nephilim requesting it. There is no risk besides the soul sword knowing it is a lie and he is still due to be deruned. If he cuts himself from the clave, the clave cannot destroy first destroy him.”

“Does he need a magical aid?” Magnus asks without thinking, because of course he wants to help Alexander get away from the people doing this to him.

“Only comfort, when the strength of his own will finally fails him.”

Magnus wonders what that means but he has no further interest in what is being said and he takes the five steps that separate him and Alexander.

“What will happen, when you succeed in the next ritual?”

“I might fail.”

“You won’t.” Magnus assures him, his fingers light as he boldly places his hand on Alexander’s shoulder. Alexander stiffens for a moment and Magnus almost moves, before Alexander visibly relaxes and leans even closer.

“I’ll be allowed to leave the clave, though I doubt any Institute will take me. I wouldn’t trust them either, not anymore.” It’s a bitter thing for Alexander to admit and Magnus can tell. “I’ll still have my runes; I won’t be hunted. I can hide in the edges of the mundane world if I need to. I’m sure Night Markets have some use for what I can hunt.”

Magnus tsks and tightens his grip on Alexander’s shoulder and sends a soothing, warming pulse through Alexander’s muscles. His shadowhunter has been shivering since the ritual and not a single shadowhunter has offered him a blanket.

This entire time he’s been dressed in thin clothes, the kind nephilim are buried in, as if his fate is already decided on. Magnus is going to burn the horrendously white shirt and pants Alexander is wearing and never let him wear the color again.

After Alexander agrees… of course.

—

Alexander’s voice is low, but strong as he speaks his truth upon the soul sword. It carries across the room as he grips the soul sword and speaks.  He looks at no one but Magnus as he talks, repeating line for line the various laws the clave have broken in his case. Even Imogen looks a little pale when he’s done, as if hearing the truth of her own crimes is worse the committing them.

Alexander seems stunned when he’s finished.

As if he didn’t really think it would work, as if he thought he might actually be in the wrong and Magnus heart breaks.

“Alexander—” Magnus murmurs as he walks towards him, for his shadowhunter’s eyes haven’t once looked away from Magnus’ unglamoured ones. His dark eyes are weary as he watches Magnus, there’s no satisfaction in having one.

Hazel eyes widen in shock as Alexander watches Magnus reach out and wrap his fingers around the hilt of the soul sword.

“None of it has ever been a game. I would cherish you, darling. Far more than the clave, your family, your parabatai or even your exalted angel, Raziel.” The sword doesn’t stop him from speaking, because it isn’t a lie. Raziel cares little for the race he created and what Magnus is starting to feel for Alexander can’t be matched even by a divine being.

Let alone the petty, hateful mortals that have brutalized Alexander’s heart and soul so badly.

“What if you get tired?” Alexander asks and Magnus knows he’s too worn to voice the ‘of me’ aloud.

“I will keep you for every moment of your life.” Magnus tells him, swearing upon an angelic relic that croons temptingly to the corrupted blood in Magnus. “I will never throw you from me. Or give up on you. Whatever exists between us, it can grow to whatever we let it and no matter what that is, I will never abandon you. You, just you, would be enough, Alexander.”

Alexander wraps his trembling arms around Magnus and nods, “then take me away. Please, Magnus. From all of it.”

Magnus smirks at the one Silent Brother who never approached him and Jem nods in return. If his friend hadn’t told him about the properties of the soul sword in detail, this never would have worked.  However, Jem isn’t afraid to toe the line of nephilim law and Magnus has never seen him so enraged as he was when he pressed against Magnus’ mind in secrecy earlier.

The clave cannot refute Magnus’ words, not when sworn on the soul sword or witnessed by two Silent Brothers and that means that this is binding.

The clave no longer has any say or power over Alexander, only Magnus does.

[allwaswell16]

Hi lovely and thank for your sharing and caring in this fandom!

A bit finicky question, I'm here with. Don't know if I managed to mention different perspectives enough and contextualize it the way I wanted to, but anyway, do feel free to ignore or maybe just leave some tags:

What are your thoughts, your two pennies and just today (tomorrow is another day and maybe a new perspective), about the conversation going on about the commenting culture (nowadays in AO3):

the lack and/or decline of it

the urgent need for community, engagement, participation and positive feedback loop for authors

but also the growing and changing audience for fanfic

the growing idea that a fic is not a gift (it most certainly is) but some "factory produced and guaranteed content that keeps on coming and you are entitled to it"

the lack of reading comprehension skills

and the lack of skills to figure out the appropriate time and place for giving critique

but also the small but growing portion of authors who demand only certain kind of praise, worded in a certain kind of way and if not delivered accordingly attack brutally on everything and everyone

the cultural differencies as a player in participating, giving positive feedback and even using foreign language words

and of course the ever growing and spreading comment anxiety on "both sides"

and so on...

So how do you see it? What's your perspective? You are both an author and a reader. But then again, you are a reader who writes, so you actually know, what a writer likes to see in their comment field...

Hi, anon! Whew, well this is a lot, but I'm going to answer as much as I can haha. As you said, this is just my own perspective on things. I'd say I also have a little added perspective of being a writer who reads and writes in more than one popular fanfic fandom. So I can't help but compare my experiences in both.

I don't think the One Direction fandom has ever been overly generous with the kudos and comments to be perfectly honest. I think if you talk to writers who are active in other fic fandoms of similar sizes/popularity, they'd likely agree with that.

I want to be clear to start with here that I feel like readers have been very kind to me over the years. I've been here a long time now though, so I get the benefit of the doubt with some long time readers and those who subscribe to my ao3. But I also think that in part I have encouraged comments in a way that not every writer can or wants to do.

I answer every single comment. I answer them in a way that mirrors back the comment that was made. If you leave a long comment, I answer back in detail. If you send me something shorter, (which is fine and I love any and all comments!) I will answer back in a similar way. I also answer back pretty quickly. There are times I get behind, but I rarely get behind more than a month or so. And the day my fic posts, I try to answer every comment that gets posted on that first day.

Am I saying everyone needs to do what I do? Absolutely not! It takes a lot of time and energy to do that! But I do think there's a correlation to be made there. Readers see all the comments, see they're being answered quickly, and feel comfortable or like it's okay to leave one, too. OH, and also I want to say that me answering back (maybe obsessively) quickly is something that probably isn't possible for people who have a fic explode in popularity. I might have some popular fics but none of them were like overnight explosions in popularity. They've all been slow burners lol.

As for concrit with fic...I think it depends on the fandom. It is not something that is looked upon kindly in ours. There are definitely writers out there who ask for it which is fine, but the etiquette in our fandom is not to offer it unless asked for it. In my opinion, this makes a lot of sense for our fandom. Since writers are not getting the numbers of kudos and comments that are given more freely in other fandoms, it's a bit of a hard pill to swallow that we'd then expect them to also take unsolicited writing critiques.

Just using my own fics as an example, by the time I publish a fic multiple other writers have already read it. It's been proofread and betad by a writer with an MFA in creative writing. I'm not going to be taking concrit seriously from someone whose background in writing I don't know. When I publish the fic, it's done, I'm happy with the result, and I'm not going back to it to make changes. So there's not much point in telling me what I should have done differently with it.

Your point about some writers being perhaps overly sensitive about some comments...I wanted to say a few things about. There are a few common comments that immediately came to mind that writers have differing views on, and I think it's worthwhile for readers to think about.

One is something like I wish this was longer or please write more of this. If you comment this on any of my fics, I'll smile and consider it a compliment that you enjoyed it enough to want more. If you go through my comments, you'll see this is indeed what I've replied back to comments like that. There are other writers that are going to be exasperated by that comment or even offended by it. And even though I'm not one of them, I would say try to see it from their perspective.

What if that writer has spent months on that fic the reader considers "short"? I think readers sometimes forget just how much TIME goes into these fics. Just because a fic is 10k, 5k, whatever doesn't mean it didn't take a long time to write. And someone who spent months of time on something who likely didn't receive a whole lot of comments in the first place, and then one of the few comments they get could be interpreted as this wasn't enough. That's disheartening, you know? I think if you have the urge to leave that comment, maybe think first about the writer you're leaving that comment for. Or even think of a different way to say it like, "I could have lived in this fic forever" which is what I like to think is what most readers are trying to convey with comments like that.

Another one is who tops? Just don't, I'd say for that comment. I simply don't answer ones like that. But I'd say check the tags. If it's not tagged, either choose to move on if you have to know to read it or ctrl+F the fic yourself for the word "cock" or whatever. If the writer doesn't tag it, it means they didn't care about that. Or they got annoyed with their fics being reduced to that too often. PWP eh fine, but my 80k amnesia au I had a nervous breakdown writing that has one sex scene...eff off that's not what the fic is about. I once wrote a fic about grief. GRIEF! (well, and Antarctic scientists) that people argued over whether it was bottom Louis. And I resolved to never tag it again after that.

As for the fic as a gift vs not a gift I agree with you...I don't know what else you'd call something that is given for free. That's the definition of "gift." If someone reads the fic, a kudos is like a verbal thank you and a comment would be like a thank you card.

The comment anxiety thing I don't have an issue with myself, but I know writers who do and can't bring themselves to answer their comments. One of my friends feels so badly for not answering but when she tries she says her replies don't feel like enough. It's too bad that she can't answer due to actually loving her comments TOO much! Anxiety is a bitch for sure. For anyone who wants to leave a comment but is worried about it, I promise that super short ones or even keysmashes or emojis are very welcome! I have a mutual on tumblr who leaves the same comment on every one of my fics that simply says she loved the fic and I promise it makes me happy every single time because now I know she read it and enjoyed it whereas I might have missed whether or not she left a kudos. And when I see her on my dash, I think that's the one who loves my fics! :)

I swear I'm gonna stop rambling, but I want to end with one more thing. I think it would be interesting for readers and writers to experience a different fandom sometime if they're only in this one. It's not always a better/worse thing, but it might make people more open to trying new things like commenting/replying more or in different ways.

[cubeapples]

I saw your anti-Jegulus post, and wanted to offer my two cents. I actually don’t personally mind Jegulus as a ship itself (I wouldn’t call myself a fan or anything, but I’m not too bothered by it), but I actually do think a lot of the fanon portrayals of Jegulus have constant hints of misogyny. For example, I’ve seen a lot of Jegulus fics/headcanons about Lily having a baby and essentially abandoning her family in order to leave room for Jegulus raising Harry. It’s a very tired cliche of fans of MLM ships trying to get women out of the way any way they can, as long as they can get use out of them first (in this scenario, Lily giving birth to Harry).

Another common thing I see is the criticism/opinion that Jily is boring (which is absolutely fair, everyone is entitled to their opinion) but then project a lot of Jily’s tropes onto Jegulus (some that I’ve seen are matching patronuses, James being extremely infatuated and pining over Regulus, or making Regulus’ personality identical to canon Lily’s and then turning Lily into a bland, one dimensional character). I think where people are coming from is that because of this, it genuinely feels like these people would in fact like Jily, and the only issue they have with it is that Lily is a woman. I also find myself genuinely wondering if Regulus would be as popular as he is now if he were a female character.

I don’t think people who like Jegulus are individually being misogynistic, I think it’s more of the general concept of Jegulus becoming popular and the treatment of all characters involved has strong undertones of misogyny.

This isn’t meant to be hateful or combative btw, so I hope it didn’t come off that way. I just saw your post and wanted to offer my perspective on it.

oh no worries anon, your message is clear. and you are right, the jegulus fandom is misogynistic in the way that you say that they are, and i dislike that.

but the point of my post is that you can't exactly be mysogynistic towards lily evans, because the author herself is already misogynistic towards her. my point was that jily is no better than jegulus.

think of it this way, lily evans, the mother of the protagonist of the series, whose love saved the protag’s life should have a more prominent role in the series. but instead, her whole life is portrayed to revolve around male characters. her role in ths story is reduced to being a mother. [i'm not saying motherhood is a bad thing, i just wish it was explored with more complexity and nuance.]

jily is also the most basic, misogynistic heterosexual pairing ever imo. james is immature, lily is mature, and james changed for her because he wanted her to like him.

that's it, that's literally it. the fact that james 'changed' himself is the more important part of their dynamic. lily herself is not shown having any feelings for james, and how she went through the process of forgiving him. james is this manchild, with atrocious behaviour and he's expected to change for lily. it's like lily isn't even her own person anymore!

i don't like the jily dynamics as well because james was lowkey blackmailing lily into dating him and the way that their romance is pprtrayed, it feels like she just eventually accepted it, after he 'changed.'

at this point, even though it was lily's love that saved harry's life, she is such a non-entity in the series. harry is portrayed to be more interested in learning about james, and lily is depicted as having NO concrete friends in canon! the mary detail in canon hardly counts because that scene was more focused on snape! another man. seriously! every aspect of her life revolves around some GUY.

not to mention, after she graduates, guess what. she stays at home to take care of the baby while james becomes a strong auror! are you seeing this?! she's a trad wife. she's literally a stay-at-home mum because she decided she wanted to get knocked up in the middle of the war. the only counter-point to this is if voldemort wasn't after harry, she might have gone to work, but it is iffy, too, because who decides it's a good idea to have a baby in the middle of a war? she could have fought alongside james but nooo she has to watch while james puts his invisibility cloak on to goof around with sirius while her baby's life is in danger.

"it genuinely feels like these people would in fact like Jily, and the only issue they have with it is that Lily is a woman." <- you're right anon, but this doesn't matter to me as i feel that both the ships are equally bad.

tl;dr: jily is also a lowkey misogynistic in my opinion. jegulus is just as bad, and you are right, some of its fans are misogynistic as well.

[cowboylikedean]

I was at a friend’s house tonight and I said to them right before I left that the most frustrating and difficult part of this is that like all I can do to help her is exactly what I was already going to do: love her, support her, show up to the shows and sing my ass off.

And it’s frustrating and difficult because this isn’t like other breakups. We, the fandom, have never gone through a breakup like this with Taylor because she’s never had a breakup like this one.

This relationship lasted 5 years and some change longer than her previous “longest relationship” Even if you count Harry and Jake’s on-again-off-again, this outlasts them by years. We’ve never had this long to get attached to a boyfriend and we’ve never had this long to get comfortable with the idea of a future. We’ve never had this many songs about the love between them before the breakup. In fact, we’ve only ever had like 1 (Superstar, Come Back Be Here are the only ones that immediately spring to mind).

So yeah, we’re all feeling a little unhinged right now and posts like “Taylor has had other breakups!” are not helpful in the least. Neither are posts that emphasize that we don’t know Taylor. We don’t know what Taylor’s feeling, sure, but we also have to process this.

I hate the term “parasocial relationship” because when the internet learned it, they lost their goddamn minds. We’ve had the term since the 1950′s and the actual phenomenon has existed as long as art has been shared. We connect with one another and we share our lives and existences and we become emotionally attached and comfortable with someone else’s life. As long as Taylor’s art connects to her life (and it always will), we will always develop those emotional attachments and connections.

This is not to say that we are going through a breakup with Joe in the same way Taylor is, but we are going through a breakup with Joe. The difference between her and us is that we have no information. And we’re not entitled to that information either. We’re all trying to figure out how to make sense of the past 6 years of music and love and life the best we can and figure out what to do with this connection we’ve built with Joe moving forward. It does none of us any good to shame each other for processing differently. It also does none of us any good to pretend like we have a precedent for this. We’re all operating blind. And we’ll all change our minds and opinions and feelings so many times as we go on... And that’s okay. This relationship ended for them, but it also ended for us. And that shouldn’t be taboo to recognize. We have to give ourselves grace to feel whatever we feel... And just try to hug each other through it.