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viennakarma · 3 months

Text

Something you paid for

Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: Two years into the best relationship of your life, you find out that Fernando thinks you don't love him. But it get worse and you realize the whole world think of you as gold digger.

Word count: 5.7k

Tags: female!reader, established relationship, slut shaming, reader is confused, fernando is even more confused, miscommunication, cursing, a bit angsty, hurt/comfort, soft smut (almost not there), happy ending, not beta read

Relationship: Fernando Alonso x Reader

Note: I'm honestly not 100% sure about this story, a had another ending planned but I wanted it to be HEA. I don't know. :(

I'm sorry if it's rushed or full of mistakes. Feedback and opinions are appreciated xx

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It was supposed to be just a pause in your studies. Something quick since your brain was already mushy from studying and writing your research for too long.

So when you picked up your phone, to aimlessly scroll through social media, you didn’t expect to see a new, sudden rush of comments on your instagram page. There were thousands of comments in your last post, calling you a gold digger, and much, much worse. Ever since you started dating Fernando, you had been getting these comments, and in the beginning they were worse but slowed down with time. Now they were on a new high again. Confused more than anything, you went on to try and find out what happened for this to happen all of a sudden. You and Fernando hadn’t gone out together for more than two weeks and you hadn’t been to a race week for a month.

After digging you eventually found out what happened. Deuxmoi posted something that made everyone quickly think it was you.

A lady who’s 12 years younger than her famous Spanish Formula One driver boyfriend, is known for being with him for his money. Many tried to warn him, but it seems like he doesn’t believe or doesn’t care.

Confused, you stared at the post, scrolling through hundreds of nasty, poisonous comments. That wasn’t true. Fernando did give you lots of presents and spoiled you a lot but he did this out of his own want, not because you asked for or demanded it. He was constantly giving you things, especially clothes, shoes and bags, and loved seeing you wearing them. He also gave you an Aston Martin car on your last birthday. He even went as far as getting you a credit card attached to his, for whenever you needed to buy books or go on a shopping spree. You never minded it because you knew he liked it, instead of refusing you were just grateful for his generosity.

You wondered if you should talk about it with him, but deep down you knew Fernando was never one to care for gossip of any kind. And this probably wasn’t even true to begin with, just someone trying to stir the pot. So you just limited the comments in your posts and went on about your day.

A week later you went to the race, it was Silverstone, and the last before summer break. You decided to dress your best, wearing clothes that were pretty and elegant and had been given to you by Fernando.

He always treated you like a princess, he was kind and patient, and always found a way to align your schedules to spend time together. He liked taking you on trips during summer break and to ski trips during winter break. Fernando adored having you around in race weeks, you could see in his face that he was radiant with your presence. And you loved all the gifts and the trips but you especially loved staying home with him, lazing around, making love on the sofa and taking walks hand in hand in his hometown. You loved helping him cook, trying your best to follow his orders and not mess up his recipes.

You walked into the paddock hand in hand, and you kept him company whenever you could. He would keep you around the most, only letting you go when he had meetings or media duties. During that time, you would go back to his room and do a little more of your research, writing your thesis.

You left his room so you could grab a snack and a coffee at the hospitality, but as you passed by a hallway, you heard someone saying your name in conversation. You stopped, leaning against the wall to hear, with a glance, you saw two mechanics talking.

“Seems like everyone tried to warn him, man. But it’s like he doesn’t mind dating a gold digger.”

“Is she a gold digger, really?”

“Man, she doesn’t do anything! She doesn't even work.”

“Has anyone warned Fernando?”

“Everyone.”

You went back inside his driver’s room, sitting down, completely shocked. So that’s what people thought of you? You knew people on the internet talked about it, but they were strangers so you wouldn’t allow yourself to mind because those people didn’t know you. But the people in the garage? They’ve known you for almost two years now, you were always kind and polite to them, even going as far as bringing them cookies and donuts as thank you for welcoming you so well.

You avoided crying, it would ruin your makeup, and Fernando would notice it very quickly. So you just sat there, numb. Thinking about how everyone believed you were with Fernando because of his money and nothing else.

When Fernando found you again, before he had to go get ready for the race, he noticed you were a little down.

“You should not study so hard on the weekends, princesa.” He muttered, hugging you from behind and leaving a gentle kiss to your neck. Of course, he would think you were just tired.

“You are absolutely right, mi amor,” you smiled a little, turning around so you could hug him properly, “do you have time for a little kiss?”

“Even two,” he joked.

You ended up sitting on his lap, making out like two teenagers, until someone knocked on the door, calling Fernando to go get ready.

“Hey, good luck, yeah?” You said, kissing him one more time then kissing the back of his hand, “I love you.”

You watched the race from the garage, feeling self conscious now that it seemed like everyone thought you were leeching off of Fernando.

In the end, Fernando got P3 which was a great result and you celebrated wildly, proudly watching him get on the podium.

After his post race meetings, you met him in his room.

“Let’s go out to celebrate! Dinner is on me!” You hugged him, mood better now than before.

You and him ended up going out for dinner, at a high end restaurant, dressed to the nines. It was fun, you listened to Fernando talking about the race, then he asked you what you thought about the race.

Before dessert, you went into the bathroom to retouch your makeup and freshen up. When you came back, your tiramisu was already there. You and Fernando shared the dessert, laughing to each other.

When the waitress came, you picked the opportunity.

“Dear, can we get the tab please?”

“It’s already taken care of, Madam.”

Your smile faltered, and you looked at Fernando as she left. He was smiling like he couldn’t hold it in.

“Fernando! I said dinner was on me!”

“Why would I let you pay, princesa?”

“Because you got a podium today! As a celebration!” You whined, upset. Fernando pulled your chair, until you were right beside him and he kissed your cheek.

“I like paying for you, Hermosa,” Fernando stood up, offering you a hand, “come on, you can treat me right in our hotel room, what about that?”

You smiled as he pulled you away, but something still nagged at your brain.

You and Fernando took the private plane back to Madrid after the date, because he had sponsor meetings over the week, and you honestly wanted to sleep in your bed. The trip was quick, and while Fernando took a nap, you tried studying, but your mind kept going back to being called a gold digger.

Deep down, you really wanted to talk to Fernando about it, but you were unsure if he could fix this in any way. What could he do? Make a post on instagram saying hey, my girlfriend isn’t leeching off of me as most you think!? You did live with Fernando, for six months now, and he paid all the bills and the house was his. But he also gave you many many gifts.

When you got home, putting your bags inside the closet, you two just changed into sleepwear, ready to doze off.

Then Fernando opened his bag and grabbed a small box.

“Oh, I had forgotten! Got you a present last week in Austria!”

He handed you the box, and with your heart beating fast, you opened it to a beautiful vintage watch. It was gold, delicate with a beautiful bracelet. There was a lump in your throat as you stared at the piece.

“You didn’t like it? It’s ok, princesa, I’ll get you another one,” he said, with a gentle smile.

“I don’t need another watch, Nando. You gave me this one not even a month ago,” you raised your wrist, showing him the brand new one he gave you.

“I want to give it to you. It doesn’t matter,” he shrugged.

“And I don’t want it,” god, you didn’t want to sound so ungrateful, but how could you tell him that his presents felt like something else now? “You have to stop giving me so many presents,” you said, trying to put into words what you were feeling.

“But that’s how I won you over, why would you refuse my presents now?”

Something about the nonchalance in his voice made you stop, stomach dropping. That’s how I won you over? That’s how he believed your relationship came to be? That’s why he thought you were together?

“What did you say?” You paused, suddenly turning to him, it felt like a punch to the throat, “You- you believe I’m a gold digger? You believe it?”

Fernando walked up to you, putting both hands on your waist, a soft smile gracing his face.

“Amor, you know I don’t mind spending my money on you. Quite the opposite, I love to spoil you.”

You stood there, speechless for a couple of seconds. Then you snapped out of it, pushing his hands off you.

“That’s not what I asked!” Your voice sounded louder, you tried to regain your composure, “people talk a lot, the press too, but you know the truth, right?!”

“I’m a rich man, I like providing you with the luxurious lifestyle you lead. I don’t care that you enjoy my money.”

His words made it so much worse. It made you nauseous, the idea that all this time, he’s been thinking of you as a gold digger, as someone who’s only with him for his money and for what he could provide for you.

“No, Fernando- no!” Your voice wavered, “that’s not true! I love you, you know that right?”

“Why are you so caught up in some silly rumor?

“You know right? You know I love you.” You pressed further waiting for an answer. Hoping against hope that he knew it deep down, that he could acknowledge that you harbored love for him.

“Amor, we have such a great dynamic like this. I don’t need your love, just your loyalty and for you to be my pretty girl.”

He was so calm and reassuring, like he had made peace with the fact that you didn’t love him. Like he wasn’t bothered at all by the fact that you were supposedly a gold digger. His dismissal broke something inside you.

“So you don’t- you don’t believe I love you?”

You felt pathetic and helpless, repeating the same words again and again, hoping and praying for a different answer from Fernando.

“Come on, I’m really tired, can we go to sleep?

“Fernando.”

“I’m going to wait for you in bed,” was all he said, dismissing you completely.

You walked out of the room at the same time he went into the bathroom, you held your head up until you softly closed the door behind you, then finally the tears spilled. You went to the bathroom downstairs, the farthest you could go away from him as the sobs broke from your throat violently.

Sliding down on the floor you wondered if everything was lie. You knew it wasn’t but the fact that he thought you were only there for the money was completely wrong. How long had he been thinking that? How many times had he heard you say “I love you” and thought it wasn’t true? You didn’t even know what to do or what to feel. How could you feel if this whole time while you were pouring your heart into this relationship he thought you were just leeching off of him? How can you love someone so deeply and still live with the fact they think of you as a freeloader? Did he joke with his friends like yeah, she’s a gold digger but at least she’s loyal and fucks me well?

Your chest hurt and you felt repulsive, making your way to the living room, opening a bottle of his whiskey, not bothering with a glass, just sipping it straight from the bottle.

What could you do now? Talk to him? Tell him you’re not with him for his money? After two whole years accepting his every gift with open arms? After getting a fortune worth of presents? After letting him pay for your books, textbooks, new laptop? After letting him pay for dates, trips, clothes, accessories, shoes and jewelry?

You hated yourself for it now. For taking it just because you thought it was his love language, not because deep down he was trying to keep you, buying your affection.

After spending the whole night awake, nursing a bottle and with only your repulsive thoughts as company, you watched as the sun rose from the big living room window.

It was time to fix it.

Fernando was an early riser almost every morning, so after the sun fully rose in the sky, you went in the kitchen and prepared coffee, to cut the effect of the alcohol. You weren’t drunk, really.

“Morning, bebé! You woke up earlier than me today?” He said, passing you with a kiss to your cheek, then going to the cabinet for a mug. He was so unbothered by your argument last night it was pissing you off.

“I didn’t sleep.”

He paused, looking at your face.

“We should talk.” You readied yourself. Fernando stopped in front of you, attentive. “I’ve been hearing a lot this past week that I’m a gold digger, this has been making me feel some kind of way, and I wanted to address this with you. Last night you were tired and we probably misunderstood each other…”

“Where are you going with this, corazón?” He asked, confused.

“I’m not with you for your money, Fernando. Do you understand that?”

He stood silent, which only made you feel worse.

“I want you to stop giving me presents without a proper occasion. And I want you to stop paying stuff for me. And we’re going to share house bills.” You laid it all out, after thinking hard all throughout the night.

“What are you talking about? No, I don’t accept it.” He frowned, “that wasn’t the deal when we moved in together.”

“Because I didn’t know everything back then. I don’t want to feel like I’m taking advantage of you, and I don’t live at your cost like this.”

“No, Y/N.” He took a step back, shaking his head as if you had said the most stupid thing he had ever heard.

“I’m serious, Fernando.”

“No, I’m not negotiating this. I pay for everything. That’s how it’s been and that’s how it will be.”

“I just want to show you that I’m not with you for the money! I’m not what they’re calling me! No more presents, Fernando.”

“You took them.”

“Because I thought you wanted me to have them!”

“I wanted you to have them so you would want to stay with me!”

You gasped, hearing it from his mouth finally. The tears finally started flowing, and you swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady even with the tempest happening inside your chest, staining the beautiful story of your relationship. Well, what you thought was a beautiful relationship.

“You’re just like them, right?” You said, defeated, “you think of me as a gold digging whore. You probably never defended me when they called me that.”

“I gave you all this stuff because I didn’t want you to leave!”

“It was never about the fucking money! And guess what? You lost me anyway!” You marched to the bedroom, Fernando hot on your heels.

“Don’t. Don’t leave.” He said, following you. “I did everything for you to never leave!”

“Everything but loving me! I don’t fucking care!” You unlatched your necklace, putting it on the table, “I don’t care about your money and the jewelry and the clothes and the bags!” You put down your watch and earrings too. Everything he had given you not because he wanted you or loved you, but because he thought they were the price to pay to keep you around.

“Fuck, I love you!” You shouted, feeling desperate and lost, “And all you see me as is something you paid for. A toy you can parade around and look pretty in your arm! You don’t even love me, Fernando. I could write a list about everything I love about you, and none of it would be your stupid money!”

In the closet, you picked a bag, and started putting your clothes inside. Then you noticed how most of them were gifts from him. So you put it back, taking only what you had bought yourself. Fernando stood there, helpless as you packed, putting clothes and a few shoes in a couple of baggage. You also took your study material and laptop, which he had gifted you, but you knew you’d refund him.

“Stop, no,” Fernando tried to stop you as went into the garage, “I do, I love you.”

“You don’t, Fernando. You’re not even sure of that.” You shook your head, putting the bags inside the car. The Aston Martin he had given you, “you have to think. If you really love me as you say, then why do you love me? Because I’m eye candy you can take to galas? Because I’m a good fuck? Because I stand there and look pretty when you have to kiss those old men’s asses?”

You didn’t give him a second, getting in the car and starting the engine.

“This is so messed up, oh my god, how could I let myself believe this for two entire years?” You whispered to yourself, accelerating the car and driving off.

Through the rear view, you could see Fernando standing there, doing nothing.

You drove and wiped the tears away, breathing in. When you moved in with Fernando, you hadn’t been able to get out of the lease of your flat because you still had a few months on your renting contract. Now it felt like luck that you had a place to stay. Despite getting your doctorate degree, you didn’t have any friends in the city, only a few acquaintances here and there.

You got to the apartament, not bothering to unpack your bags, only leaving it on the bedroom floor. You took your study material and with your phone in hand, you sent Fernando via transfer a total 4000 euros, for what you hoped covered the “laptop and books expenses” as you wrote in the little note.

Then you laid on the bed, crying yourself to sleep.

You woke up and it was getting dark, the sun setting outside. Checking your phone, there were fourteen missed calls from Fernando, and a notification, showing that he had returned the money to you, with additional 30000 euros and only “no” written on the little note. Huffing, you sent the whole amount back and blocked him, so he couldn’t transfer any more money to you.

He still had not realized what was wrong, he was still thinking money was your motivation.

The next few days felt like a haze, you were barely getting any sleep, only eating and writing your research, which ultimately reminded you of Fernando, since it was a study on aerodynamics. You couldn’t lie to yourself, thinking of how many times you stared at the door, waiting and hoping he would understand and come after you.

Fernando had work commitments in England, and going back to Madrid, he ended up giving George and his girlfriend a lift. Fernando was visibly not himself as soon as George saw him.

“How’s Y/N doing?” George asked, casually. But from the way Fernando’s face dropped, he could tell something was wrong, “trouble with the missus?” He joked, tried to lighten the mood.

“She- uh, she left.” Fernando muttered.

“What do you mean, she left?” Carmen joined the conversation, “She’s traveling?”

“No- no- I guess we broke up.”

“You guess?!” George’s voice went a little high pitched out of nervousness.

“Fernando, what happened?” Carmen tried to understand.

Despite not being exactly best friends, you and her were pretty close, always spending time together whenever both of you were on race weekends. The fact that you’re both engaged academics was also a common topic between you.

“You know about the rumors, right?” Fernando started, hesitating.

“What rumors?” George paused.

“That she’s only with me for the money,” Fernando muttered.

“All girlfriends of drivers are accused of that at some point, what’s new?” George pushed.

“I might have implied that I agree with that.”

“Oh, my god,” Carmen covered her mouth, absolutely shocked, “What?”

“Fernando, respectfully- Are you fucking insane?!” George exclaimed, jaw slack, “she looks at you all lovey-dovey, like- like- you’re the only person in the entire earth and you think she’s with you for the money?”

“She would never be like that! She’s so smart and kind,” Carmen added.

“I know- I just- I don’t know! Maybe I let the rumors get to my head!” he ran both hands over his face, exasperated, “And she always lets me pay, and she always takes the presents, I don’t know!”

Then, Fernando explained about how you tried to pay for dinner, and you refused his gift, he told them about the argument and how you wanted to set boundaries about money and gifts.

“She was trying to prove to you that she’s not a freeloader. She was trying to show that the money didn’t matter, and what did you do? You pushed more money on her!” George practically spat the words in Fernando’s face.

“Eres muy estúpido, Fernando. Te lo digo como tu amiga.” Carmen muttered.

“I don’t know what she said but I heard the word stupid, and I agree.” George backed her up, “Go talk to her, apologize and fix it.”

“That is,” Carmen interrupted, face serious, “If you really love her. Otherwise, better let her go find someone who can really love her, it’s what she deserves. Love and happiness.”

Fernando swallowed, his chest constricting with the mere thought of you moving on, of someone else having you in their arms.

Getting back home without you there felt like a thick fog day, cold and empty and he missed you, he missed his sun. He missed you jumping into his arms as soon as he opened the door. He missed the smell of the candles you always lit while studying. He even missed the little mess of textbooks, colorful highlighters and notes scattered around.

Home didn’t feel like home without you.

In the middle of the living room, there were big cardboard boxes, as he opened, he noticed they were full of clothes, shoes and bags he had gifted you throughout your relationship. In a smaller box, all the jewelry he had given you, even anniversary gifts. Even the beauty products he had given you like perfumes, makeup products, and face creams.

You had returned every single thing.

And on the coffee table, your keys to the house and the keys of your Aston Martin DB12.

It seemed like you had returned everything that could tie you to him, everything that made him wrongly call you a gold digger. And it felt painfully like a goodbye.

While mixing your homemade coffee, your eyes flicked to the door, then to your phone on the table, facing up. Despite the searing pain in your chest, and the sorrowful hole in your heart, maybe it was time to start to move on. It had been more than a week, if he wanted to come back to you, he would’ve come by now.

You got ready to meet with your advisor, and she brought up a topic that had been common now, about you taking a position as a professor for a couple of Engineering subjects. She said it’d be good for you to work in your area while on the last few months before getting your doctorate degree. You had mostly denied the other times she offered the position, because you wanted more time with Fernando, because you wanted the freedom to fly around the world following him to his races.

Now- now you had more bills to pay and no boyfriend to follow. You also had more free time, a broken heart and a vacant mind.

“I’m considering the position. I believe it could do me good right now.” You said to her, thoughtful, “can I confirm with you tomorrow?”

After going through the meeting and getting a review on your thesis, you went back to your flat, taking a long shower. You had just dressed in pajamas when the doorbell rang. With long strides, you were faced with Carmen, and not Fernando as you expected.

“From your face I take it he hasn’t spoken to you, yes?” Carmen muttered, seeing the visible disappointment in your face.

“I’m sorry, please come in,” you opened the door wider, forcing a smile. Carmen had a couple of bags that she set on a nearby table.

“He told us what happened, I’m so sorry,” Carmen hugged you and you immediately started crying, since you had no one to talk about the past few days, “I brought chocolates and wine, so we can talk.”

Over chocolates and a bottle of Merlot, you told her everything, starting at the deuxmoi rumor. She looked horrified when you said word for word what had transpired the last time you spoke with him.

“I just don’t understand why he didn’t come talk to you yet,” Carmen added, at some point.

“Because he won’t, at all.” You say with your voice shaky from crying so much the past hour.

“Don’t say that. He loves you.” Carmen said.

“I’m not entirely sure about that,” you shrugged, pretending it didn’t hurt as much as it did, “He’ll find another one, someone who can enjoy his money since it seems like it’s all that matters to him.”

Carmen didn’t say anything to that and you knew she couldn’t argue with the facts. Later, George dropped by to get her, going up to your flat so he could hug you quickly and mutter “I’m sorry”.

With a heavy heart, you slowly rebuild a healthy routine again, doing grocery shopping, cooking meals, going to the gym, studying and everything.

One day, you went back home after going on a shopping spree, and as you got into the hall, Fernando was there, standing in your hall, waiting by the door. You stopped, almost losing the timing to leave the elevator. When you walked closer, he noticed you. Meeting his eyes was different this time, uncertain and a little distant.

“What do you want?” You asked, you hoped your voice would come out harsh, but it only sounded defeated.

“Can we talk?” He asked, and you nodded, opening the door and letting him in.

There was a moment of awkward silence as you put the shopping bags down. After doing that, you crossed your arms and stood against a side table, waiting quietly.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, for not fully believing your love, I guess I was so focused in protecting myself, that I ended up hurting you, and it was never my intention,” Fernando stood just two steps away from you, his eyes holding such pain and fear, that it made you crumble, he didn’t look like he’d been sleeping well, “I love you, I really do. For who you are and nothing else.”

You wanted to give in so bad, you wanted to run into his arms and never let go, but you also didn’t want to suffer again.

“How do you know? You never knew that for two years, how would you know it now?” You shook your head, tears starting to fill your eyes again.

“Because it is hard being without you,” he said, like he was trying to find the right words, “I can’t sleep without you. My life is miserable without you around.”

You only nodded, covering your lips with a hand. You wanted to tell him that you had not gotten proper sleep without him, that your life feels empty, that not knowing about him everyday was painful. But you needed more. You needed something you could hold onto, and maybe, just maybe take another chance at the two of you.

“I- I made a list. Like you said,” his voice failed, and you noticed his hand was shaking a little as he held the paper, “I love you. I love coming home to you every time and feel our house so lived in. I love how you always hug me first thing after I’m back home. I love the silly texts you send me randomly throughout the day talking about your day. I love the selfies with your tongue out too,” that made you two chuckle, and the movement made your tears fall, so you wiped them, staring at him intently, “I love that you’re always the smartest person in any room we’re in. I love that you’re humble, never showing off or being a smartass. I love how cheeky and witty you are. I love that you talk in your sleep. I love that scar in your knee, because it shows you were always a little naughty, even as a kid. I love that there’s always fresh flowers at home. I love that you love kids. I love that you get along well with my family. I love that you-”

He didn’t finish, as you closed the distance and launched yourself at him, hugging him tight. Fernando held you close, pressing you into him, inhaling your perfume, feeling like he was at home again.

“I’m so sorry, princesa. So so sorry. I missed you so much,” he whispered against your cheek, kissing it softly.

“I missed you too, Nando” you said, eyes closed and allowing yourself to just feel him again, “I love you so much.”

You let go, holding his face with both hands, looking into his eyes before kissing him softly. He, on the other hand, held the back of your neck firmly, licking your mouth open, until he had tasted your mouth, leaving you breathless.

“Come back home with me, princesa.”

At that, you took a step back.

“I- I can’t, Nando. I got a new job at the university.”

“What?”

“I thought you weren’t coming back to me,” you muttered, and your words made him wince, “I needed something to hold on to.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” he ran a hand over his face, looking embarrassed for taking so long to come after you.

“I believe we should- we should take a step back, rethink a bit about our dynamic,” you told him, hesitant of his reaction.

“Are you unsure about us?” He asked, visibly worried.

“No, no- I love you- I do-” You started, taking his hand, holding it firmly against yours, “I just think we should rewind a bit. Have my own place and pay my own bills, I just don’t want to feel like that again, I need to regain my dignity in this.”

He kept quiet, because he knew deep down you were right. He felt awful about all the misunderstandings, but he knew you probably felt much, much worse. He should just get on his knees and be thankful you still loved him and still wanted him. He’d take all your conditions to get back with him.

And deep down both of you knew it was for the best. Moving out and living alone, working and seeing him occasionally as a boyfriend.

Holding your face, he kissed you, leaving little pecks on your lips, your cheeks, your chin, your forehead. You closed your eyes, letting him kiss you, and he muttered how much loved you and how much he missed you, kissing down the side of your neck. He walked you inside and let him, feeling his hands quickly peeling your clothes off, leaving a trail of clothes from the living room to your bedroom.

You parted so you could undress him, pulling at his jacket and the t-shirt.

“I love you, I love you so much,” he mumbled into a kiss, laying you down in bed.

You laid on the bed and he hugged him, making space for him between your legs. He held you, touching your nose with his gently.

“I missed you, princesa,” he kissed your cheek, “I promise I’ll do better from now on.”

“I know you will, baby.” You kissed him again, running your hand down his back, “make love to me now.”

He filled you up at once, and you groaned into his mouth, scratching your nails down his back as you cunt welcomed him. As he fucked into you, slowly at first then picking up pace, he muttered how much he loved you and how sorry he was, over and over.

As you cuddled after, quietly enjoying each other’s company.

“What do we do about all your gifts?”

“Give them away,” you shrugged.

“Can I convince you to take it back?”

“Not if you still want me in your life,” you muttered. He nodded, placing a gentle kiss on your shoulder.

“You know how I know I love you?” Fernando asked, drawing invisible patterns on your back, “there’s an engagement ring in the third drawer of my bedside table.”

You hesitated for a second, but he knew you well. Better than anyone else.

“I know what you said, I just wanted to let you know. I bought it a week after you moved in with me. I know we’re rewinding a little bit for now, but you’ll be my wife one day.”

“And what if I refuse when you propose?” You smirked, and he pulled your leg over his waist.

“You won’t.”

Note: UGH IDK GUYS :(

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 #formula 1 #fernando alonso x you #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso #Spotify

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suguruplsr · 5 months

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Pride and feelings aside…

Summary ✰ A mini story, in which, you happen to catch feelings for your fuck-buddy, Gojo Satoru, who just so happens to have a girlfriend you didn't know about until... however, someone's there to pick you up when you're falling. Geto Suguru.

,, gojo satoru x fem! reader x geto suguru , depictions of sexual/suggestive themes + scenes w/ alcohol usage , drug usage (not misused) , angst w/ no comfort.

wc: 3.1k

based on the song, 77 degrees, by Mariah the Scientist

+ full masterlist of “Seventy-seven degrees…”

tagging: @r0ckst4rjk @unmatchxd @chugao @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @fvsm4x @ivyshiyo @shadowfoxey @aliyalala @sexeyess @magalimachete @tokenblckgirl @melancholysanatomy @nekkobi @eumorele @polarbvnny @msmarklee1213 @mellow-mewow @qmsvpx @miauna @mwtsxri @ba-ks @slammynics

Dividers @/enchanthings

“satoru, fuck— right there!” honestly, there’s nothing like a late friday night, tipsy and high off a few edibles, and getting some good dick from your trusty friend, Gojo Satoru. as your hands travel along his broad shoulders, sheened with sweat under the moonlight, you realize why people fight to have this man. “yea sweetie? right here— ohhh look at you. f-fuckin’ squeezin’ me so tight.” his form that towered over you pulls away, looking down at you with a slimy grin and throwing your legs over his shoulders while you squirm. “sorry baby. you ain’t cummin’ yet. wanna play with this pussy for as long as i can, before i go~”

you don’t know when it started, you were always just friends with him. hanging out with him and the rest of your little group consisting of shoko, suguru, kento, and haibara. young adults who party over the weekends and work boring jobs during the week while considering their future. kento and shoko already chose to start college, while satoru and suguru are planning on doing something together. best friends stuff. sometimes you wonder if they really just like each other and wanna live happily ever after.

you and haibara just so happened to apply at the same famous cafe downtown. so you’ve been working as a waitress with him as a server for the past few months.

but back to your.. relationship? nah, more like situationship. well, you wish you could call it that, maybe you don’t. that reminds you too much of him. but, you and satoru are just fuck buddies who got drunk together one day five months ago. him coming over to your new house with four good bottles of soju, which were mainly for you considering he couldn’t hold his liquor. but of course, little words of how pretty you’ve always been in his eyes spewed out, and.. in the heat of the moment,, you ended up kissing him.

and that was that.

there’s nights where you can taste the soju that was on his lips that day, thinking of him as your hands trail down to the straps of your panties. but nowadays, you don’t have to play with your clit and contemplate calling the pinned contact in your messages. cringy enough, a little, “u up?” text is enough for satoru to eagerly drive to your house before you can even think of sliding a finger in.

you look up at satoru as he teases your pussy, tip pulling in and out as he emits tiny murmurs out of you. he’s so handsome like this, and any other day. cerulean eyes focused on the gap of your hole, tongue sticking out a bit and his chest muscles flexing every time he’s pushed in just a slight bit more than the tip. then as usual, he fills you up to the hilt, both of you whining as he steals away your breath with a sloppy kiss. telling you how well you’re doing for him.

you almost wish you could experience this every night.

“turn a bit f’me sweetheart~” satoru coos. he was on your couch, legs crossed with a sweet smile on his face. he had taken you out shopping, saying that a girl like you deserves to be spoiled. having daddy’s money must be nice. rather than letting him go into the dressing rooms with you, risking him sneaking in and possibly getting you two in trouble, you decided to make him let you shop on your own, and promised him a show later. and later was now.

you turned to give him a tiny twirl, showing off the pink frilly dress. you hear him make a sound of amazement, “it’s that pretty?” “no.. well— yeah, but fuck. it’s you.” satoru groans, gesturing for you to come closer. you giggle, taking your place on his lap as his hands immediately move along your exposed thighs. “mm, yeah?” you purr, bringing a hand to his throat and encasing your fingers around it while your thumb tilts his chin up to you. you love watching how he visibly folds, adjusting you in his lap with a bite of his lip.

“for sure hun. you make me wanna rip it off you, maybe even fuck you in it. so beautiful.” he hums, hand breaching the area of your heat. his fingers pull the strings of your matching lace, making you pinch his neck when he snaps it. you could feel your blood rush around your body, flustered from his pure awe. “this one feels new..” and you huff, cute eyes looking up at him with ridicule. “you can’t even see it!” but satoru only gives you that charming smile, glasses tilting with the move of his head. “but i will later, yea?” and you roll your eyes, not bothering to hide your smile as he kisses the corner of your mouth. “yea..”

you part with a kiss placed on his jaw, strutting away to try on the dozen other outfits you bought. all for him to see. you did purposely buy a few that you knew he’d like, like a few summer dresses. and of course, white lingerie underneath to top it off. you just love the attention he gives you, giving you the feeling as if you’re on top of the world. you wish you knew how to make it stay like that.

the night ended like always, your arms around his neck while he thrusted inside you with low murmurs and grunts that circled around the room. but you couldn’t help but notice his phone went off more than usual.

not any of your business though.

it’s nothing like going to a nice bar during a random hot summer night in late june, hanging out with your friends as a little catch up and drinking together. until everyone’s swallowing in their own thoughts and wandering about the place while you sit and watch.

“you two are close.” suguru hums, taking a sip of his beer while you watch satoru talk to another girl, all happy and comfortable, maybe an old ‘friend’, from the way she casually places a kiss below his jaw. your spot. you don’t know why the bubbling feeling in your chest wasn’t quelled with three cans of beer, but keeping your eyes on the white haired man and his interactions didn’t help in the slightest.

with a disappointing sigh, you turn to suguru, who gave you his signature smile, head tilted on his palm and giving you a look that would’ve made you shy away. in the past at least. “obvious?”

“for sure.”

“fuck.” you groan turning around on the barstool, facing the bar and stealing one of shoko’s shots, making her scoff with a, “what the hell?”. to which you smile sheepishly in return, the taste of vodka blooming on your lips while you’re already sliding your purse to her so she can fish out some money for her next drink.

“reminded me of us. you’re so damn selfish.”

suguru quips lowly, dark eyes studying the way your eyes narrow, glancing over to him before looking at the dark brown wood of the bar table. “yea? well i clearly haven’t lost that trait, messing with you two…” you shrug, making him chuckle. “i’d say you have a type, well.. if you weren’t going for someone as mediocre as satoru. no offense sweetheart, but don’t get your hopes up. especially when he’s attached to her.” suguru gives you a pat on the back, letting the warmth of his hand linger before walking away.

you don’t even care to ponder over his last sentence, you're sure it’ll come to you later in life. you just wish you had said something in return, wanting to prove that handsome idiot wrong. but the way satoru comes back to you with marks of that woman’s lipstick shining on his neck proves you wrong. you really shouldn’t get your hopes up, but perhaps you wish this was some romantic story where he’s just trying to make you jealous.

and not you falling down an empty rabbit hole.

“you clearly had fun.” you point out, gesturing to the fresh hickies laying along satoru’s neck. they weren’t yours, considering you haven’t seen him much lately. after maybe a week of texting and a few nudes, he had finally come over. talking about the restaurant he took his ‘friend’ to.

a look of.. guilt? takes over his expression, turning his head away on the other side of your pillow and humming. “yeah i guess.. nothing special though. not like you.” and you roll your eyes, smiling though, as you slap his bare chest, climbing on top of him and dragging your palm around his chest. “oh really? why should i believe that? if we were really special you’d..” you pause when you see his brows furrow, as if he’s expecting your next words.

touchy subject huh? you two must not be as close you thought you were.

but the look of disbelief in his eyes makes you throw it all away in your little wishing well. a well full of things satoru makes your heart wish for. you try to brush it off, giving a sigh and leaning down to kiss him. “you really think we’re special?”

“you’re definitely special.”

it takes all your might to bite down the feeling in your throat as he flips you over. your heart probably exaggerated all those gestures, those rare soft moments, everything, that made you feel like you were on top of the world. like you were his world. you feel sick, but you’ll take what you can get.

so you try to devour all of him, taking every touch with all you can. you don’t have the strength to remind yourself that, this, you two, aren’t anything special. he’s doing this for his benefit so why not do the same. even if your wants differentiate from his.

it doesn’t hurt to dream.

you focus on the feelings of satoru’s lips on yours, both of your hands trying to undo each other's clothing, but you can feel the vibrations of his phone in his back pocket. “toru~ put it up.” you whine, pushy him away slightly and giving a look when he tries to chase your lips. “fine.” he sighs, pulling out said object and quickly taking a look at the notifications as he heads to your dresser.

you aren’t oblivious, and you aren’t stupid. you can see the way he smiles, genuinely even, standing still to respond to what you think is a message.

it could be anyone, you remind yourself.

you make an exaggerated sound from your spot on your bed, making him put away the device, and looking over to you. a bothered look flashes over his eyes before he lifts his shirt up. “sorry to keep ya waiting sweets.” satoru grins, moving closer and placing a hand on your neck while you move closer to the pair of gray sweats in front of you.

“s’okay. jus’ wanna suck on y’r cock.” you sigh, emitting a laugh from him while you get to work pulling down the pants.

you couldn’t let him fuck you that night with how uncomfortable you felt. the look— no, glare. he gave you, even if it was only a split second, felt like you were intruding on something when it was the other way around. like a look of distaste.

when you told him you were too tired for anything extra, he placed a kiss on your cheek, immediately tidying himself up before heading out. the satoru you knew would never do that, unless he made sure you were feeling okay and begging to have a taste of you, maybe even staying the night.

fuck, you feel so dry you might just have to call him. for old times sake. you hate how troubled you are by your unrequited love.

satoru barely comes over now, and if he does, it’s for a quickie. which, of course, is the point of your “relationship”. but satoru had never made it feel like that's all it was. like there was a possibility for more than you two just digging in each other's pants.

but now, either he doesn’t respond or he’s busy. normal adult stuff, you get it. you shouldn’t be crying as you sip your glass of whine, sitting lonely at your dining table after satoru told you he’d be here.

something came up.

is what he told you. you even responded in that same minute, getting nothing in response while you wallow in your shame and disappointment. it shouldn’t hurt but it really fucking does. you wish you didn’t ruin the friendship. you wish so badly.

you’re probably just every other enjoyment in life for him, something he’ll use when he wants and throws away when he wants.

how fucked up of a situation could this be?

“i think we should stop seeing each other. if you know what i mean.” it’s 10 pm when satoru shows up at your door, unexpectedly and catching you off guard. it’s your second pity party after three weeks of no communication with him. three weeks since you had accepted you caught feelings for the daring heart throb of japan.

“oh yeah— totally. not like we really were.” you shrug, fighting back the feeling of bile in your throat. the expression on satoru’s face lets you know you hit the spot, making his nod awkwardly and wave. “i guess ill go now.”

you close the door shut, maybe slammed, grabbing your cold bottle of water on the table in your living room as you travel through your house to your bathroom. why did you have to see his face, why did you have to see the way he dressed up so nicely, probably coming back from a date with that ‘friend’.

you know.

you remember every single detail of his face, it wasn’t hard to notice the smudge of red lipstick on his lips.

you put the tablet flat on your tongue, swallowing it and taking a big gulp of water all in one go. the sick feeling throughout your body slowly dissipates as you stand over the sink, looking at the running water in trance.

what a fool you are, huh? falling for someone who was meant to only make you feel good. that’s just a recipe for disaster.

you don’t know how long you stayed in there, gripping your counter as tears slowly slipped down your face while you fell to your knees.

today was a hectic day, business was bustling and there were lots of people coming in the cafe for the fall themed items. like pumpkin spice latte, hot chocolate, pumpkin pie, etc. the aroma flowing through the place was even better, you’ll have to ask your boss what she may have sprayed before opening. but maybe it’s just the food.

however, seeing a few families or couples smile, the joyful mood flowing around as the hot summer slowly ended, groups of teens coming in to hang out before school starts back up. all of it felt nice. like a nice view of what your life could be if you weren’t some depressed woman who had nothing to show.

you sigh, grabbing your notepad and walking out from the back of the cafe. you just needed a tiny mental breather, too overstimulated with the many people. you never know how to explain it, like claustrophobia without literally experiencing it.

but you just leave it to your mind and senses just feeling overwhelmed. you’ll have time to take your daily pill later.

as you head to a ready table, your mind halts while your body strays to the table. the tufts of white hair, and blue eyes that locked onto you made the peace in your body waver. why was he here? maybe he came to check up on you? not like he doesn’t know where you work.

oh how wrong you are.

“how may i take your order?” your voice breaks, coughing a bit and playing it off as a minor issue when the woman in front of satoru gives you a look of concern, so sweet, and you feel like you recognize her. “hey y/n. i know you’re busy right now so i’ll introduce you to her later, im not sure if you two had met before, hehe. but we’ll have…” your smile is forced, the grip on your pen only getting stronger as you recognize the pet names he calls her, names he used to give you.

but with how casually he says them, maybe she was first.

the satoru you knew doesn’t even introduce or take out girls unless he’s dating them. which means this is clearly a new sight for you.

you don’t remember anything after they left, too caught up in your whirlwind of heartbreak and confusion to focus on anything other than getting through your shift. which led to you now, crying in your car right after work. you just needed to let it out.

better than crying on your way home and risking an accident.

satoru seemed happy with her, he really did. a tension between them that you never had with him. the woman was even sweet enough to tip you big simply for being her boyfriend’s friend. you don’t have the courage to dislike her, not when you were shamelessly looking over at her boyfriend with eyes full of want and desperation.

but of course he didn’t notice.

if only you didn’t fuck up the friendship, maybe you were just in a different light to him, compared to her. maybe you would’ve had the chance to showcase all of you to him, rather than the rough intimacy within the confines of your bedroom. fuck, you’re stupid.

how the hell are you supposed to show you love someone when you two are just having sex to cure your sexual needs. that’s like begging for a disaster to happen.

hearing a knock on the passenger side of your tinted window, you quickly shuffle to put the yellow bottle of pills in your armrest box. you take a look at yourself in the mirror, taking note of your puffy red eyes.

you hope it’s some stranger who doesn’t care about your wellbeing.

wiping your face, you roll down the window, greeted with the sight of a nihilistic smile and dark gold eyes that scan your form with a scoff. “unlock the door princess. not gonna let you get all sappy over some pretty boy who's missin’ out on someone like you.”

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0cta9on · 19 days

Note

Sana and Miyeon fucking their boyfriend and they fight over him to make him choose her favorite girlfriend (full story please)

A Stroke of Luck

length: +3k words

Twice Sana x (G)-Idle Miyeon x Male Reader

(Author's Note: Sorry for taking so long!! First threesome piece, so I hope it's alright)

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★

Sometimes you wonder just how you got so lucky. Since the day you were born, you were able to glide through life, getting anything you could ever want with a simple wave of your hand or a nod of your head. Perhaps your life of luxury can be attributed to your incredibly wealthy parents spoiling you the second you drew your first breath, or maybe your past life sacrificed themselves to save the universe and the higher power up there is finally giving you your recompense. Regardless, you revel in the fact that you have everything - and everyone - right at the tip of your fingers.

Frankly, you have a vague memory of how you met them - your memory always gets hazy when alcohol is involved. You were never too keen on clubbing, viewing it as a waste of money for a night you’ll never be able to remember, but it was a small price to pay to appease some potential business partners that your parents would eventually bleed dry before tossing to the curb. While trying to keep up appearances, the crowd parted at just the right moment, allowing you to gaze upon these goddesses for the first time, two Mona Lisas that made even the most beautiful supermodel comparable to a two-year-old’s crayon drawing. This is when your memory gets a bit blurry. A quick exchange of sultry alcohol-infused words, a brief yet lingering touch on the arm, and suddenly you had them both face down in some expensive hotel room, pounding away to high heaven. After a night of blissful sex, you would wake up alone with a note on the nightstand and one new message on your phone from an unknown number. Upon reading the note, only then did you realize just how truly lucky you are.

That night was a year ago. In fact, today marks the exact anniversary of that night - your first anniversary with your girlfriends. You have a whole schedule planned for later, which includes an expensive dinner for the three of you, a private fireworks show, and a steamy ending between the sheets as the cherry on top. As bizarre and outlandish as your situation is, you genuinely do love them and want to spoil them with a good time. Unfortunately (or rather, fortunately), one of them isn’t content with waiting around until dinner rolls by.

The sight of the cute Japanese woman crawling towards you in nothing but one of your white button-up shirts is a sight you would gladly get surgically implanted into your retinas. She tries to glare at you menacingly, but her round eyes and her bread-like cheeks only serve to make her look adorable.

“Sana, what are you doing?” You ask, amused.

“I’m a tiger stalking their prey. Rawr~” she teases, stifling a giggle. Any attempts at trying to watch the game on the TV prove futile once Sana starts rubbing your thighs, her hands tantalizingly close to your crotch.

“Miyeon is gonna be pissed if she finds out we’re fucking without her, you know?” You say as you run your hands lovingly through her silky hair.

“If she finds out.” Sana punctuates her statement with a kiss on your bulge. “Just don’t let her find out,” she giggles. Before you can object, her hands are already unzipping your pants and taking out your erect cock. Sana gazes at it affectionately, licking her lips as she strokes you slowly. Compared to Miyeon, she is much more vocal about her desires, begging and pouting until you finally give in to her demands (Not that you would ever say no to that face). Whether it’s a new handbag or your cock inside of her, Sana gets what she wants one way or another.

“You naughty girl,” you tease, caressing her cheek. “You really can’t wait until Miyeon gets home?”

“Mm-mm,” she mutters, shaking her head before taking your entire length into her mouth. The overwhelming sensation of her tongue lapping up your precum causes an involuntary groan to escape your throat. An entire year of this and not once does it ever get old. Life is fucking great, isn’t it?

Sana’s doe eyes scan your reaction as she worships your member, always so attentive, ensuring that you’re enjoying the experience as much as she is. She watches the way you squirm when she sucks on your balls or the way your breath hitches in your throat whenever her teeth gently graze against your skin. To the unknowing eye, Sana can easily be seen as a materialistic brat, but you know better than anyone how much she reciprocates your affection. It’s most evident in how hard she tries to take all of you in at once, struggling to the point of tears as she forces your cock down her throat.

“Fuck, Sana,” you moan. “Save some of that energy for later tonight.”

She struggles to catch her breath after another attempt at deepthroating you. Precum and saliva coat her mouth and chin, dripping down to her chest that’s barely hidden behind your white button-up shirt.

“I just can’t help myself when I’m with you. That beast between your legs is just sooooo enticing.” Sana hops into your lap, pressing her full body weight into you. You feel her panting breath tickle your nose while you stare at the many charming features of her face. How lucky you are to have such a beautiful woman in your life.

“Why are you smiling?” she teases, the sweet sound of her laugh brushing against your ears.

“I love you, Sana,” you state firmly. Her cheeks turn a bright shade of pink right before she hides her embarrassed expression in the crook of your neck, giggling delightfully. You’re so infatuated by her cuteness that you almost forget that she’s naked and sitting on your lap. Almost.

One by one, you unbutton her shirt, slowly revealing that body you love so much. Her full, perky breasts sit above her toned stomach which flows and ebbs into her petite waist. You run your hands along her familiar curves, painting her chest with kisses. Your body aches for her and hers for yours, clawing and gripping and kissing every inch of your beings, trying to absorb one another just to get closer than humanly possible.

Sana cups your face, eyes steeled with lustful determination. “I need you to fuck me. Fuck me so hard that Miyeon gets jealous. I want to be the only woman for you, even if it’s just for a little moment.”

Without another word, you stand up, carrying her by her ass and aligning your cock with her moist folds before staring deep into her eyes as you thrust yourself into her, watching her face morph into several shapes of desire as she adjusts to your size. Sana’s arms and legs wrap around your torso, desperately clinging onto you to try and take in every inch of your cock. You’re not sure how long she’s felt like this; you always considered her and Miyeon to be a package deal, never one without the other for too long. You love them both equally and always ensure that you never showed favorites. Maybe you slipped up recently, or maybe the two of them are fighting behind the scenes. Whatever it is, if Sana wants to feel like the only woman in your life, you’ll gladly grant her wish in a heartbeat.

“Sana… baby… I love you so much,” you pant into her ear.

“MMPH, yes! I love you too, baby! F-Fuck! You’re the only one that can satisfy me!” She mashes her lips into yours, forcing your tongues into a messy yet sensual dance. Her moans vibrate in your mouth, drowning out any kind of background noise other than the clapping of your hips against hers. Her sweet pussy takes you in so well, almost as if it was tailor-made just for you. However, your cock belongs to two women. One of those women happens to be unlocking the front door right at this moment.

“Hey guys, I’m bac- Hey!”

Much to Sana’s dismay, you momentarily pause your thrusts to glance at the source of the voice. The second love of your life, Miyeon, is standing right there with a large bouquet of flowers and an irritated pout on her lips.

“Hi princess,” you say to her, hoping to ease the tension. “What do you have there?”

“They’re from work,” she huffs, tossing the flowers onto the sofa before stomping towards you. “What are you doing?!”

You let out a sheepish laugh as you set Sana down to the ground, pulling out of her sweet embrace. Now two pairs of unhappy eyes are looking up at you. “W-well, you see, you know how Sana is-”

“How could you two have sex without me?!” Miyeon exclaims.

“Yah, don’t yell at him!” Sana interjects. “It’s not his fault he prefers my pussy over yours!”

“O-okay, I never said th-” You try to come in between them, but they both push you away with surprising synchronization.

“No, he doesn’t! You probably just threw yourself at him, you slut!”

Sana gasps. “Slut?! You’re just jealous that he likes me more than you!”

The two continue to bicker and argue, and you start to worry that things could get physical. Right as Sana lifts her hand, you step in between the two of them, shielding Miyeon from a potential slap.

“OKAY, let’s all calm down for a second, alright?” You gently grasp Sana’s wrist, putting it down by her side. “What is going on between you two? You guys are best friends, why are you fighting all of a sudden?”

The two fall silent, averting their teary eyes to the floor, standing there like bickering sisters. You never expected this kind of behavior from either of them, especially on the day of your anniversary.

“Look at me,” you command, lifting up both of their chins towards you. “I love the both of you and I don’t want to see you fighting. We’re going to stand here and talk until this all gets resolved, even if it takes all night.”

Seeing the serious look in your eyes, both of their expressions soften. Sana is the first to speak up.

“I see the way you treat Miyeon. Sometimes I feel like you like her more than me, and it makes me feel… jealous.”

Compared to Sana, Miyeon is on the quieter side, rarely demanding things from you or complaining about anything. In the beginning of your relationship, you assumed that she wasn’t into the idea of polygamy and only tagged along because of Sana. It took a while to understand her, but you eventually found out that Miyeon just doesn’t like asking for things and wants you to basically read her mind. Now, you can tell exactly what she’s thinking just from her body language, and Miyeon consequently became more affectionate towards you. Sana must have noticed the differences in the way you treat her and thought you were showing favoritism.

“Okay, yes, I treat Miyeon differently than I treat you, but that doesn’t mean I love her more than you, Sana,” you reassure her. “You girls have different personalities and both of you deserve a man that can love you the way you want to be loved. I’m sorry if it seems like I treat her better, but that’s really not the case, okay? Please don’t fight because I made a mistake.”

Sana and Miyeon look at each other with an apologetic expression before falling into a warm embrace.

“I’m sorry I fucked him without you,” Sana apologizes.

“I’m sorry I called you a slut.”

Sana pulls Miyeon into a deep and loving kiss. It starts out innocently enough, but eventually, the two begin moaning into each other’s mouths while their hands explore their bodies. You can’t help but stroke your cock at the sight of your two ladies making out in front of you. Miyeon notices your erection and whispers giddily into Sana’s ear, prompting a mischievous smile to grow on the Japanese woman’s lips.

“We’re so sorry about fighting, baby,” Sana says in a sultry tone.

“Yeah, we’ve been such naughty girls.” Miyeon looks at you with her siren eyes, drawing you in with a simple glance. “Maybe you should punish us, baby.”

Sana reaches out and grabs your rod, pulling you closer. “Yeah, punish us with your big, fat cock.”

With your heart pounding with excitement, you grab their wrists, pulling them towards the bedroom as the sounds of their giggles trail behind you. You throw them towards the bed, quickly freeing yourself from any clothing as they watch with anticipation. Miyeon bites her lip as she ogles your body, while Sana touches herself just thinking about all the things you’ll do to the both of them.

“Miyeon is a bit overdressed, don’t you think so, Sana?” You ask, smirking. Sana nods in agreement, pulling Miyeon into a heavy kiss while her hand snakes its way into her top. You get to work on Miyeon’s bottom half, kneeling in front of her and tugging at her skirt to reveal the damp spot on her panties. You pull Miyeon’s legs over your shoulder so her thighs sandwich your face and begin planting kisses all over her supple skin. Sana tosses Miyeon’s top and bra to the other side of the room before sucking on Miyeon’s perky tits. Her high-pitched princess moans fill the room, accompanied by the wet kissing sounds of you and Sana pleasuring her body.

“Ah, fuck! Yes, just like that!” Miyeon exclaims. You hungrily pull off her panties before diving into her heat, licking between her folds and flicking your tongue against her clit. Sana sits behind her, holding her spasming body while nibbling her ear.

“I bet you’re sooooo exhausted after work, aren’t you, princess?” Sana whispers into Miyeon’s ear. Miyeon nods amidst her whimpering, biting her lip at her girlfriend, begging for her to take her. Sana obliges, shoving her tongue into her mouth as you shove your tongue into Miyeon’s dripping pussy. It doesn’t take long for Miyeon to reach her first orgasm, squirting her nectar all over your face which you gladly lap up, not wasting a single drop. Her body shivers with pleasure, but you have only just begun.

Sana and Miyeon watch intently as you stand up and align your cock with Miyeon’s glistening heat. With a mischievous smirk, Sana moves aside, letting Miyeon lie on her back. Miyeon’s mouth forms an “O” as you insert your tip inside of her, and Sana seizes the chance by sitting on Miyeon’s face, grinding her hips into the Korean woman’s open mouth. Your bodies form a literal love triangle as Sana pulls your face towards her, catching your lips with hers as you thrust deeply into Miyeon. You imagined this to be the last thing you did on your anniversary night instead of the first thing, but you don’t mind doing things a bit out of order. As long as these two lovely ladies are happy, you’re happy.

“Isn’t Miyeon’s pussy so tight, baby?” Sana asks with a smirk on her face. You nod, becoming increasingly aroused by Sana’s dirty talk, quickening the pace of your thrusts. Miyeon’s muffled moans become significantly louder, causing Sana to cling onto your shoulders for support as she reaches her climax. Sana pulls your head into another kiss, moaning into her mouth as her body trembles from her orgasm. She eventually collapses to the side of the bed, allowing Miyeon to finally breathe.

The light reflects off of Sana’s nectar on Miyeon’s skin, giving her the appearance of a glimmering angel. You slow down the pace of your thrusts, bringing your face close to Miyeon’s ear.

“Mirror?” You ask simply. She nods excitedly, biting her lip with anticipation.

If there’s one thing you learned about Miyeon since dating her for the past year, it’s that she absolutely adores herself. If she suddenly turned quiet, it was because she was either staring at a mirror or taking selfies. Every time she sent you nudes, it was more so to show you just how beautiful is rather than solely for your benefit (Not that you minded, of course). On the nights the three of you felt particularly frisky and decided to film yourselves, Miyeon would always rewind her parts, going on about how sexy she looks when she’s about to cum or how pretty her own moans sound. You wouldn’t say she’s narcissistic; rather, she’s just confident in her looks, and she had every reason to be. Cho Miyeon is the perfect embodiment of a princess, and you love that about her.

You bend Miyeon over the vanity, making sure she has a good view of herself before you rail her from behind. She peers over her shoulder at you and winks, wiggling her ass playfully.

“What are you waiting for? Aren’t you gonna punish m- AH!”

You grip onto Miyeon’s slim waist and begin to pound her hot cunt with ease. The entire vanity shakes as she clings onto it for dear life, barely able to support herself as her legs become as stable as jelly. Despite the stage of disarray she’s in, Miyeon maintains eye contact with herself in the mirror, evidently turning her on more with how her pussy tightens around your cock.

“Cum for me, princess,” you whisper gruffly into her ear. “You look so pretty when you cum.”

“I do?” she asks, flashing her puppy dog eyes at you through the mirror. You nod, unable to speak a coherent word as the sensation begins to feel too much. Miyeon squeals with pleasure as her juices begin to leak down her legs and onto the floor. You hold her up in case her trembling legs give out on her as she rides out her orgasm.

“Good girl,” you reassure her, planting kisses all over her back. Once she calms down, you help her to the bed and lay her down gently next to Sana.

“That was so fucking hot, princess,” Sana says, giving Miyeon a small peck on the lips. Miyeon giggles, her eyes barely able to stay open. With Sana’s energy back and your cock still hard, she descends on you like a panther, pinning you to the bed.

“Miyeon’s tongue is nice, but I needdddd your fat fucking cock inside of me,” she smirks as she straddles your lap, guiding your tip inside of her pussy. Her eyes roll back inside of her head as she takes you little by little, before completely bottoming out inside of her. After a moment of adjusting, Sana begins to ride your cock, holding onto your chest for support. You squeeze and tug at her bouncing tits, eliciting cute little squeals from her. A still-tired Miyeon decides to join in the fun, pushing Sana down onto your cock with more force and teasing her clit.

“HOLY FUCK!” Sana squeals ecstatically.

“I bet you like being a little slut, huh?” Miyeon teases her. “You like being filled up by our boyfriend’s cock, don’t you?”

“FUCK! Yes, I love it so much!”

“You wanna be filled with his cum, right baby?” Miyeon smirks at you as she whispers into Sana’s ear. With how close you are, you have no choice but to follow along with her impromptu plan.

“Oh god, yes please fill me with your cum, baby!” Sana exclaims, eyeing you desperately. Miyeon’s hand trails up your chest as she leans in towards you.

“You heard her,” she says, slyly cupping your cheek. “Better give her what she wants.”

Without hesitation, you shoot your load straight into Sana’s womb. Sana’s second orgasm follows shortly after, your fluids mixing together inside of her. Out of an entire year of fucking these two wonderful girls, this is the hardest orgasm you have ever experienced.

Eventually, Sana collapses on top of you, gasping for breath, while Miyeon quickly laps up the fluids dripping from the Japanese woman’s legs. You can’t help but laugh at Sana’s post-orgasm shivering.

“H-holy… shit,” Sana says breathlessly. “That… was fucking amazing.”

Miyeon crawls up, laying her head on Sana’s chest. “Yeah, he’s pretty great, isn’t he?” The two girls giggle at each other, exchanging playful kisses and warm looks. You wrap your arm around the both of them, grateful that they’re not fighting anymore.

“How did I get so lucky to have the two of you in my life?” You ask, gazing at these two beauties lovingly. With a quick glance at the clock, you notice that you still have a couple hours until the dinner reservation. “Why don’t you two hop in the shower and get ready? I have something special planned for tonight.”

“You’re not gonna join us?” Miyeon asks.

“I would love to, princess, but I know for a fact that we’re not gonna make it to dinner if I join you in the shower,” you joke. Sana jolts up, grabbing Miyeon’s wrist.

“I am NOT missing out on dinner,” Sana states, dragging Miyeon into the bathroom with her. Right before they close the door behind them, they turn to you one last time.

“We love you!” They say in unison.

You lay back on the bed, smiling to yourself as you look up at the ceiling. How did you ever get so lucky?

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diejager · 2 months

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Okay so I have kinda a prompt...and I was wondering if you could work your magic and like make it a story.. please :)

Okay so like, *reader* was at a restaurant waiting for ghost, the first date had gone so well, you were thinking of dating him seriously. However, 20 minutes had gone by and he hadn't shown up, nor was he replying to your texts. You glanced down at your phone trying to call him once more when suddenly a familiar skull mask was placed on the table. So you look up with a smile, expecting it to be ghost but it turns out to be könig, and he sits beside you and places a hand on your thigh before whispering, "I think you should be seeing someone else" or something...

Cw: DARKFIC, stalking, implied murder, implied death, obsession, possessive behaviour, tell me if I missed any.

You’d been doing so well, leaving behind the man who’d broken you, who took and took until all that was left was a dried carcass of what you used to be, a fragile version of who you once were. You cut ties with him, left him in the rubble of a shattered relationship and picked up whatever was left of your as you moved away, another city, another province and another country, as far away as you could from the monster.

And here, you met a gentle man, as scarred and broken as you, only his were physically present, people would gawk and stare at him when yours were hidden, buried beneath your skin and sinew, chained in a spiraling mind of terror and nightmares, but you understood him and he understood you. It was a mutual understanding that you built on, stacking every moment of sorrow and agony, tearful calls and sobbing voice, making it into a tower of affection that you worked beautifully on.

You called him Simon, and he called you love.

It was perfect, the first shards of friendship that soon became love, an intimacy you were both afraid to commit, but were willing to try, to dip your toes in shark infested waters and test your luck. It started out with subtle touches, his fingertips brushing against yours in fleeting signs of affection; then the gentle pull of his voice, calling your name whenever you were near; and the small tokens of servitude he gave away to you, spoiling you rotten with the money he has.

It was perfect, the miracle you had always dreamed of, the beautiful thing that filled our bleak world with vibrant coloursand liveliness. You shared a kiss, your soft ones pressed against his dried ones, feeling the coarseness and curve of his lips when they moved against yours. It was a passionate one, filled with worship and love that you were both tempted with. That led to a date, lost in each other’s eyes while you swooned at him, doe-eyed and hopeful for more than what you were unafraid to give, sipping on tea and coffee for any kind of distraction for falling further into the throes of love and devotion.

You left feeling happy, a smile shining brightly on your face until you got home and screamed out to your heart’s content, confessing to your plants and the ghosts that lived in your walls. You’d been giddy, excited for the second date, seeing the first one went so well, planning the dates and places the second day, organised half a month in advance because you were high on the pleasure. You were ecstatic, jumping to and from the walls and ceiling, like a puppy promised treats.

And when the day arrived, you dressed up, dolled yourself up for a man your heart came to love and got to the restaurant early —too early. Seated at the reserved table and encouraging yourself with a quick monologue, unaware of the time, the ticking minutes passing in a blink until you realised Simon was twenty minutes late. You knew he wouldn’t stand you up, he was too soft with you for that, he emphasised too much with you to let you go so abruptly, but he hadn’t sent anything, no message or call. You were left wondering and worried, lost in your thoughts with no one but the screen that showed Simon’s number. You might have to-

Something was rudely dropped before you, a black fabric placed in the middle of the your table, it was familiar, but many things were black. You turned, frowning and brows pinched, ready to question the person who’d trashed your table.

“What-” you choked back a whimper, eyes cloudy as you stared up at cold eyes, a chilling blue that would have frozen seas, “You-”

Your throat closed on itself, breath stuck at the back of it as you stammered, unable to utter a single word towards the giant in your nightmares. You could see the glee in his eyes, the squinted lids that screamed of a cruel grin, malicious yet jovial.

“It’s time to come back home, Spotzi,” his tone was low, a deep monotone that portrayed nothing, not even a single crumb for you to decipher how he truly felt, “You’ve had your fun with him, nh?” [Sparrow]

Him? You didn’t understand what he meant. Had he meant Simon? König couldn’t be serious, you’d finally found someone who felt the same and emphasised with you, and König wanted to take it all away like he did with your life? You stared down, away from his piercing blues, the chill that ripped through you whenever you gaze at it, wandering down to his bloodied palm- They were bloody, bruised and battered. It couldn’t be, no, you couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t dare —he would, he’d always whispered promises about beating other men to a pulp if they got in the way of his affection - obsession - for you.

Your eyes fearfully strayed from his towering form, glancing at the familiar cloth, catching the faded white of a skull dirtied with streaks of red, spotty and ripped. You recognised it, being so, so familiar with the mask as you were with the man who wore it, the soft browns and fluffy blond, the heavy bags and scars. It was Simon’s mask. A tear rolled down your cheek, falling from the fluttering of your lashes, only to be brushed away by the rough thumb of your captor.

“Do not cry, it’d eventually happen,” his attempts of soothing you were flawed, it only made you cry more, lips shaky and breathlessly choking and whimpering, “If not now, then later.”

He crouched to meet your eyes, head tilted up by your chin for König to admire you, roving over your dolled up face and the clothes you decided to wear for a man that was probably dead in an alley.

“Come, Spotzi. I have your things packed.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

#tw: dark content #dark content #dead dove do not eat #x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #konig x reader #konig mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #Stalker!könig #Kidnapper!könig #konig cod #könig x reader #könig mw2 #tw: kidnapping

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agendabymooner · 5 months

Text

SOMETHING FULFILLED !!! MARK W. X FEM!READER X FERNANDO A. (18+)

summary: after struggling to figure out what to get, mark and fernando decided that they should just simply fulfill their daughter's wish with the help of their wife, y/n.

content warning: smut under the cut (minors dni!), holiday special, dilf!fernando and dilf!mark (and milf!reader), threesome (mfm), unprotected sex, fingering, breeding/impregnation kink, mentions of pregnancy, double penetration (i'll let you use ur imaginations), established poly relationship, i did not edit this.

note: what if i fell into a writer's block but god said "you've written a jenson and seb threeway smut but not webbonso smut yet?" (on my grid sluts shit) enjoy and happy holidays xx

something sinful (smut) masterlist

a - n masterlist // o - z masterlist

if you’d like to get on one of my taglists, check this post out

mark and fernando would go through the lengths of fulfilling their kid’s christmas wishes. they would always do anything for their little girl.

it was cute, really but oftentimes, even y/n found that they had spoiled her a little too much.

the parents had been wondering what to get their little daughter, ava alonso-webber, as she continued to grow as her independent self. her mother had decided that she was big enough to decide what she would like for holidays.

meanwhile, the fathers had decided that ava was not old enough to not be spoiled. after all, mark and fernando only had one child with their wife and little ava was only six.

y/n merely hissed at them when they gave ava a go ahead on her request and said, “don’t go overboard with her gift this year. no puppies anymore.”

both mark and fernando shrugged before ava exclaimed, “i want a baby sibling, papì and daddy!”

now, their wife wasn’t a miracle worker— but to try and change ava’s mind about her gift for christmas was something she shouldn’t have done.

mark and fernando were quick to frown at this before their wife continued to avoid that conversation for the next month all while attempting to convince ava into getting something more… manageable.

ava had eventually decided that dolls and more karting time with her dads were enough. ava’s mother was more than relieved that the little girl had relented and moved on.

the dads, the brooding fathers, were a different story. in fact, when y/n arrived from work a week before christmas, she was surprised to find the house quiet. the only thing she could hear was soft music playing in the background. she was really worried she had to sneak the toys into the bedroom without ava noticing.

but the little girl wasn’t there. instead, both mark and fernando were sitting in the living room with the recorded premier league game on.

y/n’s eyes narrowed at the sight of her husbands and asked, “uh, did we just magically lose a child before we’ve spent hours and money on her gifts or…?”

mark and fernando looked at her. then the australian spoke, “oh, hey babe. ava’s staying overnight with her cousins.”

“and we agreed on this when…?” she raised a brow in return, walking over the two nonetheless to press kisses on their lips. fernando pulled her into his lap as mark moved closer.

“now,” fernando murmured, his lips opting to attack her neck as she let out a soft sigh.

mark tipped her head towards his direction before kissing her, his tongue allowing itself to tangle with hers as he hummed in satisfaction. he nearly smirked at the feeling of her breath running out as she moaned.

“we’ve been trying to get you to talk to us about something,” fernando started, his breath fanning her ear as goosebumps broke out her skin in both nervousness and excitement.

“about…” she murmured, eventually pouting when mark tugged her hair back as she got eager to make out with him. mark gave her a stern look.

fernando then nipped at her ear as she let out a gasp before he answered with, “what our little princess wanted.”

it was as if the floodgates were opened, her arousal making her squirm in their hold as mark crooned, “you were so adamant about not giving her what she really wanted, baby. why’s that?”

“i- i,” she gulped. she really wasn’t able to answer especially now that she was being tossed back and forth between the two.

she could feel their hands roaming and touching her, gasping at the feeling of fernando’s fingers as they slowly snaked their way down into her lace panties. fernando then cooed mockingly, “you’re so fucking wet, cariño. you know what we think?”

“h- ngh,” she whimpered, unable to utter any more words as her husbands chuckled darkly.

“we think,” fernando’s tongue glided down her throat and sucked her skin, leaving a mark on her neck as he continued, “that you want to give us a baby too. a baby sibling for our little girl.”

“and you don’t want to tell us,” mark added, smirking at the sight of their wife writhing. y/n was already long gone, feeling extremely aroused just by having her husbands work her up like this.

y/n gasped aloud, hearing her cunt making squelching noises as fernando slid his fingers in and curled up against her sensitive spot.

“how about we give you more babies to grow, hm?” mark murmured, kissing her hard as he slid her shirt off and tossed it someplace else. “we’re gonna fuck more babies into you until you’re full of them.”

she nodded eagerly, writhing against the two of them as she begged wordlessly.

fernando and mark smirked and looked at each other, as if they had every intention to fulfill their goal with the help of their perfect pretty wife.

their cocks had been doing their back and forths in her cunt, her walls stretched out due to its familiarity with their lengths as she whined loudly, sinking repeatedly as she kept her hands resting on fernando’s chest.

the two men groaned aloud, mark grabbing a handful of her hair and tugging it lightly as his hips snapped behind her. “oh fuck,” he uttered, fucking his cock into her as she babbled incoherently.

“te ves tan bonita como siempre, cariño,” you look so pretty as always, darling. fernando cursed out as he thrusted his hips up. he muttered, “tan guapa, tan jodida así.” so pretty looking so fucked out like this.

“mm— fuck, please,” y/n flinched at the feeling of mark’s fingers pinching on her nipple and fernando’s thumb rubbing her clit simultaneously. she yelped in pleasure, her eyes tearing up as she wailed, “want you two to cum in me— fuck, nando- mark!”

“want us to cum inside you, yeah?” mark spoke breathlessly, the two men increasing their pace and intensity as she nodded against his chest. “can’t wait to see you full of me and fernando again, sweetheart.”

“and these tits, fuck, hermosa,” fernando groaned, “can’t wait to see it full of milk again. you’re gonna look so fucking hot when you’re pregnant.”

“like she did before when she had our little girl,” mark added with a chuckle, eventually groaning as he said, “you’re gonna make us so happy- you’re gonna make our little girl happy, baby.”

“m- i want your cum, please,” she pleaded, her walls clenching as the men both groaned in pleasure. “fuck me harder! shit~ fill me up-“

“you want us to fuck you full, hm?” fernando moaned, now fucking her harder from the bottom as he continued, “fuck- i’m cumming, hermosa. hah~ fuck!”

“oh~ hah,” mark groaned in her ear as he shot his load inside her. fernando did too, slowly thrusting and coating her cunt white like mark did.

y/n whimpered, her body limping against fernando as the three of them eased off their orgasms. her body shook violently between the two of them before she took a deep breath and wiped her sweat off her forehead.

she then looked at fernando and chuckled, pressing a kiss on his lips once more before moving to his side. mark had returned from the bathroom to clean her off.

she pursed her lips as she said, “would it be too late if i say that we didn’t need fuck like rabbits to get pregnant?”

mark nearly dropped the damp towel and looked at fernando with widened eyes. fernando returned the surprised look as y/n laughed quietly.

“oh you are horny, baby,” mark laughed with her, pressing a kiss on her lips, his hands hovering on her stomach before he pressed a kiss on it.

fernando shared a kiss with her too before asking, “are you really?”

“i am,” she grinned. “i was going to show you two when i got home but you got excited. i couldn’t tell you two i was pregnant because you two were all over me.”

“oh fuck! finally,” mark exclaimed, grinning at fernando and their wife.

“that’s one christmas gift ticked off the list for ava,” fernando laughed. “someone’s gonna be happy that her christmas is fulfilled.”

oh, the lengths that they’d go through just to spoil their kid.

♡ moony’s reminder 🅶 (general): @hiraethrhapsody @avaleineandafryingpan @topguncultleader @enhacolor @roseandtulips @woweewoowa @magnummagnussen @happy-nico @architect-2015

♡ moony’s reminder 🅴 (explicit edition): @glitterf1 @savrose129

#fernando alonso smut #mark webber smut #fernando alonso imagine #mark webber imagine #formula one imagine #formula one smut #f1 imagine #f1 smut #fa14 #mw2 #fernando alonso #mark webber #♔ something sinful ⎯ f1 smut #fernando alonso x reader #mark webber x reader #formula 1 #formula one x reader

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lemonlover1110 · 5 months

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 17] Father and Son

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Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

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Satoru tries to make up for the past four years of Ren’s life in a matter of weeks. His focus drastically changes, from his work to his son. He ignores the matter of so many people knowing before him, he avoids his mother and his so-called friends. His main and only priority is his son.

You both wish you could say that your relationship has gotten better, but you don’t really speak to each other unless it’s about the son you share. You’re hopeless that it’ll progress past what you have. Neither of you have the courage to bring up the situation, either way, your attention should be on Ren.

Ren is finally meeting the man that he’s been dreaming of, and he’s getting to know his father after four years. You’re mostly excited for your son, while also regretting hiding it when you had the chance to tell him. Your relationship is the last thing on your mind– It’s certainly the last thing in Satoru’s mind.

He visits daily, bearing many gifts for his son. Satoru has become a regular at the toy store, buying something each day for his son, something that he thinks Ren would like. He hopes that material stuff will make up for the time wasted. Sometimes he brings some candy, but he doesn’t do it often. Satoru is still his father, he can’t just spoil him rotten, he also has to care for Ren’s wellbeing. He’s slowly growing accustomed to becoming a parent.

“What’s this, Ren?” Satoru holds up a cute white cat plush, one that Satoru always finds on the bed. He wonders if that’s the toy his son has had ever since he was a baby, he guesses it is since Satoru feels like he’s seen it in the background of a picture before.

“It’s whiskers.” Ren answers, taking the plush from his father and putting it back on the bed. That’s before he turns to other matters. Ren doesn’t mind sharing his toys (because you’ve been the one raising him), but whiskers is someone that Ren doesn’t like anyone touching. Anyone and anything can get the toy dirty, and when that happens, you refuse to let the toy on the bed, at least not before you wash it and get it clean again.

Satoru doesn’t bother to ask if that’s the plush that he sleeps with, because that’s most certainly a yes. Ren wants to talk about other important matters though so Satoru gives his undivided attention to his son. Ren then asks, “Are you sleeping over?”

“Uhm… No.” Satoru answers. You most certainly wouldn’t want that. Plus, Satoru has a wife at home who has her suspicions that something is going on. He doubts that she’ll care too much, but he wants to keep Ren protected from the world. If Sayo finds out, so does her family, and if her family knows, the whole world will know. “But I’ll stay until you fall asleep, Ren.”

“I want you to stay.” Ren sticks out his bottom lip, obviously disappointed that his father isn’t staying for the night. You let him on your bed all the time and you sleep together, why can’t he do the same thing with his father? Satoru can’t help but feel bad, so he thinks of how to respond to cheer him up.

You commented how you had plans of going on a small trip with Ren before summer ended, but summer evidently has come to an end. It’s colder now and the leaves are changing color. Satoru finally decides, “We can go on a trip soon, and we’ll be together all day every day.”

“Really?” The little boy’s eyes light up, making the biggest smile come to Satoru’s lips. Satoru now wonders how he was ever happy without him– Well, with you… But that memory slowly fades away since your relationship is now filled with awkwardness. Satoru nods his head in response. He can lie and make it a business trip, it’s not an issue for him really.

“We’ll have to talk to your mommy first, honey. Then we can plan it all.” Satoru answers, and Ren turns around to go look for you. Satoru feels awkward sitting alone on a bed that’s far too low and small for him. He stands up and follows Ren. They both look for you around the apartment until they land in your bedroom. The bathroom door is closed, and Ren immediately knows what to do.

Ren opens the door to the bathroom, and you immediately make eye contact with Satoru. Your face grows hot of embarrassment, and obviously Ren doesn’t see an issue with it. Ren’s issue is when he actually steps into the bathroom, and he just has to comment, “It stinks.”

“Yeah, I wonder why. Get out, Ren, and close the door!” You raise your voice, your embarrassment getting the best of you. Ren closes the door, leaving you to it, and Satoru chuckles. He ruffles Ren’s hair as both walk out of your bedroom.

“You gotta learn how to knock, baby. Give your mommy some privacy.” Satoru says, but it goes one ear out the other. Ren isn’t going to knock, you’re his mommy. If you want your privacy you better lock the door. They take a seat in the living room, where Ren grabs the remote to put on a movie. He knows how to get the movie he wants, even when he’s just learning how to read and spell.

“Where do you want to go?” Satoru asks, wondering where his son wants to go. Ren drops the remote on the couch, putting his tiny index finger on his chin, humming and tilting his head to the side as he thinks of the answer.

“The beach.” Ren answers, but it’s cold. They can go out of the country though, go somewhere warm. He needs to talk to you first, of course. When you finally walk out of your bedroom (after mentally cursing your son for not having any manners when others are around), you go to the living room to see what they needed.

“What did you need, Ren?” You ask, and he looks excitedly at you. Satoru is the one that speaks up for him though,

“We want to go on a trip, can we?” You almost laugh since Satoru sounds like a hopeful child.

“Where are you two going?” You respond. You can’t really say no because Satoru is supposed to have equal authority as Ren’s father.

“Ren wants to go to the beach.” Satoru answers, Ren nodding in agreement. You cross your arms, your brows furrowing.

“It’s too cold to go to the beach, do you not have any other place in mind?” You point out, making Ren pout. The pout doesn’t last long though since Satoru says,

“We can go to another country. Somewhere warm with better beaches.” You’re certainly not convinced since you doubt you’re part of the plan. You’re not letting your baby boy in another country without you– Well, technically he’d be with his father, but you’re still not convinced. Until Satoru says, “Of course, you’re included! I doubt Ren would go anywhere without you.”

“I wouldn’t.” Ren affirms, and you laugh.

“If you plan everything, then sure. We can go on a trip. You need to give me time off though– Paid time.” You say, and Satoru nods in response. He does pretty much everything you ask of him, and you certainly can’t complain about it. Ren focuses on putting on one of his favorite movies, and you begin to walk to the kitchen, asking, “Are you staying for dinner, Satoru?”

“Yeah.” Satoru answers. He’d definitely rather eat here with his son and you than dine alone at home. He helps Ren put the movie on, and they both begin to watch the movie. He’s watched this movie around five times the past week, and to be honest, Satoru is sick of it. But he’ll watch it because Ren loves it.

He’s grateful when you call his name, and he has to tell Ren that you need him, so he can’t stay to watch the movie. Satoru walks to the kitchen, and he finds you trying to reach something that’s far too high for you. Satoru’s eyes land on the white bowl and he reaches for it before handing it to you. You mutter a thank you, and you expect him to go back to Ren, but he doesn’t. You then tell him, “That’s all I need from you, you can go.”

“Do you need help with anything else? You know I love Ren but… I’m sick of that movie.” Satoru answers, earning a chuckle from you. You think about what he can do for a moment, and he patiently waits for you to answer.

“You can make the salad, and then set the table.” You respond, and you think you’ll regret it for a moment. Satoru has had everything done for him, he probably doesn’t know how to cut a cucumber; but then you remember that he lived alone for some time, he had to cook for himself for a while. Satoru immediately gets to work, opening the fridge to get all the vegetables that he needs. He looks around the cabinets and drawers for the cutting board and knife, and he quietly begins to cut the vegetables.

“Have you talked to Shoko?” Satoru asks, washing the lettuce throughout. Pretty much everything is wrong between the two of you, but you can’t just stand in awkward silence every single day. You have to talk to each other, after all, you doubt you’ll stop seeing each other.

“I haven’t. I’m not going to for a while.” You reply. In Satoru’s eyes, she did nothing wrong. He’s glad that Shoko told him, otherwise, he probably wouldn’t be with Ren. But in a sense, he understands why you don’t want to talk to her. “Tell her to stop calling my phone because I’m not going to answer. I’ll call her when I’m ready.”

“I’m not really talking to her either.” He responds.

“Is it because she has the hots for your wife?” You blurt out, and you bite your tongue the moment the words leave your lips. Satoru’s brows raise, definitely surprised by your words. You can’t be serious, can you? Before he can ask more questions about it, you change the topic, “Speaking of… When are you going to tell Sayo about Ren? She’s your wife, she has to find out eventually.”

“Maybe after our trip… I’m not sure how to tell her.” Satoru shares, and you understand that it’s a tough situation. He has to figure out a way to tell his wife of almost five years that he had a kid that’s almost five– And he never cheated, he just found out about him. This was all before their marriage. It’s definitely hard. Satoru clears his throat, mustering up the courage to ask about Suguru, someone else that he has been ignoring. “So… How are you and Suguru? Are you still seeing each other?”

“We’ve been busy, but we’re still… Talking.” You answer. You won’t lie and say that you don’t feel nauseous every time you talk to him, your heart nearly beating out of your chest for the simple fact that you lied to him. He has to find out that you lied eventually. “Have you talked to him?”

“I’m not talking to him. I’ve been ignoring him. I’ve been ignoring everyone.” Satoru responds. He puts the knife down, watching you as you begin to cook. He bites down his lip, holding back on saying a couple of things that are on his mind. About this situation, about you and Suguru, maybe an apology. Satoru has been a complete mess with so many things going in his mind, but not voicing any of them. He does have to ask one question though, “Is Ren the reason why you quit school?”

“Yeah…” You feel embarrassed to say it. “I couldn’t afford both. It was either my baby or school, and that was an easy choice.”

“Sorry…” He mutters, and it’s barely audible but you hear it. You don’t really pay attention to it, in the end it was your decision. Given the option, you’d do it all over again.

#[changes]#gojo saturo #satoru gojo #gojou satoru x you #jjk satoru #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jjk gojo #gojo angst #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu gojo #gojo x reader #gojo fanfic

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darkbluekies · 4 months

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This is going to be interesting fr, like how much differently do your ocs treat the reader if they were childhood friends. I’m super excited! Also can’t wait to see Jerry again ❤️

Warnings: violence, murder, unstable home life, bullying

Silas:

Being Silas's childhood friend guarantees you a bodyguard. He doesn't let anyone get close to you. You don't ever have to worry about the fact that anyone will bully you, because Silas will obliviate them. He's the type to let you lean on his shoulder in class whenever you feel tired. He will ditch school with you and go to the zoo if you want to.

People around you will try to separate the two of you. “Silas isn't a good influence”, they say, and doesn't want his behavioral problems to rub off on you, or for you to get in danger. There are speculations that Silas is involved in criminal gangs — and if someone asks you, you won't deny it. But Silas won't let anyone take you from him, won't let anyone touch you. You always have his arm wrapped around your waist or shoulders, always claimed by him.

“I'm going to bash that kid's skull in, I'm not fucking joking. If they dare to to touch you — no — if he as much as breathe near you, I'll send them to the nurses office. Lean your head on me, Y/N, its okay. Does your hand still hurt? I cant believe that he fucking stepped on it. It doesn't matter if it was a mistake. I'll cut his off.”

Dr Kry:

There is something off about him, and everyone can see that. He sits back straight, hands together, and always in clean, ironed clothes. His hair is always brushed and fixed, he hates germs and people. And he hates it all, he really does. The only friend he has, is you. The only one he doesn't think is dirty, is you. You know that the reason he sits and talks like a robot is because of how strict his parents are. There has been multiple times where he has dirtied his clothes while playing with you, and has panicked. You help him clean them before going home, and when touching him you make sure to wipe your hands with a cloth — even if you know that he doesn't mind your germs. You know how he doesn't like to be touched, so you never hug him or linger on too long, which is just why Kry likes you so much.

You are the only one who knows about his author's dreams. His parents want him to become a doctor, or a lawyer, and you know he's interested in medicine, but he wants to be able to write. He wants to write sci-fi stories, and you are the only one that knows it.

You get teased by others for being with the “clean freak” but it doesn't bother you. However, it does bother Kry. After someone has been mean to you, they always end up in the hospital, one way or another. You can't help but wonder if it's your shy, sweet friend who's behind it.

“I like having picnics with you. Oh, you forgot the other fork? No, don't apologize, I understand that it was a mistake. We can share a fork, I'm okay. Yes, it's fine, I don't mind … you're so nice, wiping the fork for me, you don't have to do that ...”

King Edmund:

If you are Edmund’s friend while he's the crown prince, you need a lot of patience. He is spoiled rotten, entitled and unpleasant to be around. Everything is on his terms. But that doesn't mean that he doesn't value you. He is locked in his room day in and day out with a private tutor, completely isolated from everyone else. He will throw fits and threaten not to do his classes, unless he is allowed to play with you. So, they bring you to the castle where you get to live from now on.

Edmund absolutely loves to spend time with you. You ride horses together, torment the staff, play pranks and read. When he can't sleep, he walks into your room and crawls under the sheets.

You're with him when his parents are murdered. Edmund's first instinct when the castle is attacked is to run to your room, wake you up and hide the two of you. He is equipped with a sword and will protect you to the last moments.

Although the two of you are isolated, there are people in the staff making fun of you, or talking bad. Edmund doesn't even hide the fact that he orders for their deaths.

“I fucking hate classes, and I hate that tutor. It's so boring. I wish you could take the classes with me, it'd be so much more fun. After class, can't we do something? Can't we go down to the fountain and read? I want you to read for me. You're the only one that reads the story right, that does them justice. Everyone else sounds like fucking donkeys.”

Jerry:

Jerry goes to an all girls school in South Korea. You don't go to the same school — which is probably for the best. Jerry is the leader of her little gang, and they are notorious for their bullying. She is a bully for fun, but won't allow any of her friends to make fun of you. If they do, she will ruin their lives. You do know about her life outside the school though, you have been with her when she steals from stores (often makeup stores). You often meet her after school and go to the mall or amusement parks together. She's a very sweet person to be around when it's just the two of you.

You're friends with her before she starts to call herself ‘Jerry’ — when she's still ‘Yubin’. She had seen the name in a TV series and liked the character. She says that she is going to move to the US, and then she wanted an english name.

You're often with Jerry's friend group on weekend nights, often strolling around the town with alcohol and cigarettes, sometimes breaking stuff. Jerry makes sure that if they're ever caught, her and you slip away. She finds it all extremely exciting.

Jerry escapes to you when she gets to know that her parents (and perhaps sister if i want to give her one) have been murdered by a rival, when she has involved herself in criminal activities for real. It's the first time you get to see Jerry break down. She's in your arms, crying heavily, admitting how scared she is and how much she misses her parents. She loves her family, and now there is nothing left of it. She says that she died that day, and that whoever is inhabiting her body now is a fraction of who she once was.

“You're such a fresh wind from that fucking girl school. Why do I have to go there? Why am I not allowed to join a coed school? What? Why my nails have blood under them? No, I didn't get into a fight again. I didn't. I promise. Get up, let's go get sushi, I'm starving.”

Hedwig:

If you're a childhood friend of Hedwig, you're basically a family member. You go on her family's expensive vacations, just because Hedwig doesn't want to be alone.

You play every day and go through all stages of life together. Hedwig has always been the sweetest human you've ever known, and it surprises you when you see her angry. The many, many years you've been friends, you've only seen her angry a handful of times. You go to summer camps together, share beds, share everything. Teachers ask for the other when one is gone (which is rare).

Being childhood friends with Hedwig would most likely end in romance at one time, so she would win without having to do anything harsh. But if you started developing crushes other than Hedwig before, she would ruin their reputation until you wouldn't want to look at them anymore, but no one would know that it was Hedwig.

Hedwig has always been very popular, both for her money and looks, and by default, you've been too because you're her best friend. Hedwig likes to see how nice everyone is to you, because they know better than to upset you. No one wants to get out of the magical bubble that is Hedwig’s popularity.

“We will be friends forever, won't we? I don't think I could live without you, Y/N. You're the other half of my soul. If I don't have you nearby, I can't breathe.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere oc x you #yandere mafia #yandere oc x reader #yandere doctor #yandere female #yandere imagine #yandere headcanon

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bywons · 3 months

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୨୧ NERD!CLASSMATE! — lee heesung ( headcannons )

pairing. nerd!classmate! lee heesung x f!reader w.c. 0.7k tw/cw. kissing genre. non idol au, highschool/college au, fluff

sru's note. find me a boy like this cause I NEED HIM!🗣️ kinda long fic lolol feedbacks and reblogs are always appreciated!

requested by this sweet anon ☆

m.list ⏐ requests are open! ⏐ navi

nerd!classmate! heesung who is oblivious to all the girls' infatuated eyes around him, whispering and giggling about him whenever he passes by.

nerd!classmate! heesung who is always seen with his books and projects almost every time.

nerd!classmate! heesung who rejects to tutor all the popular girls or even go on a date with them, coming up with the unchanging excuse that he's always occupied with studies. but he knows they're all infatuations.

nerd!classmate! heesung who only has his eyes on you, secretly admiring you from afar for god knows how long, he's just drowning in your beauty, your kindness, your smile, just you.

nerd!classmate! heesung who's heart is beating out of chest everytime the group projects or lab practicals are around, afterall he wants to be partners with only you :(

nerd!classmate! heesung who hides secret love notes throughout your spent time in the project together, which are obvious yet opaque.

nerd!classmate! heesung who proposes to tutor you in maths cause you're weak at it :( but obviously he has his own motives.

nerd!classmate! heesung who gives you tough and long numericals deliberately just so he can admire your pretty face, so he can brush your hair back softly or even pinch your cheeks in the meanwhile, just to see your flushed and embarrassed face which makes his pupils dilate.

"you know, i really wondered how your cheeks are always so flushed," "oh? i'm using a new blush---!", "i hope it's because of me one day,"

nerd!classmate! heesung who has you folding and fawning over his genius pick up lines, he has you blushing the most!! the other bois can't compete!!

your friends often make fun and poke at you for spending too much time with nerd!classmate! heesung nowadays, but you can't help it! he's too wholesome with his rants about his fav movie the toy story, about buzz lightyear! you could listen to him for hours!

not a second spent with nerd!classmate! heesung is boring or flat. he's always got you occupied with his antics, whether it's movies or deep talks with you.

nerd!classmate! heesung who sends you all the class notes you missed when you were sick, drawing a heart on each page <3 but he also gives you his own notes too tho >.<

nerd!classmate! heesung who lets you draw over his notebooks anytime, sometimes he also cuts them up and saves them!

nerd!classmate! heesung who writes you cute letters and drops them in your locker whenever you're feeling down or insecure, he appreciates every feature of you in those letter :( sometimes he also drops chocolates :(

nerd!classmate! heesung who offers to carry your bag around school and back home, saying it's too heavy for you.

nerd!classmate! heesung who attends your extra classes for you when you're not feeling well, he also offers his shoulder for you to sleep on :(

nerd!classmate! heesung who buys your favourite snacks and stationeries for you, and no matter how much you tell him not to he won't stop! he just wants to spoil you :(

nerd!classmate! heesung who pulls you aside from the booming music at the party, and takes you to quiet place of fresh air and tranquility, so he can confess to you >.<

nerd!classmate! heesung who can't help but be all reddened up when he's proposing to you, stuttering and mumbling in his own words as he keeps looking down, yet holding your hands in his.

"y/n, i don't know for h-how long but, I've always been in love with you."

and when you flush back and whisper your mutual love back to him, nerd!classmate! heesung cant help but smile in glee and pick you up in his strong arms, twirling you around while you two laugh like idiots in love <3

nerd!classmate! heesung who takes your breathe by pushing you against the wall and stealing your first kiss. it was so sweet, yet it made your heart beat like crazy!

nerd!classmate! heesung who's not a green flag, but the whole green forest <3 he makes you believe in love, in soulmates and destiny.

nerd!classmate! heesung is your one and only <3

taglist: open! CLICK ON THE LINK TO BE ADDED!

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thesassypadawan · 28 days

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Birthday Boy (Hayden x FemReader)

Summary: It’s your man’s birthday! A day filled with all the love, presents, and…special ‘treats’.

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there sooo much of the smut. Birthday head and, as always… Hayden’s big, fat dick.

Notes: Happy Birthday, Hay! 💙🤍

And also Happy Hayden's (And Mine) Birthday Event! In honor of the man, the myth, the legend; I will be posting nothing but Anakin, Vader, and Hay stories all April long!

- It’s Hayden’s birthday! One of the few days during the year when you can spoil him totally rotten…and he can’t object or complain.

- You always make it into a big deal. Showering him with love and affection. Making his fav foods. Getting him so many thoughtful presents. Planning all sorts of little surprises and special ‘treats’…that you just so happen to enjoy too.

- The sound of your alarm fills the air, and your arm flies out from underneath the covers. Hand fumbling for your phone, trying to silence it before a moose starts to stir.

- Luckily, you’re successful and no harm was done. Because you can hear the soft snores echoing out from behind you.

- Yawning, you try to blink yourself awake. You had set it with the intention of getting up early enough to prepare him breakfast in bed. But having that deliciously warm body pressed up against and those strong arms wrapped around you…

- A sleepy smile spreads across your face and your eyes begin to close. Until you feel a very hard, very familiar something poke your backside. And suddenly you’re no longer going with the original plan. Instead you’re opting for the new, amazing one you just thought up.

- Somehow you not only manage to untangle yourself from Hay, but you’re also able to get him to lay on his back. From there you make quick work of removing the sheets and pulling down his sleep pants. Cock springing free and standing proud.

- Positioning yourself between his toned legs, lips hovering barely a few inches above his dick. You pause a moment, making sure he’s still asleep by whispering… “Oi, Big Dork; Leafs suck.”

- Nothing. Not an angry grumble or eyes cracking open to glare at you. Nothing.

- Boldly you kitten lick his fat tip, happily lapping up that first salty bead of pre. Before popping it into your mouth, rolling your tongue around and sucking gently. Teasing at and playing with his slit until more of that bittersweet goodness explodes across your taste buds.

- Moaning softly, the vibrations cause Hayden to shift a bit. But you chose to ignore this, taking more of him in. That slight, pleasant ache in your jaw making you pant through your nose, your own arousal spiking. Cunt clenching around nothing, dripping…soaking through your panties.

- Bobbing your head up and down, you set a steady pace. Lips and hand wrapped tightly around his impressive length, adding more friction as you pump. Teeth nipping and grazing at him lightly.

- You’re so caught up that you don’t hear the low groan, but you certainly feel the big hand coming to rest on the back of your head. Those long fingers lacing through your hair, tugging.

- With his cock still nice and warm in your mouth, you not so innocently gaze up at him. Hay’s blue eyes are blown so wide, a lazy smile on his face. “Happy Birthday to me,” he chuckles, voice raspy from sleep.

- Humming, you swallow him greedily. Head brushing and hitting the back of your throat. Trying your best to not choke, fighting the urge not to gag.

- “That’s it,” he grunts. Pulling harder, hips starting to slowly buck. “Keep Going.”

- Driven by his words and that wonderful burn on your scalp, you double your efforts. Picking up speed, you match his rhythm. Baring down, letting him slide deeper with each thrust. Squeezing and playing with his heavy balls.

- First you feel his dick twitch, then his thighs begin to tremble, and…

- Growling, Hayden shot his hot cum down your throat. Curses falling from his lips while you hungrily drink every last drop.

- Releasing him with a wet sounding pop, you eagerly crawl on top of and straddle him. “Happy Birthday, Hay!” You giggle, grinning and wiggling like crazy…some of his ‘frosting’ trickling down your chin. “Today it’s all about you and-”

- A squeak escapes you as your suddenly flipped over. Back pressed against the mattress, caged in by his arms. Tip pushing at your drenched core.

- “Thanks for the gift, angel,” the birthday boy smirks, hand slowly trailing down your hip. “I’ll open it right now.” And with one quick movement, tares off your panties.

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @wifeofasith, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen

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lucvly · 4 months

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omg love ur stories can u make a fluff of chris just spoiling his gf all day and the whole time she’s like “chris that’s like $100” and he’s like “u wanted it right? i’m buying it”

MILLION DOLLAR MAN. ( chris sturniolo )

warnings › none i fear, just cursing, chris saying ma ( GUYS PLEASE ), reader can drive, short as hell.

author’s note › this is so poorly written i apologize anon 💔. i’m in LOVE with the concept of chris spoiling his girlfriend though i SWEAR. this does not do it justice.

› you had been out with your boyfriend almost all day you. you went out early, right after chris had surprised you with breakfast in bed. the kitchen was a mess afterwards of course, but the gesture was sweet enough you forgot about that in a heartbeat.

he was being overly sweet on this specific day, even making you wonder if you missed a special occasion– an anniversary, a birthday– but the root of the matter was, he just wanted to pamper you and show you how much he appreciated you, how patient you were with him and how you managed to put up with his nonsense daily.

right after breakfast, sitting down next to you on your bed in comfortable silence, he suggested a day out shopping with you, promising you anything you wanted. at first, you were a bit skeptical– of course, the thought of a much needed shopping spree was far too tempting, but your boyfriend being the one paying for it all made you a bit uneasy.

it didn’t take much convincing though to get you to cave– which is how you ended up in your current situation, a wide smile spreading on your face as you looked at yourself in the brightly lit up mirror, your boyfriend standing behind you as he clasped a shiny gold necklace around your neck, a shiny pendant hanging from it.

“it’s gorgeous, chris.” you complimented, the smile on your face only widening as your fingers traced the necklace slowly, mesmerized by the luster and glow that it emitted.

“if you want it, it’s yours, ma.” he still stood behind you as his hands lowered to your hips, tracing soft circles onto your skin. “looks gorgeous on you.”

“i mean, i want it, but this has to be over a hundred dollars.” you hesitated, a low sigh escaping your lips as your eyes scanned the necklace again.

you were completely caught off guard when he laughed, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your neck. “so?” he rolled his eyes playfully, as if he thought you bringing up the price was overly ridiculous, his hands once again trailing up to your neck, undoing the clasp as he turned to face the vendor who was helping you.

“we’re taking it.” he announced with a gentle smile on his face, handing the vendor the necklace that was hanging on your neck a quick second ago.

after the necklace was put inside the smallest and most elegant white box you’d ever seen and chris swiped his credit card as if he wasn’t almost spending a fair amount of money on this necklace, he held onto the bag for you, insisting on carrying it as if it wasn’t a small bag.

he always had these courtesies with you, carrying your bags, and small gestures which, every single time he did, made your cheeks turn the slightest shade of red, a soft smile appearing on your face.

both of you continued walking around until your eyes lit up at another piece of jewelry, a small pair of gold hoops which made you pause your window shopping. you glanced over them for a second before chris was softly intertwining your hand with his, stepping inside the store and almost forcing you to try the hoops on.

“you spoil me, i swear.” you jokingly complained as you stared at yourself in the mirror, tilting your head ever so slightly to get a better look at the earrings in all the angles, your fingers gently tracing over them.

chris only admired you, standing right behind you with the softest smile and a gleam in his eyes that suddenly managed to make you flustered.

“you deserve it.” he shrugged, his smile fading into a slight smirk, eyeing the earrings and your face in the mirror once again. “you’re so good to me.”

and once again, he was swiping his credit card. he was paying almost three hundred dollars and acting like he didn’t even spend a dime. he didn’t care– not when it came to you. you deserved everything he was buying you and so much more. he loved pampering you and treating you to anything you wanted.

the rest of the day was spent shopping, victoria’s secret, buying only the prettiest sets of lingerie (after an impromptu makeout session in the changing rooms, of course.) and some fragrances that made chris’ head spin with delight. tiffany & co, jewelry shopping as he helped you pick out only the most expensive and elegant pieces that suited your liking perfectly, and other shops like chanel which you’d been meaning to visit for a while.

this whole ordeal ended up with your boyfriend walking around the shopping center carrying all your bags, almost falling over in the process but truly he couldn’t be happier. he was in complete bliss seeing you happy with all your new acquisitions.

“how about a haul when we get home, pretty girl.” he spoke playfully as you headed out for he parking lot, your keys dangling in your hand as you spun them around your finger, giggling softly.

“of course.”

5:01 PM

after an exhausting day of shopping, you decided on spending the rest of the afternoon and evening at chris’ place, doing that unboxing you spoke of before even stepping in.

the backseat of your car was messily filled with bags of designer products and not so designer clothes which your boyfriend all helped you pick out (and paid for). the truth was, he couldn’t be happier. he loved making you happy, and he used occasions like these as a reminder of how much he appreciated and loved you. he would spend all the money he had on that card he’d been swiping all day and at the end of the day, he’d only be the happiest man on earth with you.

he started to carry your bags out of the car, filling up his arms with all the bags you’d collected throughout the day, barely managing to nudge the car door closed.

“oh my god, i’m so sorry.” you nervously laughed. it was just now settling in the amount of money you’d spent today, and you couldn’t help but feel a wave of guilt, even though you were incredibly grateful for everything your boyfriend had gotten you.

“stop apologizing. i told you, you deserve it, ma.” he inched closer to you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before pulling away with a small smirk.

you finally got to the door, and thank god you had a spare key because with the amount of bags chris was holding, he wouldn’t have been able to find his key in his pocket even if he desperately wanted to.

you inserted the key into the knob, twisting it and walking inside, holding the door open for your boyfriend, shutting it closed as he stepped inside, quickly making his way to the kitchen counter, settling all your bags down with a soft chuckle.

hearing all the shuffling going on in the kitchen, matt and nick stepped out of nick’s room, where they were apparently watching a show, the noise from the tv could softly be heard in the background as they stepped out with confused expressions.

“oh my god.” nick let out a loud laugh, eyeing all the bags on the counter as his mouth opened to let out a gasp, his head slightly shaking. “shit, and you can’t even get me some cane’s when i ask for it?”

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neowinestainedress · 8 months

Text

between us — johnny suh

title: between us

pairing: professor!johnny x lawyer!oc x fem!reader | husband!johnny x wife!oc x fem!reader

summary: you find yourself tangled in the life of the Suhs after Mr. Suh starts working as an English professor at your father’s university. You don’t understand why they float around you so much, but soon enough, you can’t get enough of that secret, dirty game anymore.

genre: smut, fluff, plot, mxfxf, married couple, established relationship, age gap, bisexual characters, aged up johnny (to his early 30)

warnings: age gap, daddy/mommy issues, smut, sexual tension, 3some, mxfxf, dom/sub dynamics, mdom, fdom(oc), fsub(reader), mentions of s*x toys, unprotected s*x, pet names (honey, babe, doll...), or*l s*x (reader receiving and fem giving), fing*ring (reader receiving and fem giving), n!pple play, dirty talk, praise, minor degradation, size k!nk, 1 face slap, 1 *ss slap, 1 cl!t slap, hair pulling, talks of face f*cking, dp and face sitting, sub space, overstimulation, reader goes non-verbal at the end, aftercare | inclusivity notes: reader’s hair can be grabbed bc i’m degenerated and needed to write hair pulling during or*l, there are no descriptions of the texture and type tho, reader wears hair in different hairstyles (not specified), reader feels small because she’s shorter than them and in general feels ‘intimidated’ (body type is not specified), no use of y/n

visuals

wc: 16.590k

a/n: i’m sure this isn’t what people were expecting when i talked about writing mxfxf, but what can i say, this idea came to me and i had to write it. at first, it was supposed to be less complicated, just hot steamy sex with two hot almost-dilf-and-milf but you know me by now, if it’s not deep and complicated we don’t write it here. disclaimer: they are all bi and this is not just a straight couple using a bisexual person to spice up their s*xual life, i can’t say more because i don’t want to spoil anything but i just wanted to make this clear. i hope you’ll enjoy, if you do please leave feedback with asks or reblog (so the story reaches more people) also this is the first time i write smut between two women so please let me know if it’s good!! love u ♡

The Suhs are by now a known presence in your life. Since Mr. Suh started teaching at your father’s university, it became almost impossible to not see him for more than two days straight.

You don’t feel like blaming your father. Actually, you get it. Mr. Suh is a charming, brilliant man in his early thirties. After years of studying and being an assistant, he started teaching English literature at another prestigious university, the one your father is president of. And in his free time —and you wonder how he did that— he even wrote a few books, the first ones being analyses of writers’ works, and then a successful mystery novel.

You like him, even if he intimidates you a bit. He’s a person you can have interesting conversations with, maybe too interesting. You can’t understand what hides behind his elegant attire; either suits and ties or brown pants and polos or vests, his brown hair is always pulled back, only occasionally some loose strands fall on his forehead and make him appear less put together. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him dressed casually, or crack a joke, but then again, it’s not really your place to know.

But Mr. Suh, also known as Johnny, is never alone when he comes to your parents’ house, or tags along at dinners, parties, and more, anything that your father likes to organize with his academic clique.

His wife, Aaliyah Taylor Suh, is always with him. She’s not less interesting or intimidating than him. Mrs. Suh is a drop-dead gorgeous woman in her early thirties like her husband. She’s an amazing lawyer, working at one of the top firms in the city, and probably that’s also why she comes off as piercing to you, it’s like she always knows what to say and do, and you struggle to keep up. And just like her husband, it’s also in the way she presents herself; she’s always perfect with her long goddess braids that reach her waist which is always perfectly hugged by the beautiful, expensive suits or dresses she wears.

This should pretty much sum up why you don’t talk much with them, even if they’re nice —at least it seems from the few conversations you had— you don’t feel at their level. Not only do they look like gods in your eyes, but they also fit the perfect stereotype of the rich, powerful couple that makes heads turn around every time they walk into a room —yours included— and the small, yet significant, age gap only makes it worse.

It would be easier to talk with them if your father wouldn’t constantly remind you that. He always had a passion to turn you and your dreams down, but since they are part of your life, it only worsened. Your father never misses the occasion to point your flaws out; how clumsy you are, walking around and stumbling on your own feet, dropping things every now and then, and messing up your words during speeches. Instead, he’s amazed by their brains and how quickly they became successful, they spent years on books and still never lost each other and found time to get married, they accomplished everything you haven’t, and it seems impossible for him to not slam it in your face.

And you agree, partially. You envy them. They seem to always be at the right place, at the right time, never saying a word wrong, and always looking straight out of Vogue. You’re also jealous of their love, you don’t know what a stable relationship looks like —not that you care to know, nobody your age seems to be doing it for you— unlike their stable, lasting marriage that is the deal closing off a just as long period of dating. They were high-school sweethearts, and you envy the way they still look at each other. Nobody ever looked at you like that, as if you meant the world to them. And you don’t understand how they survived all these years, you almost went insane during college, the two relationships you tried to have failed like a ship sinking in a storm. And now that you’re free, you’re still suffering the aftermath of all the stress you’ve been through.

So you struggle to understand why they circle around you like moths to a flame.

It all started months ago. At first, it was only longing gazes, you could always feel them on you, and you always thought that there was something wrong with you; your make-up smudged, your hair out of place, your clothes dirty or crumpled up, but, even if you weren’t like them, there was nothing wrong with you.

Then, one night, things started to make more sense.

It was late, around 10 pm. As much as you couldn’t stand your father, you tried to tag along as much as possible to find some connections career-wise. You could’ve asked him a favour —doubting he would do it— but you had no intention of making him take credit for your future. You preferred talking with his academic friends or critics on your own, it hadn’t been successful yet, but you won’t give up.

You were standing in the kitchen, a glass in hand as you tried to drown in the alcohol and forget every word you had heard from your father when Mr. Suh approached you first.

“Tiring, isn’t it?” Mr. Suh’s voice brought you back to reality. His build, tall form leaning against the fridge as he stared at you with a small smirk on his face, his hair was falling a bit more freely since the gel had given up after the whole night —day, you’d dare to say, you’re not so sure he had time to go back home and get ready for this dinner again.

You tried not to get lost in his beauty and swiftly hummed, nodding. “Yeah, but at least the wine is good.”

Mr. Suh snickered, starting to walk over to you, a hand in his hair as he shook it back. “Pinot?”

Your eyes moved up in his, he was standing so close you could feel his breath hit your face, and you struggled to find the words. Throat dry and hands so sweaty you were sure you would’ve dropped the glass on the ground. “Yeah, Pinot, or at least, I think so,” you mumbled, giggling awkwardly as you looked down and took a step back, trying to put some distance between you two.

“Can I have a taste?” He asked, tilting his head to the side, his piercing gaze staring right into your soul.

You should’ve told him that surely there were some glasses left outside, or maybe opted to take a look in the wine rack behind him, but you didn’t, and your hand moved to his almost right away.

You watched him smile in a ‘thank you,’ before his lips met the glass, alcohol pouring down his throat, a bit too messily for his usual put-together act, a drop dripping on his chin against his tan skin.

Mr. Suh smiled, humming happily as he handed the —almost empty— glass back to you. “As imagined, my favourite,” he winked.

“Oh, good — good. I — I like it too,” you slurred, panicking and feeling so small. And guilty because something about all of this felt so wrong and dirty and you immediately thought of Mrs. Taylor. Was Johnny flirting or were you too horny to think straight? They were a perfect couple, they couldn’t be cheating, right?

So, you scrolled your head, and said goodbye to him, quickly walking out of the room with the excuse ‘you were sure your father was looking for you’ but in reality, you just needed a breath of fresh air.

Unfortunately, it didn’t stop there. You would find yourself alone with Mr. Suh more than you wished to, and he was always so subtle with everything that you started to think you were going insane. He couldn’t have possibly brushed his hand against yours as he walked by your side to go to his wife, right? And he couldn’t have willingly rested a hand on your lower back when he walked behind you, trying to make way to get to your father? And why would he call you ‘honey’ with that sweet, intoxicating, slightly condescending tone, and only when you two were alone? His voice was always sensual, but you could swear it would drop even lower when he had you alone in the kitchen or in the library you spent some much time in, lecturing you about some poem or book, watching as you hung from his lips.

Anyway, you thought you could deal with it, you would only see him when your dad invited them, and even if it was a lot, you could stick with your mother —a slightly more likeable presence to you that wasn’t best friend with the Suhs.

Things worsened when Mrs. Suh started talking to you. The first, serious, conversation was about a pretty boring thing, some case she was working on. But there was something in the way she talked to you, laughing as she dismissed the conversation and simply stared into your eyes before asking to talk about yourself. Unlike her husband, she was curious, almost as if she wanted to get deep into you and discover things you probably didn’t even know about yourself.

And you froze. You had nothing to say. Everything that came to your mind was either too boring or too wild to be known to her.

“So? Too many secrets to hide?” She joked, showing you her pearly white teeth before winking.

“No, uhm,” you mumbled, trying to find the words, but losing them again when your eyes fell on her hands, golden jewellery shining on her fingers as they wrapped around the flute so delicately and yet sensually before she brought the glass to her full lips tinted with dark purple. Your head snapped up, trying to control your breath and not show the erratic movements of your chest, and squeezing your thighs together for some reason. “I’m working. Yes, busy working and trying to survive my dad.” Busy. You wrote for a small magazine online that paid you dust; reason why you were back living with your parents and kept writing your book, hoping to finish it and publish it one day and get the chance to be as far as possible from that house.

She smirked, and you could see it wasn’t because she was happy with your answer but almost as if she was having the time of her life at the way you were acting. “So, work and dad make you, you?”

“No,” you replied right away, slightly offended too. “I thought we were talking about… about things… happening now.”

A low chuckle rolled out of her lips, “I’d love to get to know you better, you know? Your family is so outgoing, they can’t keep anything in, but you…” she paused, eyes looking at you up and down, “you’re so secretive, reserved, like a candy to unwrap.”

You gulped, fearing she had the wrong idea about you and her husband and was planning a way to kill you. Aaliyah wasn’t stupid, of course she had seen the way Johnny talked to you and, worse, the way you reacted. She was also a lawyer, a brilliant one, you doubt some of her clients were even innocent and yet they got away with everything, she could stand up for herself in court, and Johnny would find a poetic way to get rid of your body and turn this into the plot of his next success.

“I… I…”

“You should spend some time with us,” she said, smiling, crossing her legs and moving her braids behind, showing her cleavage, “you know, at our place, alone. No family getting in the way, no father painting you bad. Just adults having fun.”

“Oh,” you gasped, gulping as you felt the air in your lungs disappear. “Sure, I’d love to.” But the truth is, you wouldn’t survive being alone with them.

“Beautiful dress, by the way,” she complimented, getting up and walking past you, “shows all the right curves.”

That was the start of everything. Unfortunately, she had no intention of killing you. Instead, she seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you better, saving you from your father by engaging in conversations with you when you were all at the same table, asking what you liked, and mostly, complimenting you. At first, it could’ve been mistaken for a ‘girls support girls’ kind of moment, but quickly you started to perceive something else. Her looks, her touches and her words weren’t any different than Mr. Suh’s ones, so lingering, so secretive, and teasing, feeling like a breeze that taunts your skin with a sense of relief that’s never meant to come.

Two months have passed since that moment, and your plans of keeping the distance crumble apart when you find yourself alone with them.

It’s not the first time, but you feel today might be more difficult to deal with. Your father is stuck with an idea of you from when you were five years old and in constant need of supervision, or else you can’t explain why he almost treats them as your babysitters.

‘We’ll be out today, look after her,’ these are the words your father exclaims before walking out of the Villa he owned on this lake abandoned by God, your mother already at the car parked in the driveway.

You’re not a child but you surely act like one, rolling your eyes and letting out a loud grunt before puffing out air.

Mr. Suh laughs, humming lowly before turning to you. “You’re still a child in his eyes, aren’t you? His sweet, innocent, little baby.”

That comment shouldn’t have had any effect on you, yet, it does. It feels like he is implying something else, it’s clear in his tone and especially his eyes. But you shake it off, laughing before replying ‘yes,’ and then running up the stairs with a faint goodbye. You hear Mrs. Taylor say something, probably asking you to stay, but you pretend you don’t hear and disappear into your room.

You can avoid them only for so long before you don’t know what to do anymore and decide to go downstairs —terrible decision.

You think they left, so you walk outside to read a book under the porch and enjoy a cold lemonade, but when you step into the garden you see them by the pool.

Aaliyah is laughing tenderly at Johnny who’s dancing on the trampoline, winking at her before jumping in the pool, splashing water around, making her turn around and cover her face more with the large floppy hat she’s wearing.

You feel like dying, this is not how you want to see them, and you have to force your eyes up, not making them fall on her ass. You’re still in time to go back, just one step behind and you can go upstairs as if nothing happened, but you’re not quick enough.

“Hey,” Mr. Suh greets you. “We were hoping you would join us,” he smiles at you, walking out of the pool by the stairs, scrolling the water out of his hair before pushing it behind.

You gulp, which is the only thing you can do to try to water your throat —and more embarrassingly, don’t moan at the sight of his sculpted body. And then you smile, a tight forced smile as you still stand like a statue. “Oh, I won’t join you, I just wanted to read.”

Mrs. Suh snickers and you watch her turn around to stand out of the pool, strong arms lifting her body up —and only now you realize that she’s pretty ripped too, the soft curves complimented by the signed abs, toned arms, and thighs.

“You go to the gym together?” Dumbly slips out of your mouth and by the time you cover it with your hands it’s already too late, but the comment makes them smile.

“You pay attention to details, don’t you?” She asks, clicking her tongue and smirking. She then takes the hat off, letting the braids fall on her back before she sits on the round table, pulling a chair out to gesture you to take a seat. “And I don’t train as much as he does, prefer pilates actually.”

“Oh,” you reply, momentarily bringing your attention to Johnny who’s now sitting on the other chair, leaving you the seat in the middle. “Heard is good for the body, nice choice.”

“Are you going to sit, or do we have to drag you here?” Mr. Suh jokes, head pointing at the empty space between them.

You shake your head, looking down as you take a deep breath and force your legs to work. You can do that, you just have to sit in the middle of the hottest couple you’ve ever laid eyes on and that for some reason loves to tease you, you’ll be fine.

“See, it wasn’t that hard,” she says when your ass touches the chair, book and lemonade resting in front of you on the round table.

“So, enjoying your break?” Johnny asks and then throws his hair back to scroll some more water out, but that makes you lose your focus and gulp nervously.

“Yeah, needed a vacation. Would be better if it wasn’t with my father,” you add, looking down.

She chuckles. “You two really don’t get along. Poor thing, he doesn’t get you, does he?”

You hesitate to reply, 1) you don’t get if she’s mocking you and 2) you wouldn’t care because the way she called you poor thing makes you feel things.

“He thinks I’m a child. I mean, he treats you like babysitters, I’m an adult,” you reply when your brain starts working again, and sadness fills your expression.

“Sure you are,” Johnny adds, chuckling, and you frown. “Sorry, it’s just funny that when you get mad at him, you act a bit childlike. Teenagers-like, if it makes you feel better.”

You sigh, frowning as you stare at him. “You think I’m stupid?”

“What?” He asks, brows raising.

“You think I’m as stupid as he thinks I am? Because the way he talks about me would make anybody think I’m this clueless, hopeless, dumb woman who has no idea what she’s doing with her life.”

Aaliyah chuckles tenderly, “Honey, you’re smart. Johnny can’t quite shut up about you after you two talk. He loves your takes on authors and the way you write, says he would love to have you work with him somehow.”

You almost stop breathing. He talks about you to his wife? He remembers what you say during your conversation or when you talk about what you write? Damn, you doubt people even listen to you.

“Oh, thanks,” yet, this is the only thing you mumble, and it’s fine like this. Anything else coming from your mouth could dangerously be a squeal.

“Anyway,” she says, leaning closer, making you move back and hold your breath, only to damn yourself when her fingers brush on your skin to wipe away something that dropped on you with the wind, “your dad’s not here now, why don’t you join us by the pool and stop stressing about him?”

You smile but shake your head. “No, it’s fine, I’ll stay here.”

“Are you sure? The water is perfect,” Johnny adds, standing up and towering over you. “Couldn’t convince my sweet wife to jump in but maybe you’re braver than her,” he winks, and you don’t have the courage to turn around and see if she saw.

“Oh…” you whisper and then look at the pool. If only he knew the problem wasn’t the water, you wouldn’t think twice about jumping in.

“Oh, come on,” Mrs. Suh pleads, and before you can realize it, her hands are wrapped around your wrist. This is the first time she touches you, not a caress, not a tease, but a firm hold on you, and it shouldn’t send shivers down your spine, but it does. Her fingers are slim and soft, and you find yourself wishing you could feel them more, preferably somewhere else on your body.

“Wait,” you try to retort, but you have no choice. She’s dragging you to the edge of the pool and Johnny is walking right behind you, you’d be trapped either way.

“Here,” she says, coming to a stop when you reach the border of the pool. “Much better than sipping lemonade while reading a book all alone, right?”

“I don’t have a bikini,” you say, only now realizing you didn’t go downstairs for that.

“Are you wearing lace?” Johnny asks, walking so close that you can feel the heat of his body.

“Wh-why do you care?”

“Dummy,” he chuckles, “if you’re not, you can jump in anyway, it won’t ruin the lingerie.”

“Oh, of course, yeah, of course,” you mumble, looking away to don’t show how embarrassed you are. But their laughs —even if lighthearted— don’t help you at all, and you still feel trapped between them. “No, by the way, I have no reason to wear lace,” you add, trying to fill the silence.

“Really?” Aaliyah asks, tilting her head to the side. You turn around, facing the pool so you can look at them both —and fool yourself you have a way out now that your back is free.

“Well, yes… I’m… I’m not really people’s type,” you mutter, torturing the inside of your cheeks and your fingers.

Johnny snickers, “Weird, you look exactly like —” he doesn’t finish though, and you barely see the glance his wife gives him to stop him. “I’m sure you are someone’s type.”

You nod, but your brain is slowly melting, from the weather, from their closeness, and now because you can’t understand why she stopped him and what he truly wanted to say.

“Undress,” she says resolutely, and you’re brought back to earth, staring at her with wide eyes. “To swim… remember?” she finishes, head tilted to the side and a mocking smirk on her face. You know she’s having the time of her life watching you panic, you’re giving it all way, from the way your breath falters to the way your chest heavies.

“Sure, to swim,” you repeat but it’s more to ground yourself. You hope the water is freezing cold, so maybe your body can cool down, and so can your thoughts. You quickly lift your dress over your shoulders and by the time you can see again, you see them in the water, standing right in front of you, leaning against the other side of the pool.

“Are you coming?” Johnny asks, voice raspy but clear.

You hum, kneeling down, feeling the water with your hand. It’s not cold enough to calm you down and to make you take time, you have to jump in. So, you do. It’s not too deep and you can walk to them.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Aaliyah voices out, deeply breathing in the air and moving her fingers in abstract figures on the surface.

“Yeah. I…” you look down, watching your bra and how little it covers, the damp fabric highlighting your hard nipples even more.

“Shy?” It rolls from her tongue like venom, so sweet yet poisonous as her eyes lock in yours.

“No, no,” you laugh awkwardly. “Why would I?”

“We wouldn’t blame you, we can come off as quite intimidating at times,” Johnny says, the corner of his lips twitching in a smirk before it relaxes.

“You don’t intimidate me,” you lie, chuckling and crossing your arms on your chest.

She laughs. “My nipples are hard too, babe. It’s the cold,” she reassures you with a smile, but you don’t feel better. You’re not so sure it’s only the cold, you think they became this hard a few minutes ago when you were practically sandwiched between them.

“Why did you come here?” You ask out of nowhere, and their expressions change. “I’m sorry, it’s not like I don’t want you here,” you explain, “but you could do vacations on your own and don’t have to suffer through my father, so I don’t understand.”

“Thought we said not to talk about him?” She says, raising a brow.

“Well, I want to talk about you. You two have it all, you’re rich, powerful, smart, in love, and yet, you…” you float around me, always, constantly, “...you spend so little time together.”

Mr. Suh laughs, his head rolling back for a second. “We’re always together. I come home to her, not your father,” he jokes and she laughs, nodding in agreement.

“Also, this might not be the only vacation we will do this year. We always go to Santorini in September before Uni starts,” she adds.

You hum, biting the inside of your cheek.

“But let’s talk about you,” she says. “Why are you here? Your brothers didn’t come.”

“My brothers can do whatever they want, I can’t.”

“Why?” This time Johnny is the one asking.

“I’d let him down,” you add, lowering your gaze because you don’t like the look of pity behind their eyes. “But I don’t want to think about him. You’re good at diving,” you change the subject, addressing Johnny, hoping it will be enough to move the focus from you.

“Thanks,” he replies, a proud smirk on his face.

“Don’t stroke his ego, he’s going to jump again and splash around,” she jokes, rolling her eyes.

“You’re already wet, so why would it be a problem?” He smirks, and then turns to you and winks, making you choke on your own saliva, but you try to cover it up with a fit of cough, something that makes the couple giggle under their breath more.

Aaliyah swims to you, pushing you back so Johnny can have space and maybe don’t drown you with his jump. Your skin is on fire as her hands place on your back as she guides you and you’re thankful your feet can touch because you can barely walk, so imagine swimming.

“He was in the swimming team in high school,” Aaliyah explains, covering her eyes from the sun with a hand and squeezing them so she can watch Johnny. You mimic her, humming at her words. “He was so good, I think I fell in love on the bleachers watching him swim.”

You chuckle tenderly and try to imagine a younger version of them, and you can almost see them. You wonder if their personalities were the same more than ten years ago, you wonder how they looked, you wonder if they would’ve ever imagined to still be here after so many years. But in any version you come up with, you still don’t fit. Actually, it makes you look like a stain even more.

“Your love is… strong,” you whisper when Johnny finally dives in and she cheers before bringing her attention to you.

“It is,” she agrees, a sweet smile showing her straight, white teeth, “even though weird things happen sometimes.”

You giggle, frowning. “Weird things?” Your voice is shaking, and you don’t want to connect the two dots that are so vivid in your head.

“What are you talking about? Praising me?” Mr. Suh asks, grinning, running a hand in his wet hair before hugging his wife from the back and kissing her cheek.

“Not about you, nothing impressive about that jump,” she jokes. “About us.”

“Us?”

She hums. “I was telling her how I fell in love with you, and she said our love is strong.”

You want to ask about the weird things, you want to ask so much more, but you don’t. And you simply stand there, watching Mr. Suh’s hands wrap around her body, feeling jealousy in the pit of your stomach.

The whole thing gets more intense as time passes by. You’re curious about them, as individuals and as a couple, and you can’t deny the tension anymore. Not tonight.

The three of you haven’t really spoken, mostly because you slipped away as soon as you crossed ways, and after a few tries, they stopped trying to approach you. But the buzzing chemistry is strong across the room.

You try not to look at them, you even try to engage in conversation with your father —when he’s not attached to Mr. Suh’s ass— and some of his other friends, but it’s useless. Your head always turns in their direction, it’s almost like a voice is luring you in.

You guess you look dumb from the outside, and you’re sure that if you looked at yourself in the mirror you would tell yourself to work on the way you stare at —almost strangers— with eyes filled with lust. You don’t want to, you don’t want to look at them, even less with that wide-eyed gaze and agape mouth, but you can’t help it.

“Honey,” your mother’s voice scoffs, “what are you doing?”

You perceive her scolding —disgusted— gaze on you and you cough, looking at her to be met with her judging eyes. Typical of your mother, usually you only get her looks with no need for words to be added.

“Sorry, I was zoned out,” you justify, chuckling awkwardly, but it only makes her frown more and sigh. “I’m a bit tired,” you lie, trying to fool her.

“Just don’t look weird,” she dismisses you with a wave of hand. “Not more than the usual,” she adds, leaving you alone.

You roll your eyes, scoffing loudly once you’re sure she’s out of sight and then start walking to the table with the drinks. You’re not sure adding alcohol to the picture will make it better but who knows, maybe ending up passed out next to a toilet is better than lusting over a married couple that is probably just messing with you.

It doesn’t work.

You blame it on the hard drinks your friends make you drink when you go out, your alcohol tolerance must be out of the roof by now, but it doesn’t matter because your biggest problem still stands.

Your problem is standing on the other side of the room now that you’re sitting on some couches with the fourth drink in hand. You shouldn’t feel like this, stomach upside down and a frown hardening your beautiful features while you look at them. But you can’t help it. Mr. Suh’s hand sitting at the side of Aaliyah’s waist, his thumb rubbing soft circles over the maroon dress she’s wearing. You can’t hear her laugh as her head rolls back before falling on his shoulder at something the person they are talking to is saying, but your brain replays the sound anyway, and you smile.

The beam on your face drops quickly when her eyes lock into yours, Johnny is not looking, busy paying attention to the person in front of them, but her gaze is on you. It’s piercing even with the distance between you and it takes your breath away. You should make this look normal, raise a hand and wave with a small smile before turning away, but you don’t. You’re stuck, like you always are around them, and the only thing that moves is your heart, pounding fast and violently in your chest as you watch her every move, one hand bringing a glass to her lips and the other meeting Johnny’s on her waist. You’d love to roll your eyes and huff ‘he’s yours, we get it,’ but you only feel a stinging pain in your heart, and a less painful one, well… somewhere else.

The spell breaks when she turns around, eyes on her husband and laughing again as if nothing happened, almost as if you’re not even in the room anymore.

Your shoulders drop, your breath gets normal again, and your head lowers. It’s not normal to feel like this, especially when it all feels like a mockery at times. You know there’s no space for you. You can’t be her and run your fingers in his hair without getting scowled at for ruining it. You can’t be her and kiss him on the lips and chuckle when he rubs your nose against yours. You can’t be her and see him in the comfort of when he wakes up or goes to bed.

But you play and play, and fool yourself you can, getting lost in those fantasies. You need a breath of fresh air.

Just like the alcohol, the minutes spent outside to cool your body and mind don’t work. When you go back to sit at your spot, you realize they’re sitting opposite to you. You’d leave again but you have no excuse, and it would become even more awkward now that your father sits next to you. But it’s fine, they’re talking again with someone else and you can focus on what your father is saying. Or maybe not, his conversation with another one of his intellectual friends is boring, nothing interesting comes from his mouth, just old, recurrent, wrong takes. You’d get in the conversation, just to feel something else that night and end up in a discussion with your dad because you need to prove him wrong, but your brain is somewhere else.

Once again, in front of you. Mrs. Suh is sitting on Johnny’s lap, somehow her back manages to stay straight even if she’s not resting against anything, her long legs are elegantly crossed by the ankle and one of her arms is wrapped around his shoulder. You recognize the person in front of them, Mr. Kim Doyoung, a math professor, and you question how they know each other but it gets swiped from your mind quickly.

You hate how close they are. Their touches so subtle and yet so loud making it feel like they’re rubbing it in your face. You hate how people look at them, with so much awe and affection, you feel like only you can look at them like that. And you feel stupid, it is stupid.

But then it happens again, this time it’s Mr. Suh the one looking at you. All the anger and jealousy fly away. Thousands of eyes on them, and he’s still looking at you. His wife is in his arms, and he’s still looking at you. Your father is at your side, and he’s still looking at you.

You gulp, shifting on the spot to try to get comfortable and stop the painful throbbing between your legs, but it’s impossible.

Mr. Suh’s lips flicker in a small smirk, and then his brow rises, there’s also a small raise of the cup he’s holding, and you immediately turn around, just to make sure your father is not looking. You can’t believe he’s so bold, flirting —or whatever he is doing— not only in a full room but with your dad by your side.

You should hate it, you should leave, maybe even confront him, but you don’t. You’re actually quite ashamed the whole thing turns you on. It’s hot, and taboo, and taboo but hot. And come on, you’ve been subtly flirting with a married couple, this shouldn’t be the worst thing, but it feels like it. Because your father worships them, everybody in that room praises them, wants to be like them, and thinks they only have eyes for each other, but they don’t, even if it’s only a naughty game, their eyes are on you.

It’s you.

Their eyes skim around the room playing hide and seek with yours. Their hands tickle your skin in secret. Their bodies speak to you.

The whole room fades in the background, all the tension, all the problems, gone.

It’s only you and them.

Eventually, you start spending more and more time at their place. You tell yourself it’s because they’re easygoing and you can easily escape from your house —to be more precise, from your father. But the truth is, you’re starting to enjoy them more and more.

You still feel out of place sometimes, but it quickly fades away when they notice their conversation push you out by quickly pulling you back in, making light jokes you can understand, or asking about your day. You realize Mrs. Taylor tends to pick up on you quicker than Mr. Suh, while he prefers to ease you with tender touches, and you wonder if he knows the effect they have on you.

You still don’t open up to them much, fearing that if they discovered more, they’d quickly stop giving you attention.

Attention.

That’s another thing you enjoy about being with them. You feel seen. Even if their chemistry is over the roof, they never leave you out, you’re not a tapestry with them. They listen to you, even if you don’t say much, even if you stumble on your words and only give them a small peek. They look at you with sweet smiles on their faces and hum interested, holding conversation with ease.

And shamefully, the thing you love the most, they pamper you. It’s not like you’re poor —even if you have decided to don’t ask for money from your father, some privileges from your wealthy family come anyway— but they still spoil you. Expensive dinners in places you honestly never even wanted to set foot inside. Expensive clothes you doubt you even have the occasion to wear. They even gifted you a Cartier necklace that you keep stored away as your most treasured possession.

But their attentions aren’t only economical, they spoil you with homemade dinners at their place, movie night on their couch, and something more…

You lost count by now of how many times they get you alone and flirt with you, teasing you, watching you get flustered, chuckling at the way your breath falters when their fingers brush your skin or hair. It’s like a dirty game, you are their dirty game. But you don’t hate it. You know they both know what they’re doing, but you love this secrecy, the way you’re their trophy in plain sight and yet a dirty secret they have to hide from each other. It makes you feel wanted, desperately wanted.

And soon enough, you find yourself playing that game, too.

You wear your best outfits when you pass by the University, skin-tight skirts or pants, and just as skimpy blouses or tops with the excuse to borrow books from the library and say hi. Your lips are tinted red for Mr. Suh when he asks you if you want to pass in his office to help him with some lectures, and brown for Mrs. Suh when you casually pass by her firm for lunch or after work. Your hair is always in different hairstyles until you start to stick with the ones you see they like the most. And slowly, you gain some confidence to flirt back.

Your remarks are subtle, and your gaze shies away when they hold eye contact and only giggle or smirk teasingly. But it’s something.

Or so you think.

One second, you’re confident, and the other you feel like you’re making the biggest mistake of your life. You start wondering if you’re pathetic in their eyes and are nothing more but a plaything for them to toy with and discharge when they’ll get tired of you. But nobody ever complimented you this much, calling you beautiful, caressing your face, loving the outfits you put together, and, most importantly, didn’t make you feel dumb. So it feels impossible to pull away from them. Even when your father starts getting mad at you about it.

He’s not dumb, and he has seen the way you and Mr. Suh sit in a corner and talk, he has seen that he greets you before anybody else —even before him— and he doesn’t like it.

“Johnny and Aaliyah have a beautiful relationship,” he starts, scolding you, “don’t try to screw it up, you’re not half of her worth.”

And that’s the first time you cry at night about it. You don’t want to listen to him, but you can’t help but question why they would choose you. Even if it’s just a game, even if it means nothing, you can’t find a reason why. You don’t know who started this first, but it’s not like it would be any different, they’re both hot, smart, talented and successful, and your father is right, you’re not half of her, or his, worth.

Yet, you can’t let it go.

If you know their townhouse by heart, you can’t say the same for their holiday house. It’s your first time being there after they invited you to their getaway weekend. You didn’t hesitate to say yes, pack your best things and leave.

You didn’t want to wander around but they left you all alone and didn’t show much of the house, so you took this opportunity to see a bit more.

The place is big; in the spacious hall, you’re met with the stairs once you enter, the big living room and on the right there’s the kitchen with a grand island in the middle and the table in front of the wide window. Farther down the corridor there’s a small bathroom and a room you couldn’t open. You’d like to go outside in the garden and chill next to the pool or under the porch, but it’s like upstairs is calling you.

On the first floor, there are the bedrooms and a studio. Your room —well, the guest room— is at the end of the corridor with a big bathroom next to it, while their room is at the end of the stairs, or so you guess.

You don’t want to pry, but curiosity’s got the best of you, especially after trying to open that room downstairs that won’t open. But you know you don’t want to find the keys to that room when you enter their bedroom —yes, you do, but that’s not the main thing.

Your lips part when you enter. It’s bigger than yours, with white walls and wide windows that let the light shine in making it seem even bigger. The big bed is against the wall that faces the door, and right next to the windows, there’s a small sitting room with a two-seat couch and two armchairs.

You should stop and don’t step further but you don’t listen to your brain.

On the wall in front of the bed, there’s a fireplace and on top of it there’s a television that takes half of the wall. At the sides, there are recessed shelves in the wall with books and elegant boxes, a lamp in front of it, and a lounge chair.

There are other lamps, all seem to be design pieces. Two long bedside tables that seem to be vanity desks of marble black. Some beautiful paintings are on the walls and you frown when you can’t recognize the artist, but they picture women and nature and you find them mesmerizing.

Then your eyes are caught by a rectangular red box placed against the wall at the side of the bed, it’s bigger than the bench at the end of the bed, and something about it screams at you to open it.

You shouldn’t, you feel like you’re invading their privacy —and well, you are— but you don’t stop.

You kneel in front of it, and a part of you hopes it’s locked somehow so that you can walk out of there and pretend nothing happened. But there’s no lock or key, you just have to lift the lid to see what’s inside.

Your lips part and a gasp comes out of your mouth when your eyes see what’s inside. You freeze. Close it and leave. Your brain screams, but you’re stuck, eyes blinking as you try to make sure you’re not making it all up.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, hand falling from the lid to shakily touch what’s inside. There are other boxes but, for now, you don’t care to open them and only grab what you can see. Handcuffs, blindfolds, what seem to be whips but they all have different shapes and you don’t get the differences, ropes and other items you can’t name. The closed boxes have labels on them, lingerie, anal, vibrators, and dildos.

Your hands grab one, opening it, inspecting what’s inside with surprise and curiosity, and then another, and another. To be honest, you don’t know why you are so shocked, you own some toys —a vibrator and a small dildo— but you’ve seen much more than that, and it shouldn’t be surprising that a couple like the Suhs have freaky, kinky sex. Yet, it’s overwhelming you.

You are so caught up looking into the box that you don’t hear the door open and Aaliyah stand behind you with just a rope wrapped around her body.

“Looking for something?”

One of the boxes falls from your hand when Mr. Suh’s voice resonates in the room and you jump around in fear.

You mumble no sense, starting to panic while your eyes dart around the room for an escape. There would be many, the room is all windows and you could easily jump off the balcony to put an end to how embarrassed you feel right now, but you can’t.

Their gazes are piercing you and pinning you down against the floor and a feeble “I’m sorry,” is all you can say before your throat goes completely dry.

They snicker, starting to walk over you and you take a step back, but almost fall into the box. You don’t, not because your brain started to work again, but because Mrs. Suh has her arms wrapped around you to keep you from being bent in half into that.

“Careful, you don’t want to hurt yourself,” she says, a veil of genuine concern and something else, a lot of something else, that you can’t decipher.

“I told you she was curious,” Johnny says, talking to her once she lets you go after she makes sure you can stand on your feet.

“I — I don’t know why I did that, I’m sorry,” you mumble, looking down and torturing your hands, but the toys abandoned on the floor only make you look outside. “I thought you were out.”

“I was,” Johnny says, “went buy something sweet for you. But it looks like you’ll get something sweeter tonight.”

Your brain panics, trying to assimilate everything they said to you. “You — you were home the entire time?”

She smirks. “Didn’t hear the water running?”

You sigh defeated, pressing your lips together and shaking your head.

Johnny chuckles before kneeling and talking to you again, “You’re lucky we didn’t want to use these on you tonight, I’m not really in the mood to clean them all up,” he says as he puts the dildos back in the box and set it aside, outside of the container so he remembers to clean them.

“On — on me?” You mumble still struggling to breathe.

Aaliyah hums. “All this teasing has to go somewhere, right?”

“I — I…” You — You… you wished this so much that now that is happening you don’t know how to feel anymore.

“You don’t want us?” Johnny asks with genuine care and your eyes widen, terrified they will get the wrong idea.

“No, I do, I do, but I don’t want to — I… I promise I’m not weird, I don’t even know why I came here, or why I opened that, it’s just so eye-catching, it’s red and nothing in this room is red, and…”

Your rant gets interrupted by two lips on yours. You don’t know who it is at first, eyes closed and brain and heart going off like sirens, running around with their non-existent hands in the air. But then an arm wraps around you and pulls you close, and you realize it’s her. It’s her soft yet firm touch, it’s her body against yours.

And then you’re trapped again, Johnny is behind you, and you feel small and powerless.

“We’re not mad at you, honey,” he says, fingers running against your neck as he moves your hair back, “we’re kinda glad you snooped around, we weren’t really sure how to initiate this.”

“Oh,” you gasp. “But I’m not weird, I’m not a stalker, I promise.”

“We know,” she stops you again, chuckling, “maybe you wanted to get caught. Johnny called your name when he was downstairs, you didn’t hear him?”

Your lips spread partially as you try to remember but you’re sure you didn’t hear his voice or the shower. “No, I… I think I was too caught in… into… well…”

They snicker.

“Naughty girl,” she mocks, gently cupping your chin. “Found something interesting?”

“Uhm, no…”

“No?” Johnny asks and you feel something against your bare thighs —wearing shorts was a bad idea. It has fringes and it tickles. “Not even this?”

You look down and see the black flogger in his hands and you gulp. “I never tried any of these before… I’m not even sure how some of these things can bring pleasure.”

Aaliyah chuckles, shaking her head. “Oh, babydoll, you’d be surprised.”

“You want to tie me?” You ask innocently and they laugh.

“Nah, seems a bit cruel for our first time, don’t you think?” Johnny says, hands wrapping around your stomach.

First time? There will be another one? You think but you don’t ask. You probably already look depraved enough to their eyes, you don’t want to make it worse.

“So, want to have fun with us?”

“Yeah…”

“Hesitating?” She questions, caressing your cheek to soothe you but her touch only makes your body buzz in excitation.

“No, I still don’t get why you would want me,” you whisper, diverting your gaze.

“Have you taken a look in the mirror?” He says, big hands caressing your waist and lips brushing against your neck.

You shake your head. “I still think I don’t fit between you…”

She grabs your chin, lifting your head. “Then why don’t you stop thinking tonight, mhh? We’ll give you a reason to believe why you do fit, instead?” Her hands grab yours and she places them on the tie of her robe, if your fingers move and you let it fall to the ground the whole night will bloom. The consequences could be tragic, tomorrow could be the worst day of your life, but tonight might be the best one.

You don’t hesitate anymore; you’re curious, you’re needy, and you badly want to be pressed between them and feel their skin against yours, so your fingers dance on the tie and pull the robe open.

Your lips part to let out a gasp when her naked body unreveals to your eyes, and you get lost in it. Your eyes move up and down, taking in her perky, round boobs, her darker nipples hardening at the cool air of the room, and then they go down, to her toned stomach you have already seen before until they reach her soft hips, you bite your lips when your eyes fall between her legs, perfectly trimmed black hair covering her most intimate part, and lastly on her soft thighs and long legs.

“You’re beautiful,” you breathe out, feeling you could collapse just from the view, and you start wondering if you can take Johnny too.

Her lips lift in a smile and her hands wander on your body where her husband’s hands are leaving your body untouched. You press your lips together to don’t moan already, it would be so humiliating to do so, but it’s almost as if they know.

“Don’t hold back,” Johnny whispers against your ear, shivers running down your spine. “We take pride in what we do, and want to hear you.”

You hum, nodding fast before you feel dizzy when he pushes your shorts down, his body lowering to accompany them on the floor, his hot breath hitting your exposed skin before his lips leave kisses on your thighs and ass.

Aaliyah is busy taking care of your top, lifting your arms to reveal your bare chest. Your first instinct is to cover yourself, but she stops you with a stern look and a “Don’t.” Her voice is sultry, sweet like honey and intoxicating, and you can only obey. “It’s not fair when I’m so bare at your eyes, don’t you think so?”

“Yes,” you manage to breathe out, and then turn your head to stare at Johnny, the only one who’s completely covered. You don’t say anything, but your eyes speak louder than any word. You’re basically imploring him to show himself to you, your eagerness is burning out of you, yet he mocks you with a smirk and then a scoff.

“Later, honey,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Don’t be greedy. Too much on your plate, then you can’t chew.”

His wife snickers, pushing him back from you. “Follow me,” she says, giving you a reassuring smile before turning around and walking toward the bed.

You hesitate, looking back at Johnny, asking his permission, and when he nods, you still feel stuck there. You need a light push from him to start moving your feet and follow her on the Wyoming king bed.

“I didn’t think you would be so shy, doll,” she points out, watching you hesitantly climb on the bed and crawl to her.

“She’s not,” Johnny replies for you, “she’s just playing with us.”

You stop in your tracks, looking back at him, mumbling to come up with a reply. But you stop thinking when her chest presses against your back and she turns your head to kiss you. Her hand reaches out to call Johnny to join you, but you don’t think about him until you feel the bed bend with his weight and then his hands on your thighs.

“Or maybe she just needs to ease into us,” she suggests. You catch she’s telling him something, it’s a quick conversation with eyes and mouthed words; you don’t get it, but you don’t care to get it.

You trust them. And you like the thrill of being at their mercy with no idea of what they truly want to do with you.

So, you let them. You let them move you, shifting around you as their hands gently push you flat against the bed and their lips start tracing your shivering skin. You hate that Johnny is still dressed but that thought quickly leaves your mind —or better, doesn’t annoy you that much anymore— when his fingers hook on the band of your panties and pull them off.

You squirm, hiding your face against Aaliyah’s arms but they’re quick at reassuring you.

“Stop hiding away,” Johnny says, “you’re beautiful, honey.”

But your confidence it’s not the problem. You’ve never been the centre of attention, you never had two pairs of eyes, lips, and hands on you. You don’t know how to cope with all of this.

You gasp when her lips wrap around your hard nipple and she starts sucking. And you can’t control your hips when his hands brush against the apex of your thighs before lingering over your sensitive pussy.

“Can I taste you?” Johnny asks, softly caressing your skin.

“Yes, you can.” You’re already short on air as you watch him lower his head, his eyes intensely staring straight into yours, making you feel so small and yet so safe.

Your legs go weak as soon as his plump lips touch your sensitive clit, he’s only leaving delicate kisses on you and small kitten licks but that’s not the only stimulation you’re receiving, Aaliyah’s mouth and fingers lick and pinch on your sensitive nipples are not helping you calm down.

“Oh my god,” you curse, rolling your head back when he starts eating you out for real. Tongue working with precision from your leaking slit to your throbbing clit, not leaving a patch untouched. His hold on you is firm, big hands keeping you spread, massaging your skin to help you relax even more, but with no room for movement.

“Look at you,” she teases, pulling away from your boob to pay attention to your face, “so wrecked and we barely even started. You love the way my husband is eating you out?”

Your eyes open to meet hers, and you regret it right away, the intensity of her gaze making you feel something you’ve never felt before. Sure, she carried around an intimidating vibe, but that kind of aura disappeared as the months passed and you grew closer, but this, this is different. She is dominant and firm, yet somehow you can always find that veil of care that characterized her.

You try to answer, afraid not receiving a verbal response will disappoint her, but your throat lets out an embarrassing whimper followed by a broken moan.

She snickers, shaking her head, and caressing your cheeks so gently it feels like she’s mocking you. “I know, doll, I know, he’s good with his mouth.”

You cry out in embarrassment but your head rolls back when Johnny sucks harshly on your clit and his hands move down to keep your pussy spread.

“Taste so good,” he mumbles pressed against your skin, the vibrations driving you insane. “So wet for us, you wanted this so bad, didn’t you? Our desperate toy, we made you wait for so long.”

You’d love to scream that yes, this took too long, but nothing comes out of your mouth. You somehow find the strength to look up, much with the help of Aaliyah who places an arm under your head for support, and you feel your stomach tighten up at the view.

Johnny looks like a starving man, messily lapping at your aching pussy, devouring you with his face buried between your legs, nose pressed against your mound. He’s so caught up he probably doesn’t even realize he tugs you closer when his arms wrap around your thighs.

Your eyes shut down and for a moment the image of the usual him crosses your mind. There’s nothing of the composed, elegant, and polite man you know, that man that your father loves so much, the same man that if he saw him right now, would have a heart attack. But you quickly push him out of your mind. You have no other choice when Aaliyah’s fingers add to the mess between your legs, and you bite your lips so hard you almost bleed.

“Too much,” you cry out, looking for mercy in her eyes when she draws them from her husband and your cunt to your face.

“Too much?” She coos with a condescending tone. “You’re bucking your hips against his face and want me to believe it’s too much?”

You groan loudly, giving up as your head falls against the mattress again. Her arm is not there anymore as she’s using it to support her body to tease you, and your neck has no more strength to watch him have the time of his life between your thighs.

But you’re not the only one groaning; Johnny’s moaning too, getting drunk in your juices and falling into madness as he tries to ease the painful boner in his tight jeans, grinding against the mattress for comfort.

“You’re so hot you’re making him hump the mattress, babydoll,” she points out. “That’s the effect you have on him. Still doubt you’re not enough?”

You don’t, not right now, you don’t want to think about it. Still, you shake your head, earning a soft, pleased smile and a “Good girl.”

It makes your stomach tighten, your toes curl, and your hands clench around the sheets. “Johnny,” you whisper, keeping your mouth parted as you try to let more air in, it’s a beg for release but you can’t find the words to let it all out.

The way you moan his name, so shyly, so weakly, a bit for the pleasure, a bit because you feel like it doesn’t belong to you —God if he finds it endearing the way you still call them Mr. and Mrs. Suh sometimes— makes his heart pound and his dick ache. You’re so fragile in their hands, right now, in his. He had wished to have you like this for so long; since his wife first brought you up and he started to look at you in a different light. Every time you spoke your mind during dinners, coming up with something that was too smart for your father to comprehend until he proposed the same point of view, only changing a few things. You deserved to be lifted on the table and eaten out like this. And the more you two talked, or your hands brushed timidly, the more he felt addicted. He couldn’t stop thinking of you.

And that was crazy, because the only woman he ever had was his wife, and never he would’ve imagined he could feel so attracted to someone that wasn’t her. And yet, the three of you are here, in the same bed, in the same mess.

When you call out his name again, he snaps out of his thoughts and looks up at you, the eye contact makes your head spin and you hold onto Aaliyah’s wrists. You feel like the orgasm will make you fly away, but before that, Johnny will kill you with just one look.

“Please,” you cry out, begging to be spared, or maybe not, maybe begging to be ended, begging for the release, begging to reach the best orgasm of your life.

“Let go, honey, come in my mouth,” his deep, sultry voice is the final strike that sends you over the edge. Body convulsing in his hold as he keeps you down and keeps sucking and licking you, eagerly swallowing your sweet cum, and moaning vulgarly against your burning hot skin.

You feel dizzy and high, and your body slumps against the soft mattress when your first orgasm ends.

“Want to see you,” you cry out, trying to lift your body and reach for him, but your limbs quickly give up.

Aaliyah chuckles, and you turn to face her. “We need to work on your stamina.”

You pout as you justify yourself, “It was too good, and I haven’t come like this in — well, never.”

Johnny chuckles, smirking proudly before he stands up at the edge of the bed. “Want to see me, honey?”

You nod with enthusiasm, biting your lips as your heart thuds in excitement. Your eyes lock with his fingers that are moving way too slow on their way to unbutton the shirt. But after what feels like an eternity, the blouse meets the floor, leaving uncovered his toned chest, arms and beautiful tattoos adorning the skin of his shoulder. But it’s not like you haven’t seen that before.

“What?” You scream annoyed when she covers your view, standing on her knees between you and her husband, giggling at your disappointment.

“He needs a hand, baby,” she chuckles and you huff again. Of course, they would fuck with you some more.

Every sound drives you more insane; you bite the inside of your cheek when you hear the belt open, and your heels tap against the mattress when the zip comes down, lastly, you groan in disbelief when you hear his pants and belt hit the floor.

“Please,” you whine, closed fists slapping against the bed.

“Fine, greedy little thing,” Johnny chuckles, and so does she as they finally give you what you want.

Your eyes and lips widen, and you gulp. “Oh… wow…”

They laugh, it’s a soft sound that creates a beautiful harmony, and even if they’re making fun of you, it warms your heart. The next thing they do is crawl to you to kiss you.

It starts with a soft peck on your lips, their mouths on yours meeting almost shyly, and then it gets heated, teeth and tongue clashing together as all of you try to have a taste of each other.

“Don’t worry, you can take it,” she reassures, kissing your lips, hands travelling down your stomach until it reaches your throbbing clit and starts moving in circles, making you gasp against their lips.

“I don’t think I can,” you mumble, glossy eyes looking into his first and then moving to hers. “Maybe you should.”

“Oh, I do, trust me,” she replies, smirking before kissing your neck.

“Tonight is about you,” Johnny reminds you, doing the same as she’s doing but on the other side. “It will fit.”

“Mhh,” you mumble, feeling weak and overwhelmed.

“Let me make sure it will fit,” she sings happily, now taking the spot between your legs.

You moan against Johnny’s mouth when her finger pushes inside you, humming in delight as she feels how wet you are. You can’t see her, eyes closed as you get lost in the kiss, but just her presence is enough to make you tremble.

“Look at you, it’s so easy to turn you into a puddle,” she teases, watching as you can barely kiss Johnny back. Something about the kiss you and her husband are sharing makes her head spin. There’s something about you, something new, something they’ve never had before. You’re so delicate, like a flower, and your petals fall perfectly between them. Just like right now, she’s sure there’s nothing in your brain, and yet your lips follow Johnny’s, messily meeting him in that slow, yet passionate kiss.

Your body reacts so nicely to their hands running on your skin, cupping and groping at your soft boobs to stimulate you everywhere as she works the second finger inside of you. They are experts at what they’re doing, sending shivers all over your body and pushing you further down into that haze.

“You’re taking my fingers so well, you’re so eager to feel Johnny inside, aren’t you?”

You mumble a reply as you finally pull away from Johnny, a thread of spit still connecting your lips, but you don’t notice until he breaks it off. “Want to feel him.”

They snicker, and then their lips are on you; Johnny’s busy leaving pecks on your neck before he pays attention to your nipples, and Aaliyah is focused on kissing your inner thigh and tummy as her fingers still curl inside of you.

“I don’t think you’re ready, yet, pretty girl,” she hums, curling the tips up and hitting your sensitive spot. That action makes your hips buck from the mattress and causes a louder moan to slip through your tortured plump lips. “So wet, dripping all over my fingers. I bet you taste so good, maybe I’ll get a taste one day, uhm?”

You squeeze your eyes, uselessly trying to calm your breath, it’s pathetic how fast your chest is moving in erratic movements, and how your hips squirm to search for more, even if one of their hands is on your stomach to keep you in place. You don’t reply but you internally scream that yes, you want her. You want to feel her soft, full lips on you, you wonder if she’s eager like Johnny or more meticolous, if she moans loudly or keeps quiet. You don’t know, but the mere idea makes a growl roll from your lips.

“She’s good with her fingers, isn’t she?” Johnny’s deep voice hits your ear, and you feel your body melt. Your head moves quickly to agree as you turn to the side to face him. He’s staring at you with a sly smirk on his face and before you can stop him, you feel his long fingers on your clit. You bite back a moan and try to plead with your eyes but it’s useless. Neither of them wants to stop.

“What, princess? We have to make sure you’re ready to take my dick,” he whispers, shushing your senseless sounds with a kiss.

You bite his lips by mistake when she pushes a third finger inside, eyes wide both in surprise and in a silent apology to Johnny.

“Too much,” you cry out.

But she tsks, shaking her head. “You have to be all stretched out for him, doll. You don’t want to break, do you?”

You shake your head before it rolls back, and your face contorts more. You don’t want to break but you feel like you might explode from this alone. She’s incredibly skilled in what she’s doing, it’s like her fingers are pumping and curling following the rhythm of a melody only she can hear, they hit you deep and fast, not giving you time to recover from each profound push.

“Just a few pumps and then he’ll fuck you exactly like you want,” she encourages you, her dark brown eyes looking softly at you, curling up in a sweet smile.

It takes you less than a few pumps to come undone, you don’t even see the orgasm coming when it washes over you, knocking air out of your lungs. It’s her two fingers pumping into you, curling and scissoring, after she pulled the third out to move faster, it’s Johnny’s thumb on your clit, flicking it swiftly, and his lips on your nipple, sucking harshly. But mostly, it’s them, the warmth of their bodies wrapping around you, intoxicating you like a drug that takes its sweet time to kick in.

Your body shakes, trapped between the mattress and their big bodies, and you feel like the room is spinning around you.

“You come so easily,” she mocks, pulling her fingers out once she’s sure you’re done, and slapping your clit, making you hiss.

Easily. If that was nothing to her…

“Naughty girl,” Johnny scoffs, pulling away from you and you whine when their hot bodies are not on you anymore.

You sigh, thinking since when you’re so pathetic and needy? You truly can’t last more than ten seconds without having them all over you?

“If you were ours that wouldn’t have gone unpunished,” he says, settling between your legs and spreading them apart. You barely noticed them moving around, already too far gone to be aware of what is going on around you. His intense gaze makes you shiver and more cum oozes out of your already messy, wet cunt. Johnny takes a deep breath, getting lost in the sight of you, your face is wrecked, your lips parted, your eyes watery, your boobs are heaving, and your hips are moving around, pleading him to fuck you. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful, honey.”

The compliment makes your heart swell and you weakly smile back at him.

“Come on, fuck her already,” Aaliyah encourages him, pushing his hips closer as she stands at his side, “she deserves it.”

You gasp under your breath when his hands wrap around the back of your knees and, with a strong tug, he pulls your body against his, the tip of his dick slapping against your core. He moves one hand down to grab the base and pushes his cock against your slit, it feels like forever as he rubs his leaking tip against your clit and every now and then pushes against your opening that’s fluttering, begging him to fill you up already.

“Johnny,” Aaliyah scolds sternly, looking at him up and down, and her dominance at the moment makes you shiver and moan, shamelessly. You try to close your legs to hide the effect it had on you but they both push them open, and somehow, the way they’re not paying attention to you, eyes locked into each others, and still have you under control, makes you whine even louder. “Stop teasing her,” she orders, cupping his chin and pulling him closer. “Don’t you see how badly she wants you? Dripping on the sheets like a kitten in heat?”

You frown at her comment even if well, she’s right. You’re sure you’ve never been this wet your entire life.

“As you wish, milady,” he jokes and in a second, he’s inside of you.

“Fuck,” you scream at the stretch, even if he didn’t bottom in, you still feel like you can barely breathe. “Oh, shit.”

“Damn, honey, I’m not even halfway in,” he comments, stopping and looking at you with a worried face.

“No, I’m fine, I was — too caught up,” too caught up in you two and I barely remember my name.

Aaliyah snickers, shaking her head. “You’re so cute, doll,” she hums, caressing your thigh, “just relax and take him all, uhm? He’s going to fuck you so well,” she says before addressing her husband, “right, Johnny?”

Johnny nods, smirking playfully before sinking further until his entire length is in.

Your head rolls back while pleasure dissipates inside your body, he fills you perfectly, stretching you so nicely. You feared it was going to be more painful, but it feels so good, and the pairs of hands soothing your skin are helping you calm down.

Johnny pulls you closer, beginning to slowly move his hips, hissing under his breath while your walls flutter around him so nicely, your wet, warm hole welcoming him with ease now that you’re not tense anymore.

And then it happens, for the first time that night, they kiss. You bite your lips with force as your eyes bore holes in them. Their lips move on their own, doing what they have been doing for a life now, and their hands pull each other close. You’ve seen them in similar circumstances before, but this, this, is different. Johnny is kissing his wife while he’s buried deep inside of you, one hand on the small of her back, the other keeping you spread, her hand tangled in his long, brown locks and the other intertwined with yours at your side.

Everything is oddly romantic and erotic at the same time. Everything makes perfect sense and no sense at all. But it’s fine. Tonight, you don’t want to think, you don’t want to worry, you want to roll around in this mess of limbs and skin and feel. Feel alive and loved. Even if it might be an illusion.

“Fuck, baby,” they moan when they pull apart, giggling at the way they’re in sinch even if for different things. Their eyes are on you again and while Johnny praises how good you feel, she praises how well you’re taking him.

And your heart jumps around while a dumb, drunk-in-love smile plasters on your face. But it swiftly drops when she moves up again to whisper something in Johnny’s ear. You try to study his expression, something flickers in his eyes, and they darken even more, you even feel his dick twitch inside of you, but you can’t make out anything of what she says.

Then Johnny’s hips come to an alt, and your throat dries.

“We were thinking you got to come two times already,” he starts, licking his lips, “and while I’m having fun with you, you will agree we kinda neglected Aaliyah, right?”

You nod quickly, eyes moving between the couple in swift motions.

“So, what do you think about turning around and eating her out while I keep fucking you?”

It’s like your brain sparks up and shuts down at the same time at his words. You nod eagerly, mumbling ‘yes’ while a small, fucked out smile creeps on your face.

“You want me, baby?” She asks, voice slurring out of her lips like velvet.

“Yes, please, want you so bad,” you reply, body buzzing in excitement as you take her body in.

You don’t have time to complain when Johnny pulls out of you, he swiftly turns you around, strong arms moving you as if you’re nothing for him, and given all the weights he lifts at the gym, it is nothing. Your body moves on its own, ass perking up while your face lowers down, close to the soft, perfumed sheets but not enough that you can’t use your lips.

And there she is, resting against the headboard with her legs spread right in front of your face. Her pussy’s dripping, clit throbbing in anticipation, and you envy how good she has been to hold it back for so long.

And even if your eyes are curious and sparkle with lust, she can sense your hesitation. “Come on, don’t be shy,” she encourages you, one hand gently cupping the back of your head, massaging your scalp, “don’t tell me it’s your first time.”

Well… not exactly, but you weren’t a pro at this either.

“Oh, you’re always on the receiving end?” She snickers, looking down at you. Eyes piercing you, pinning you down in your place. She has this thing, it’s like magic, one look and you’re right where she wants you, how she wants you.

“Mostly…” you admit shyly, looking down again.

“Well, time to change that,” she says before pushing you against her pussy.

Your lips move shily at first, it’s almost as if you’re testing the ground. Kitten licks are all you give her, licking up her sweet cum while your nose rubs against her clit. You breathe deep, getting lost in her aroma.

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” she praises, hand still caressing you but not pressing you down. If it was somebody else —even Johnny— she wouldn’t have hesitated to do so, but with you, she wants to take it slow and guide you through it.

You moan against her when Johnny pushes in again, this time he doesn’t wait before his hips start slamming against you, but he’s not going too fast. And the pleasure he’s fucking into you urges you to do better. You try to do what Johnny did to you before and every other person you’ve been with, and be better than the other times you’ve eaten pussy before.

“Yes, pretty girl, focus on the clit,” she instructs you, moving her hand down to caress your neck, and when you comply, a deep guttural moan rips from her throat. She hums in delight and your heart flips with pride. “Use your tongue.”

You hesitately stick your pink muscle out and poke it at her entrance but she stops you with a click of her tongue, “No, doll, up and down, come on, you can do it.” When your tongue starts doing that, licking her from the bottom of her entrance to the top, flicking your tip right under the hood of her clit, her legs shake and she pushes down a hiss. “So, so good, babydoll.”

“Shit, you’re so hot,” Johnny moans behind you, his hands holding tightly to your waist as he fucks you on his dick. He never imagined he’d be so turned on by this, but fuck, this is the dream. Seeing his wife’s face while you pleasure her, hearing her moan because of somebody else mouth, especially yours, makes him feel something he never felt before.

“You’re so good, doll. Such a fast learner, aren’t you? So eager to please us. So eager to be a good girl for us,” she moans, her fingers inevitably clenching around the roots of your hair when you suck hard on her clit. You seem to have found your scheme, keeping her pussy spread while your tongue runs on her labia and then your lips wrap around her clit, swift flicks of your tongue and shy hands testing what’s better.

You nod against her without pulling away, you could, but you don’t want to. You want to get drunk in her juices, you want to feel her thighs clench around your head —even if she’s trying hard not to do so— you want to hear her deep, intoxicating moans, you want her to pull your hair harder.

“Yes, you are,” she coos, meeting your half-lidded eyes, pushing down a guttural moan when a lonely tear rolls down your cheek, “you’re such a greedy little thing. One person it’s not enough for you, you need more. Is this enough or do you need even more, ugh? Bet you’d love it if we both fucked you at the same time.” Her condescending tone sends your brain into a spiral, you feel empty and yet overflowing, but you can’t reply. Johnny’s fucking you mercilessly now, big dick hitting you deep, striking all the right spots, and even if you’re giving something to her, you have zero control. You’re at their mercy, small and powerless, flushed between their bodies as you somehow do something like a robot.

“Loving eating her pussy while I fuck you hard?” This time is Johnny the one teasing you, his voice deeper but he gives no sign of slowing down, even if the pleasure is getting to him, you know it from his grunts and the way his hips falter every now and then. “Bet it feels so good to be muddy in our hands and have no worries in the world, right? You’re perfect here, nobody to impress,” he moans, leaning closer, his lips brushing your ear while his body presses you closer against the bed, “no father to make happy. Just us. Honestly,” he groans, pulling back, squeezing your hips before driving all the way in with a decisive thrust, sending you forward, “he’d have a heart attack if he saw you like this.”

You whine, your laments muffled by Aaliyah’s body, and you feel like you could explode. Is this why you like being with them so much? Because the fact that they like you so much proves your father wrong? The very people that he worships are busy worshipping his daughter while he trashes her around. But you don’t want to think of him, one, it could ruin your orgasm, two, you have them, and that’s all that matters. And to be honest, you love being with them so much because they value you and appreciate you for who you truly are.

You pull away, letting your fingers take the place of your mouth, rubbing on her clit while you talk, “want you, want more, please.”

“More? What’s more than this?” Johnny asks, snickering.

“Sit on my face?” You ask shily while you look up at her, cum and spit dripping down your chin, eyes glossy with tears.

She loses herself in the sight of you. You’re perfect even if you look like a mess, even if your eyes roll back and your lips part open when Johnny hits your sweet spot another time. “Oh… let’s not pull your luck too much tonight, hum?”

“But I —”

“But you, nothing,” she shushes you up, two fingers on your mouth. “You’re being so good, giving me pleasure while you take him so well. Just keep going.” She’d love to sit on your face, only being able to watch your eyes slowly blank as her hips roll against you, while your pretty hands wrap around her thighs as it slowly gets harder to breathe, but you’re not ready for that, yet.

You give up, starting where you stopped. But soon enough you’re whining again, “No, please, please, Sir,” you cry out, looking back to meet Johnny’s gaze for a split second.

He seems a bit startled by the way you address him, but he quickly shakes the surprise off to tease you with a condescending tone. “What’s wrong, honey? I thought you wanted more?” The pout that accompanies his words makes your stomach twist in a knot. You did want more, but the more was being smashed underneath them, not having his skilled fingers rub quick circles on your over-sensitive clit.

“I — I don’t want to come again,” you cry out.

“Oh, you won’t,” she speaks instead. “Don’t get too greedy and take it,” she orders, cupping your chin before pushing you between her legs again. Her patience could only last this long before she would snap.

“Right, because you can take it, right?” Johnny asks, tilting his head to get a peak of your flustered face. You’re burning up, sweat pearling your skin, the shorter hair sticking to your forehead, eyes blinking out tears of pleasure, and body squirming while you try so hard to keep focus on the only thing you have to do.

You doubt you can, but you still nod, moans getting choked up in your throat and against her cunt as you try to use your tongue and mouth the best you can even if control is slipping out of you more and more.

Fighting the orgasm is probably worse than keeping focus. Your stomach is upside down, and you feel all your nerves tense up, every single touch makes you jolt up and you know your throat will be sore by the end of the night for all the moans you’re letting out.

And you slip, eyes closing and mouth getting lazy as your body limply gets slammed between them.

“Hey,” you’re startled when her palm meets your face in quick, light slaps to wake you up, “don’t you fucking dare,” it’s the only warning that slips from her mouth, so sternly it should make you obey on the spot, but it only makes it harder for you to hold back. “Put that mouth to good use, come on.”

You don’t have a choice —not that you would want to do anything else— when she forces your face down again, this time grinding her hips against you to help you out, or honestly, to fuck herself against you because you’re not doing so much anymore.

She scoffs, “You’re being so good for Johnny, bet your pussy is sucking him in so well, dripping down to his balls and clenching tight, you can’t do one thing for me?”

You gasp for air when she yanks you back by the end of your hair, letting you breathe again, watching the tears fall freely from your pretty eyes. Your lashes are clumped together, and some mascara stained your cheeks; so, so pretty, she could stare at you forever.

“I can. I — I promise, I’ll be your good girl, I’ll give you what you want, fuck,” you mumble, words tangling on your tongue.

You’re so fucked out that spit is dripping down your chin, mixing with her cum, and she can’t fight the urge to smear it on your face.

Aaliyah could come by that sight only. To think when she first saw you were shily standing in a corner, trying to have less attention possible on you, stuttering your words at the speech your father made you hold, and almost fell down the stage. And now, you’re a mess in their bed, far away from home after you followed them blindly.

“Good, then use your fingers, come on,” she orders, biting her lips as you struggle to push your body up to finger her. This is exciting, with Johnny it had always been a fight for dominance, but with you, everything works perfectly, you fit between them with ease.

Johnny’s hands help you stand up, but he can’t deny how hot he finds the way you can’t control your body. He wishes he could see your face, you must be so pretty all messed up, but he’ll use his imagination.

“Come on, honey, fuck her, she took such good care of you,” Johnny encourages you, and that’s all you need to push two fingers inside of her. Her warm walls welcome you with ease, cum coating them until it drips down on your wrist.

Aaliyah’s face twists in an expression of pleasure as soon as you start curling your fingers. You’re definitely better with them than you are with your mouth, but it’s fine, there will be time to practice if you ever want to stick around.

“Good girl,” she praises, caressing your cheek gently before pulling you in a kiss. Doing so, Johnny slips out of you, and you whine at the loss, but soon enough he’s fucking into you again.

“Won’t — won’t last long,” you whimper, crying more as you feel heavier.

Johnny hums, pushing you down again and you lazily go back to lapping on her pussy while your fingers keep moving.

“Come here,” you hear him say, but he’s not talking to you. You can’t see, but you know they’re kissing because you feel smaller and more trapped as their bodies get closer, and then the wet sounds of their lips hit your ears. Their moans mix in their mouth, and you can feel the desperation they’re sharing as their teeth clash together.

You want to kiss them too, but you have other things to worry about, like the orgasm you can’t hold in anymore.

“Want to come, please,” you beg, tears adding to the mess between her legs as you try to gasp for more air.

They pull away from the kiss, bringing their attention to you another time.

“You want to come?” You nod swiftly. She’s sure you’re not doing it on purpose but the way your big eyes are looking up at her and your lips tremble, make her heart warm up. You’re so precious. “Then don’t stop fucking me,” she orders, voice low that causes your stomach to twist again. “Don’t stop being a perfect, little, mindless fuckdoll for us.”

Johnny growls, rolling his head back, “Fuck, stop talking to her like that, she’s squeezing me.”

Aaliyah chuckles darkly, sweetly mockingly caressing your wet cheeks. “You want me to stop talking to her because you can’t handle a sweet pussy sucking you in?”

He rolls his eyes and throws his head back, scoffing at her comment.

“It’s not my fault she likes it when I talk down to her,” she coos, looking at him but her words hit you deep. It’s so humiliating the way they’re talking about you as if you’re not here, and yet, it only makes you wetter. “I could do so much more, but I doubt she can take it.”

I can. You scream, but it stays inside your brain, no words can come out of your mouth anymore.

They both giggle at your broken moan that comes out as a reply.

“No thoughts left in that little mind of yours, uhm?” Johnny teases, his fingers playing with your nipples making you cry out more.

Your head is abandoned on her thigh, drool dripping out of the corner of your lips while your fingers pump in and out in tired, messy movements. You’re so far gone that she has to help you fuck her by guiding your wrist.

“Except how good it feels to be surrounded by us. You love it when we trap you between us and make you feel small, don’t you? Bet you’d love it even more if I fucked your mouth with a toy while he fucked your pussy, or maybe the other way around.”

You yelp when someone smacks your ass, you don’t care to figure out if it’s him or her. It doesn’t matter, it only adds to the pleasure and dizziness.

“Or maybe we could each take a hole and stuff you til you break,” Johnny giggles lowly. “Your tight ass and pussy spread by us.”

“Please,” you cry out. Please make me come and please do it. Please fuck me at the same time, from both ends and until I’m nothing between you. But it stays inside, they get it anyway, like they get all of you.

“C’mere,” Johnny chuckles as he manoeuvres you, lifting your body and pushing you closer to his wife. You’re kneeling now, body slumped against hers while he presses you flat, your fingers still moving inside of her while you moan in the crook of her neck. It feels warm, almost romantic, and you feel so small.

The hand that is not helping you fuck her, wraps around your waist and starts rubbing circles on your burning hot skin, meeting Johnny’s that doing the same.

“Look at you, doll, you’ve been so good. What do you say, John, should she come?” Aaliyah’s voice is particularly sweet, reaching your ear like a faint melody and you feel farther and farther from your body.

“I think she deserves it,” Johnny replies, kissing your neck to distract you from his hand slipping down to your clit.

Your teeth sink into her skin, making her hiss, not in pain but most in surprise, and your face wets even more while a loud sob rips from your throat.

“Come on, princess,” she whispers close to you, leaving pecks on top of your head, “be a good girl and come with us.”

You don’t let them tell you twice when their pace fastens and all the stimuli get to your head one last time. This orgasm is like an explosion that leaves you trembling between their bodies, whimpering and moaning as the violent waves shock you to the core.

“Fuck, so fucking tight,” Johnny murmurs under his breath, hips slamming messily against your ass as he chases his orgasm. He’s caught up in your face before his eyes fall on his wife’s pussy, you stopped fucking her and she’s trying to rub her fingers on her clit, if you weren’t so far gone, brain mush in your skull, she would’ve said something, but she knows is no use now.

You’re collapsed on her body when your eyes trail between her legs, watching in awe as Johnny’s fingers fuck her fast and his thumb rubs her clit as he keeps pouding into you. Their moans are louder as they approach their release and her head falls against the board of the bed while her hands clench around your waist to hold onto something.

And you come again. An unexpected fourth orgasm washes over you, ass arching up and nails sinking into her thigh as you feel as life is being sucked away from you, and that’s what pushes them over the edge, your soft, broken whimpers mixing with theirs and your low mumbles of their names, it’s not Mr. and Mrs. Suh, is Johnny and Aaliyah now, only for you.

More curses fill the air before everything comes to a stop, Johnny’s body falling on yours for a second before he forces himself to pull out and roll to the side.

“Hey, it’s alright, it’s alright. Come here,” she whispers, soothing you as she pulls your body closer, hugging you and caressing your back and hair. You’re still shaking and crying, and your hands wrap quickly around her. “You’re fine, we’re here. It’s over.”

Soon after you feel Johnny’s hands too, and then his soothing words. “You’ve been so good, princess. Was it fun?”

His question is left unanswered, and they understand it will take you a while to start talking again. So they keep whispering sweet words to your ears while their hands calm you down with gentle touches. You don’t remember how long it takes before you fall into a deep slumber, but you know you feel a sense of peace you never felt before.

When you wake up, the clock hits midnight, you’re alone in the bed but you’re cleaned up and you’re dressed in a white shirt that reaches your thighs.

Somehow your legs carry your body out of the room and down the stairs where you take a sigh of relief seeing them laughing as they sit at the table. They’re dressed again, Johnny’s hair is brushed in its place, and her braids are pulled up in a bun again, they look as composed as usual but more familiar.

“Hey, you’re up?” Johnny is the first one who sees you and welcomes you with a sweet smile.

“We were starving. We wanted you to eat but you fell asleep, and for how intense it was we figured you were going to sleep until morning,” Aaliyah explains, moving a stool so you could sit between them, tapping on the seat to signal you to reach them.

You push your feet forward, legs wobbly and heart still racing, but this time is not the orgasm. You’re still lost in the haze, but now you’re fully aware of what happened, and you don’t know how to act in the aftermath.

“Are you alright? You stopped talking, it worried us a bit,” she says, lifting her hand to caress your nape after she tucked your hair behind your ear.

You nod, shoulders dropping as the tension disappears at her touch. “I’m fine. I guess it was a lot, it never happened before.”

Johnny comes back to you with a glass of water and some bowls with different food, leaving you a choice between fruits, something sweet, and something salty.

“Thanks,” you reply, grabbing the glass and gulping it in one go. “Honestly, I’m not really hungry,” you say, eyes diverting their gazes, there’s still a bit of worry behind them and you’re not used to people caring so much for you, especially after sex. You don’t think you ever saw a one-night-stand the morning after, but not even your exes cared much about how you felt after sex.

“No? Do you need something else?” Johnny asks, a caring tone filling his words, and the look in his eyes is different than all the other times before.

You look around, shaking your head, your throat is dry again and from the corner of your eyes, you see her filling the glass again. You smile shyly before drinking it. “I… I don’t want to sleep alone,” you confess, biting your lips and playing with the hem of the glass in your hands.

They smile, hands cupping yours before holding tight. “We had no intention of leaving you alone,” they say at the same time, making you smile.

“A bit paranoid, aren’t you?” Johnny jokes while Aaliyah leaves to put the food back in its place. You might be awake but it’s clear as daylight that you’re still tired and want to sleep.

“Mhh,” you mumble. Your eyes lift to look at Johnny and you smile. He looks beautiful, the faint silver light of the moonlight paiting his cheekbones and hair.

“And still not very talkative,” she adds when she comes back, a soft look in her eyes. “Come on, there’s no need to talk, let’s get you to bed.” She stretches a hand out and you quickly grab it, jumping off the chair but regretting it when your legs make it known they’re not back just yet.

You gasp when two arms wrap around you and lift you up, and soon you’re met with Johnny’s eyes. You smile at him before locking eyes with her who’s following behind and quickly is at your side.

“Thanks,” you whisper because he’s carrying you but mostly, for the night you spent. You decide you will worry tomorrow, for now, you feel full, they made you feel wanted, and dare to say, even loved. It’s all that matters.

“You have to be grateful, he stopped carrying me upstairs a long time ago,” she jokes and Johnny scoffs, “Liar.”

And soon the three of you are in the bed again, the dirty duvet is not on the mattress anymore and a thinner blanket covers you. You’re in the middle, pressed between their bodies while they leave kisses on your face, and whisper sweet words to you, their hands intertwined on your stomach while their thumbs rub small circles on your skin.

And as sleep takes over you again, you think that there’s no other place you’d rather be, if not between them.

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wife-of-all-dilfs · 1 month

Text

the five stages | f. odair

masterlist

summary: a journey back to a golden period of time of polaroid pictures, white knitted sweaters, and lively sea-green eyes. why? because in the present, those same pair of eyes are ruthlessly unrelenting and you have no other chance of their escape.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: heavy angst, vomiting, implied smut, depression, maggots, hallucinations, relieving fluff, mild horror. I don’t want to spoil the story too much, so I won’t be adding any more warnings, sorry y’all. this could be very triggering so please read at your own discretion. some descriptions are quite graphic!

notes: I’m super proud of this one—it’s sorta based off “little talks” by of monsters and men and “on the nature of daylight” by max richer. this fic probably won’t get many views, so I’ll be incredibly grateful for any—if any at all—type of engagement! <33

word count: 8k

The bedroom was cold; dark; empty. Empty even though I still resided in it.

My alarm had gone off two hours ago, yet I hadn’t moved an inch. When I finally turned my head to the side, I found that the space beside me was vacant. Cold; dark; empty—I reached out my hand anyway.

Thirty minutes passed before I wrestled myself out of bed and started making breakfast downstairs. The otherwise warm and flavourful plate of fruit-filled yoghurt and scrambled eggs on toast left my mouth feeling dry and my throat lodged.

It used to be one of my favourite meals. At least, when he was around.

Dishes were piled in the sink, dirty and untouched. I sat on the couch, pondering whether today was the day I would finally get to cleaning them. It wasn’t. I couldn’t. We always did that together. I wondered—if I left them in the sink long enough, would he return? Even just for five minutes to help me put them away? One month and seventeen days had passed, and yet I still entertained this thought religiously.

I wasted an hour running circles round the same contemplations before deciding fresh air, as cliché as it was, might do me some good.

Grey clouds concealed the sun’s warm golden light when I stepped outside, but that was fine—I didn’t like anything golden anymore. But he would want me to leave the house at least once a day, so that’s what I would do. I would go down to the beach beside our—my house and feel the sand collect between my toes as I walked to the water’s edge.

But wasn’t that where he was when it happened? Wasn’t he in water? Didn’t those things pile on top of him? Didn’t they sink their fangs into his neck and tear at his flesh until he was blown to…

Bits of egg, yoghurt and stomach bile sat at my feet. My legs buckled, and I collapsed to the ground in a sandy, tear-stricken heap. Since my lower body had refused to cooperate any longer, it took me until midday to crawl back up the dune and to my front doorstep.

Fuck. I needed to rest.

“I need you to rest, sweetheart.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” I whined. “I’m not sick.”

Finnick placed a bucket on the ground beside the bed. The room smelled of lemon disinfectant—a joy I often found in being sick… That is, if I were sick, which I was not. I must have drunk spoiled milk or eaten something bad during breakfast. Nevertheless, Finnick was not having it.

“You’re throwing up everything you manage to get down, and you’re shivering like it’s the middle of winter,” he said adamantly, tucking the comforter up to my chest. “It’s summer, and you’re very much not fine.”

I sat up, ready to heatedly debate the subject, but the room began swirling, and my ears were hissing like a staticky television channel without a signal. A quiet whimper buzzed in my throat as I hunched forward. Damn him, I was sick.

The mattress dipped as Finnick sat beside me. His hand was on my back, rubbing it soothingly as he used his other hand to tuck away the curtain of hair concealing my face. I huffed, half in annoyance, half in an attempt to suppress the nausea rising in my throat, and then sunk back against the pillows.

“Not sick, she says,” he jested, smiling down at me. I rolled my eyes, though unable to hide the weak, betraying smile creeping across my lips. “Close your eyes, sweetheart,” he said, a gentle command. “I’ll see you when you fall asleep.”

The wooden flooring welcomed me with hard, cold arms as I hauled my sandy body through the front door. Images of fangs, bloody flesh, and panicked sea-green eyes flooded my mind.

More breakfast, more bile. No lemon disinfectant.

My knees were folded beneath my body; my body was hunched over my knees. I was sobbing now, so hard that I threw up again (was there even anything left in my stomach at this point?), creating a thick puddle of vomit and tears beneath me. Cries and gasps for air bounced around the house. To call me a mess would be an understatement. I was a disaster. A disaster wrapped up in an unmendable tragedy with a ragged, threadbare ribbon barely holding me together.

And in case I wasn’t aware of this fact, the floorboards were so shiny that they mirrored a reflection of myself. My hair was a being of its own, all wild and unkempt, and my face was another story entirely—a red, blotchy thing I wasn’t too interested in delving into.

But the most unsettling aspect had nothing to do with me, it was that there was someone else in the reflection. Two green balls of light were glowing above my head.

Dishevelled golden hair…

Dimpled cheeks…

My forehead was pressed to the floor as I screamed.

“I don’t want to make you sick as well,” I said, contrarily enjoying the feeling of Finnick’s skin warm against mine, hot blood flowing through his veins.

A day had passed since I first became unwell, and the sickness had continued to wreak havoc inside me.

We were both under the thick covers, our limbs tangled together as he held me atop his chest. (my body didn’t register the scorching summer temperatures. I actually felt as though my core temperature was a few degrees below freezing. Meanwhile, Finnick was characteristically toasty warm. It was perfect for me, but not so much for him, evident in the beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. Nevertheless, he made no complaints).

My body rose and fell with each breath he took. I was trying to inhale whenever he exhaled in a weak attempt to prevent the festering sickness in my body from entering his, and though it was a futile gesture, I did it anyway.

“In sickness and health, remember?” he said.

I smiled. “We’re not even married.”

“Yet, you mean,” he countered. “I plan on spending the rest of my life with you, sweetheart. You know that.”

My heart fluttered at the thought of spending an entire lifetime with him—waking up in each other’s embrace each morning, the warm sunlight peeking through the blinds of our bedroom; Finnick calling me “Mrs. Odair” or “My wife” at every opportunity because doing so made us both giggle like two moronic, love-struck teenagers; and being unable to prevent the deep smile lines on both our cheeks as we age, a constant display of our perpetual happiness.

“Sixty more years of having and holding you,” he continued with a gentle musing in his tone. “For better or for worse... For richer or for poorer.” He then stroked the side of my face and brushed away the sweaty strands of hair sticking to my forehead. “In sickness and in health…”

“…Until death do us part,” I finished, my voice slow with fatigue.

Two fingers sat beneath my chin and tilted my head upward. My eyes connected with Finnick’s. They were soft. Heartfelt.

“Not even then. I’ll love you beyond the grave,” he murmured. Then his lips were slowly curving into a pensive smile. “When we’re both ghosts and haunting the next owners of this house.”

I was now smiling, too. “I’d hoped you would say something like that.”

How could he lie like that? There was no we. There were no next owners. There was only me, alive and alone in a comatose house. And mind you, I was sane enough to know that it wasn’t actually his ghost haunting me, though I wish I weren’t because having that knowledge was even worse. It meant he was truly erased from existence.

“Go away,” I whispered to the reflection on the floor.

He didn’t. His vacant green eyes kept staring down at my crumpled figure.

I shot off the floor and spun around, hot tears streaming down my face. “Go away!” His face remained expressionless. He looked like himself, only colder. “You said sixty more years! You said we’d be together!” I mindlessly picked up and flung a small picture frame at him, only for it to pass through his body and shatter on the floor behind him. “Why did you lie to me?!” My voice was frayed with fury, though underlined with grief.

He said nothing, did nothing. All he did was watch.

My legs buckled, and I was on the floor again. I was whispering, half-sobbing, the same question over and over until the words slurred together. “Why’d you lie? Why’d y’lie?” The only time I stopped was when my tongue grew too heavy to move anymore.

To my surprise, he eventually came and sat beside me, remaining cold and silent—as I too had become.

Glass fragments from the picture frame were scattered across the floorboards. The photo within had fallen out and, ironically, drifted towards me. I didn’t bother acknowledging him as I moved onto my hands and knees and began crawling forward—my palms slicing open and blood seeping out—until the photo was in my hands. My shins had granules of glass pricking into them, but I couldn’t feel the pain; all I could do was stare at the memory in my hands.

The picture had been taken in District Thirteen, a day before he signed up for… the mission.

I was drifting in and out of sleep when a sudden bright flash lit up my eyelids.

“Oops.”

Heavy eyes fluttering open, I was met with a small camera pointing down at me, which was being held up by a lengthy muscular arm, which was connected to an even more muscular and broad shoulder, which was connected to—okay, sorry, I think you get it.

“Finnick!” I shrieked, pulling the covers over my naked figure.

He laughed, the vibrations rumbling deep within his chest, beneath my ear. A soft whirring sound accompanied the polaroid sliding out of the camera, its black film hiding the doubtless embarrassing picture beneath. He placed the film on the sheets beside him, letting the photo develop in darkness.

“I was supposed to cover the flash,” he said, still chuckling.

I rubbed my eyes, which were twinkling with little sparkles of light. “I think you blinded me.”

“Lucky you,” he jested. “You’re finally free from my repulsive exterior.”

I started to reach for the picture beside him—“You’re an idiot”—but then he was rolling us over until his arms were pillared on either side of my head and he was hovering above me.

His hair was a mess, a testament to the night before (and very early hours of the morning), and he was sporting a beautiful, lazy grin. “Yeah? Well, you’re engaged to an idiot,” he said, tilting his head in an arrogant manner. “So what does that make you?”

The sea-glass ring hugging my finger gleamed in the lamp’s dull light as I reached out to touch his face, my fingertips brushing along the edges of his pronounced jawline. Tangled strands of hair and a beaming smile were reflecting back at me in his eyes. No one had ever loved anyone as much as I loved Finnick—disregarding the one exception that was staring down at me.

“Blinded by love,” I whispered.

Brief yet poignant emotion trickled through his features, his eyes. Then, like a flick of a switch, he covered it up and lowered his face into my neck, groaning the words, “So corny.”

My fingers were tangled in his hair, holding him close to me. “Liar,” I laughed. “You loved it.”

“I love you, which is why I put up with your corniness,” he murmured into my skin.

Even after all this time, my heart still leapt whenever he said those three words, even when he was being a jerk about it. I kissed the top of his head. “I love you, too.”

We laid like this for a short while longer—Finnick keeping his face buried in the warmth of my neck, his arms curled beneath my body; me playing with the golden waves of his hair that were somehow softer than my own. He was so heavy on top of me that it was starting to become difficult to breathe, but in no universe would I ever tell him to get off. It was a blissful sort of suffocation.

A sort anyone would snap a picture of just to keep as a reminder of how beautiful it feels to be smothered with love. With that being said, the picture that lay awaiting beside me was brought back to mind.

“Oh no,” I moaned, picking it up and taking a short glance at the developed photo. I covered my face with my hands, repeating the words, “Oh no.”

The photo was plucked from my fingers, and Finnick began humming contentedly to himself.

In the photo, my face had been nuzzled into his bare, muscular chest, eyes closed in sleep-drunken serenity, hair thrown over my shoulder and spilling across the pillow. My hand rested on his contoured stomach with just enough of my upper arm and low light to conceal my breasts. Finnick had a delicate hand draped over my waist. He was gazing down at me with a smile that was just… full of pure love.

I had to admit—it was a beautiful picture. Despite my initial disapproval.

“Beautiful,” I heard him echo my thoughts, his eyes still scanning the photo. Then his brows furrowed, and his head slightly inched forward as though he had just noticed something peculiar in the picture. “Oh, and you are too, I guess.”

My head tilted back against the pillow with an abrupt laugh. I shook my head, looking back at him. “I hate you.”

“Liar,” he said, leaning in closer.

His lips were on mine for what must have been the millionth time in the past few hours. The bedside clock announced that breakfast was soon approaching, though it was clear neither of us would make an appearance within the next hour (or two).

“You love me,” he whispered as he slid inside me.

And I did.

I really did.

The muscles in my cheeks were straining due to how hard I was smiling.

It wasn’t my idea to keep a picture of us half-naked in the entryway of our home. He always was a bit unusual like that. Completely unashamed of who he was and how he acted. Sometimes a little too boisterously, but that’s what I loved so much about him—how confident he was in his love for me, so much so that nothing else mattered, no one else’s opinion.

God, I love him so much.

Love…?

Wait.

That’s not right.

Shouldn’t it be “loved”?

And why was I smiling? I didn’t have anything to smile about anymore. He was gone. Our wedding never occurred. Our faces never wrinkled with smile lines. Our clasped hands never weathered with age. He was gone.

The polaroid slipped from between my fingers. My hands were covered in glass and blood, blood that had painted a dark red splotch in the middle of the shiny film. Figures.

After a short while of staring blankly at the scattered debris decorating the floor, I finally found it in myself to start climbing back onto my feet. My straightened legs wobbled and ached beneath me with the little energy I had. That’s what happens when you can barely stomach food anymore: no energy, always sleeping, always swamped by nightmares or bittersweet memories—at this point, they were one and the same.

Not a strand of gold or a fleck of green was in sight when I glanced over my shoulder. For now, at least. He liked making an appearance once or twice a day.

Pieces of glass crunched beneath my bare, stinging feet as I made for the stairwell. A mess for another day, I reasoned. Just like the dishes. Sticky red footprints stamped each wooden step I ascended, growing less prominent as I reached the second floor.

After taking a right down a short hallway, the encompassing walls littered with magnificent seashells and dried ocean flora, I turned the knob to the furthest room and entered. The floor was landscaped with mountains of clothes which drenched the room in a familiar, all-consuming smell. The scent kind of reminded me of receiving a warm hug, albeit from someone you know you should let go of in more ways than one.

His hair, golden and tousled, caught my eye as I passed the wall of string-hung polaroids in our… sorry, my bedroom. His smile was all dimpled and brilliant, and he had his tanned arms wrapped around my middle. Just moments after the picture was taken, he had tackled me into the water and rightfully earned a smack on the back of the head. In turn, he did it again.

But before that, we were both looking into the camera with the most joyful expressions—huge grins, bright eyes. Frozen in time.

I never let myself look too long at that picture anymore. And I never, ever looked into his eyes. Green used to be my favourite colour. I didn’t have a favourite colour anymore. It was safe to say I didn’t have a favourite anything anymore; everything favourable was a reminder of him.

I picked up a white knitted sweater off the ground and tugged it over my head, staining it with splotches of dark red. Knowing him, he would wear it regardless—whatever was mine, was also his, and was equally the same in reverse, even things as grotesque as blood.

Well, he would have worn it, I should have said.

The sweater had been specifically tailored for him. I remembered how the soft sleeves hugged his arms so well that every fluid curve of his biceps was visible, similar to a building wave before it crested. On me, the sleeves swallowed my arms whole, which I liked to think in their own unique way had also been unintentionally tailored for me, like someone out there knew one day I would need some way to drown in him when he was gone.

Finnick’s fingers tugged at the silk ribbons, unwrapping the opulent gift box that sat on our dining table. Capitol devotees would send extravagant parcels weekly, turning up in abundance on our doorstep. Sometimes Finnick didn’t even bother opening them; sometimes we opened them together just to get a good laugh out of whatever ridiculous item was inside.

He never, though, opened the perfume-scented letters marked with lipstick stains.

“Oh,” I said in surprise as he lifted the lid. Inside was a folded piece of fabric, knitted and cream-white and intricate, though still simple. It was soft to the touch; thick enough to retain warmth. I held it up with two hands, admiring the hand-sewed threads of cotton. Whoever’s handiwork this was, it was nothing to laugh at.

Holding it up to Finnick’s torso, I smiled and said, “Try it on.”

“What?” He shook his head and smiled quizzically. “No.”

“Yes. I think it will look good on you.” I pressed it further against him with conviction. “Try it on.”

He tilted his head and exhaled deeply through his nose, giving me a begrudging, squinty-eyed look. From that, I already knew I had won him over, and watched as he snatched the sweater from my grasp and tugged his shirt off with one hand. I averted my eyes, feeling the tips of my ears flush with heat—we’d been together for over a year now; you would think I’d have grown accustomed to seeing him shirtless.

His head slipped through the neckline and he pulled the sweater down his body. I was right. It looked really good on him. Perfect, actually. The measurements were so precise that the fabric sloped off his shoulders like a compact mountain of snow. The thick-knitted collar dipped into a deep, uneven neckline that partly revealed his chest and made his neck look like a strong, contoured pillar. He looked at me expectantly, as though to ask, “Well?”

“It makes your neck and shoulders look really nice,” I blurted out, instantly cringing inside.

His expression contorted into something of amusement and surprise as he took a slow step towards me. “My neck and shoulders, huh?” he said, grinning devilishly. Oh, now I’d done it. Leave it to me to rocket Finnick Odair’s already atmospheric ego. “Anything else?”

I began backing away, but his prowling strides were so long that the space between us only shortened. When my backside hit the edge of the dining table, I knew I was done for.

“You know,” I began, avoiding his unrelenting stare. “I think it was just a momentary lapse of judgement.” He was closing in now, placing his hands on either side of my body to trap me in place. “It—It actually looks terrible on you,” I said, feigning sincerity and adding a little nod to help further my case.

His eyelids drooped as he gazed down at me, lips curving into that seductive smirk he had mastered long ago. “No takebacks,” he purred, voice low and gravelly. Dear God, I could only pray I wasn’t going to melt into a puddle on the floor. He always did this—took every opportunity to flirt and render me a stuttering, bashful mess. It was his favourite game to play. “This is now my new favourite shirt. All thanks to you, sweetheart.”

But, given the right timing and ever-wavering amount of confidence, I liked to play too.

I inhaled deeply, hoping my voice wouldn’t betray me. “Maybe you should take it off then,” I said, cocking my head to the side. “So you don’t ruin it.”

His mischievous expression revealed his next words before he even spoke them. “Maybe I will,” he said, and then he was tugging his sweater over his head, and I was tearing off my own. As his hands slipped beneath my thighs and lifted me onto our dining table, I prayed the wooden legs wouldn’t collapse under the weight of our next actions.

My fingertips ran over the soft, rippling patterns on the knitted sleeves, my arms crossed in a self-soothing manner. After that day, the sweater had become a sort of good luck charm—or so we agreed upon as we lay panting on the tabletop. He started wearing it to a multitude of events and parties in the Capitol (basically any place in which he needed a pick-me-up, a reminder of what he had to come home to, who he had to come home to).

He even wore it the day we got engaged.

So many happy memories were associated with this one white sweater. So many times, those cloud-soft sleeves were wrapped around my body, suffocating me in the scent of him—if nothing else, at least that remained.

The last time he had worn it was the day of the Reaping for the Quarter Quell; the last time our lives were ever semi-normal. I had fought tooth and nail to reach him before he was escorted onto the train, despite being ordered, “No goodbyes,” by one of the Peacekeepers. In modest terms, I had significantly decreased his chances of reproduction.

When I reached Finnick, he had brought me into a kiss so harsh and fervent that my lips were bruised the next day. He then yanked off his sweater, leaving his upper body completely exposed to everyone around us in complete disregard for his trauma-induced fear of doing so, and shoved it into my hands.

I had just stood there frozen in bewilderment, watching as he called out, “I love you, sweetheart!” Two Peacekeepers were forcing him onto the train, but he too fought for the last word. “Don’t forget—I’m always with you!”

That statement had never been truer than it was now. For better or for worse.

My vision unblurred as I returned to reality. Dismal, grey light was peeking through the shutters that formed the balcony doors, the daylight hours seeming to tick away at a snail’s pace. I used to wish for the days to be longer, for time to move slower, so I could savour the moments I had of happiness and sunlight which used to be plentiful.

Why do wishes only come true when you grow to desire nothing but the opposite?

Slothfully, I crawled onto the unmade king-size bed, my limbs crumpling and balling to my chest as the side of my head hit the pillow. The imprint on the mattress beneath my body didn’t match my own. It was much larger and broader. How long would it take for the springs to forget his body weight and recoil back into place as though he never existed at all?

I inhaled the sweater’s scent with every breath I took (and I tried not to wonder how long it would take for his scent to disappear as well) and hugged my arms around my waist. No pain was worse than the fleeting moments I forgot the embrace was my own and not his.

Hours passed, and so did the evening. A beautiful orange sunset hadn’t slipped through the shutter’s cracks because the clouds never dissipated. Night-time brought no consolation either. Not even the stars or moon made an appearance. Everything that once gave me a shred of optimism was hidden behind a veil of gloom.

I knew tomorrow wouldn’t be any different—the weather, my mood, his absence. Because the end of autumn was closing in, and the days were becoming bleaker. Trees would start shedding their leaves; the leaves would start to die.

I hoped I would too.

I was still curled up on my side, my body aching with stiffness, when my face began scrunching into this ugly, twisted mess of despair. My tears were slow yet heavy, synonymous with the day I had incurred.

But then something strange happened.

Someone called my name.

No. That couldn’t be right. I was the only one who occupied a house in the Victor’s Village; the others had either relocated after the war or were… dead.

But there it was again—my name, distant and eerie, yet spoken with a tone people often used to beckon over and aid a frightened, injured animal. My vision blurred, both from tears and concentration on the voice.

“Hey.”

I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment my surroundings transformed into a kitchen, just that they had and that I was no longer in my bed but standing upright.

Ahead of me, in the distance, the sun was beating down on the crystalline water, and white frothy waves were cresting on the smooth, golden sand. It was a perfect day; not a cloud was in sight. The only blemish that smeared the blue sky was the reflection staring back at me from the window I gazed out of.

In my hands was a soup bowl and a damp dishrag.

“Sweetheart?” That once distant voice, concerned and beckoning, was standing right beside me.

Blinking, I snapped out of my daze and turned away from the window.

He stood tall beside me, despite being half hunched over the kitchen sink and scrubbing the last of the few dirty dishes stacked neatly on the bench top. His head was turned towards me, his enamoured sea-green eyes peering into my own as though he was searching behind them for what troubled me.

“Hey,” he spoke softly, standing up straight. His touch was warm and gentle as he reached for my hand, leaving soapy bubbles on my palm and fingers. “Where’d you go?”

Three odd things seemed to occur at once: first, I flinched away from his touch, overwhelmed by its paradoxical unfamiliar familiarity; second, I felt an inexpressible relief from seeing him standing before me, seeing his cheeks painted with a soft pink hue as though blood-red roses were hidden just beneath his skin.

The third was an onset of disorientation. I couldn’t tell you why I felt disorientated standing in my own kitchen with the love of my life, just, simply, that I did. There was an answer—it was close by, right under my nose, yet unreachable. We did this every day, didn’t we? We would eat meals together and then wash up together. So, why did I feel so unsettled?

I shook my head, dispelling the confusion that muddled my brain. “Sorry,” I whispered. “I don’t know what happened.” I laughed uneasily, without a hint of mirth.

He laughed too, not to poke fun or because he found my obvious turmoil amusing, but rather to comfort me, so I would feel less alone in my unease. “It’s alright,” he said gently.

Neither of us addressed what had happened; we simply resumed our routine of washing and drying in domestic silence. And as seconds turned to minutes, and as the sky remained sunny, I found myself smiling. All that mattered was that he was standing beside me and that the sun was beaming in the sky. So, I kept smiling.

After I finished drying the last dish, we began placing the plates, bowls, and an abundance of cutlery in their assigned drawers and cupboards, weaving past each other and giggling anytime we got in one another’s path. I was carrying a stack of white plates, eyeing the high cupboard they needed to go in, but before I could even attempt straining onto my toes, the plates were out of my hands and taken into another much larger pair.

The smell of sea salt and expensive cologne wafted from behind me as he towered over my shorter frame and placed the plates in the cupboard.

“I could have done that,” I said, smiling as I turned around to face him.

He had a playful glint in his eye. “Yeah, right. What are you, like, four feet tall?” he joked.

It was an extreme exaggeration since I was no way near that height, but I suppose everyone was miniature in comparison to him, being over six feet tall and all. I feigned open-mouthed offence, to which he gave the side of my head a quick, playful kiss of apology.

He then leaned against the counter with crossed arms. “Plus, when was the last time you actually put these dishes away? I’m surprised you even remember where they go.” He was grinning at me in a teasing manner, but every ounce of humour had drained from my body.

My eyes drifted to the floor.

Well, that was the question, wasn’t it—when was the last time I put the dishes away?

I couldn’t remember. In fact, I couldn’t remember what had happened this morning or the day before. Hell, I couldn’t even remember what we were doing before the dishes.

To be standing in a room, in a place you call home, and have a sense that nothing is in its right place, even though that is where everything has always been, is a disconcerting feeling beyond belief. To be perplexed by your own state of being—your existence—is even worse. I could almost describe it as a nauseating bout of vertigo.

My hands found the counter’s edge behind me, and I exhaled a shaky breath.

He stepped in front of me, one large and gentle hand reaching up to cup my jaw. “Are you okay?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling with shallow worry lines as he inspected my face. I hated that. I hated that I worried him so much. Sure, partners were supposed to lean on each other for support in a relationship (as he too did with me when needed), but I always felt so guilty doing so. Hadn’t he already suffered enough… pain in his lifetime? Who was I to cause him any more?

A sunbeam suffused the room, oozing across his face. The illumination lightened his eyes into a refreshing mint green, though, in contradiction, unearthed a pain that had been previously been concealed. Pain from what, I wasn’t sure. From concern regarding my unusual behaviour? Maybe a thought that was troubling him? Or perhaps he too was enduring a spell of confusion and had an inexplicable feeling that he was out of place.

Whatever his pain regarded, seeing it had rattled the deepest structures in which held my mind together.

It was then that I suddenly realised I hadn’t answered his question, so I gave him a wan “I’m-not-too-sure-myself” smile and then began slinking back to the sink window.

He followed behind me. I could feel him staring into the back of my head, could feel his brows draw together and his lips pull into a tight line, patiently waiting for a further explanation, though I wasn’t sure I could offer him one.

I hadn’t noticed before, but on the windowsill was a small picture frame containing a polaroid picture of us in bed—I was lying on his chest, half-naked and asleep, and he was looking down at me, smiling fondly yet with a sort of mischievous knowability. Running down the middle of the protective glass was a small, jagged crack.

I plucked the frame from the windowsill, inspecting the picture in my two hands. It seemed to uncover a place in my mind—once clouded by disorientation—I’d forgotten. Whether this place was real or imaginary was beyond me, but the fear I felt upon its recollection was incandescently genuine.

“Do you think,” I spoke tentatively, “people can have nightmares while they’re wide awake?” My thumb ran over the crack.

I might have heard him inhale a quiet, sharp breath, but it also could have just been the waves breaking on the distant shore. “Like a flashback?” he asked, an unidentifiable unease in his tone.

“No, not exactly.” I searched my brain for the right words, the right way to tell him how I was feeling, but it was difficult when I could only conjure vague fragments. And it was all I could do to tell it to him elliptically, as I knew saying the words in any other manner would shatter my heart.

“I had this vision,” I began, my words apprehensively staccato, “where I was somewhere else.” My eyes flickered over the picture. “Somewhere… bad. Everything was grey and heavy, and I was alone. Sometimes you were there, but you—you weren’t really you anymore.” I paused and looked up to find him staring at me in the reflection of the window. He looked pained; it was then suddenly hard to recollect a time when he didn’t. My throat started to constrict. “You were gone and…” my voice quietened to a broken wisp of wind, “you were haunting me.”

The room was silent.

He said nothing in response

The transparency of his reflection in the glass was so familiar—so haunting—and it was like another forgotten matter had been dredged from the depths of my mind. Stinging tears brimmed my waterline, and, due to my inability to bear the sight of his translucent appearance, I forced myself to turn around.

I glanced up at him, smiling weakly as I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head as if my need to apologise was nonsensical (even I was unsure of what I was apologising for), and he then pulled me into a tight embrace. His chin rested atop my head; my face was buried in his chest, and his arms held me like I was some dilapidated structure that relied on his support to remain upright. Part of me knew this sentiment was correct.

I expected his next words to be ones of consolation or reassurance, maybe an “I’m right here, sweetheart” or an “I’ll never leave you”. Instead, I felt his head turn and heard him say, “Think it’s going to storm?”

With a sniffle, I turned my head towards the window. The arms wrapped around my body tightened as if he somehow knew I would need the extra support. Because when I saw the wall of dark, opaque clouds rolling through the sky towards us, an unshakeable dread zapped through my heart.

My hands clung to the fabric of his cream-white sweater, which then brought to my attention that an inexplicable tingling sensation was spreading down the fingers of my right hand, numbing them.

Lightning flashed on the horizon, and the once serene waves began cresting violently on the shoreline. The dread grew.

Before my attention could drift too far, my name was called again.

I looked up to find those green eyes gazing down at me, swelling with tears. He was crying. Why was he crying? And why was his hair wet? His usually golden strands had darkened to a deep brown and were drenched with cold water that dripped onto my cheeks, and his hair was swept haphazardly across his forehead, a reflection of someone who had just endured an intense storm or had just been fighting for his life against a swarm of—of—

No.

My own eyes began to burn.

“It’s killing me to see you this way,” he spoke, every second word breaking and wavering in volume.

The world seemed to tilt on an axis. Return did the disorientation, ravaging my mind more violently now. “What do you”—My chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths—“What? What do you mean?” My lower lip was quivering, and my eyebrows were scrunched together in confusion. His words replayed in my head: It’s killing me to see you this way.

It’s killing me.

His hair was dripping—no longer with water, but with a thick, red substance that both dripped down and clotted on his skin. He didn’t look pained anymore; he looked like he was in pain.

It’s killing me.

But that can’t be right, can it?

It’s killing me.

Why?

It’s killing me.

Becausemy Finnickwas already dead.

I staggered backwards and out of his, no, this imposter’s arms. He stared at me as blood streamed down his forehead, pouring over his eyelashes and down his cheeks. I was going to be sick. This had to be some sort of cruel joke, a newly invented punishment from Snow. But that wasn’t right either: Snow was dead too.

“F…Fi…” I tried saying his name, my top teeth prodding the inside of my bottom lip, but I couldn’t make a sound.

He took a step towards me, and I almost stumbled onto the floor. “Remember what I told you?” he asked, though it sounded more like an urge.

I frantically shook my head. No, I didn’t remember. I didn’t want to remember anything.

Something dark and mountainous appeared in my peripheral vision, and an odious smell singed my nostrils. My head snapped to the left. Stacks upon stacks of plates and bowls mounded the kitchen sink, each crawling with maggots that were falling to the floor in white, wriggling heaps.

Nausea boiled in my stomach; horror brimmed my eyes.

I quickly turned away, my eyes meeting green again. His face was no longer stained with blood, and his hair was dry, shiny, and golden with life. I was as speechless as my face was drained of blood.

He took one more step toward me, but this time I didn’t back away, either frozen with fear or desperation for one last experience of closeness with him. My heart thrummed as he reached out to cup my face. It isn’t him, it isn’t him, it isn’t him, I repeated madly in my head. Oh, but it felt so much like him when his warm hand met my skin.

“I told you I’m always with you, sweetheart,” he murmured. And I knew engaging with him, in whatever form he took, affirmed my mental unwellness, but I couldn’t stop from leaning into his touch anyway. “Remember that.”

My cheeks were wet with tears. “I love—”

A bolt of lightning flashed, and thunder boomed throughout the house.

I was back in my bed.

My eyelids were heavy with sleep as they fluttered open. I felt detached, destabilised, and unsure of my existence in the world for I wasn’t sure which of the twoI was currently in. Real or fake?

A few minutes went by before I managed to get a grip on reality, which, in fact, was the real one. The Somewhere Bad. I pinched the corners of my eyes, not only finding them damp with fresh tears but also realising that my right hand—previously tucked beneath my head—was numb.

None of it had been real…

The entire time, my body was trying to alert me, to save me from the inescapable heartache I would feel upon waking. He hadn’t held me in his arms. He hadn’t cupped my cheek nor helped me wash the dishes. He wasn’t here. He wasn’t anywhere (not even in his own marked grave because there was nothing left of him to be buried).

Even despite seeing the familiar tall outline standing in the doorway, his features illuminated with each flash of lightning, I knew it wasn’t really him.

Rain was pummelling the roof, almost loud enough to subdue the perpetual rumbling of thunder (apart from the one sky-splitting thunderclap that had woken me). In another time, I would’ve been scared—of the raging storm, of my phantom lover who was watching from the shadows of our bedroom. But not now.

In recent months, I had found that no emotion, not even fear, surpassed the soul-crushing realisation that you have irretrievably lost the one thing you lived for.

On a defeated whim, and for the first time since his death, I let the singular, weighted word breeze past my lips.

“Finnick.”

It was a trembling plea, a desperate beckon.

And he indulged.

His footsteps were silent as he walked towards the bed. I couldn’t see his legs from my position, prompting me to wonder if he even had legs at all. Or did he only have legs when I could see them? That would then insinuate that if I couldn’t see him at all, he didn’t exist.

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? In my case, the answer was simple: no, it didn’t.

It wasn’t really Finnick. It wasn’t even his ghost. It was my mind.

He reached the bed’s edge, and I scooted over to my side of the mattress, allowing him enough space to lie down on his. His weight neither dipped nor shook the bed as he laid down and turned on his side to face me. His eyes were sad, and I’m sure mine were too. We stared at each other for a long, long time, long enough for my fatigued body to start playing tricks on me.

If I focused hard enough, I thought I could hear the sound of his breathing (the wind was picking up outside), feel the warmth of his skin spreading onto the sheets (the remnants of my own body heat were left behind each time I moved), and smell the musky scent of cologne and sea-salted hair (the sleeves of his sweater were tucked beneath my nose).

Maybe for a moment—just one sickly, self-indulgent moment—I could pretend it was really him.

I inhaled deeply through my nose. “You really weren’t kidding when you said you would haunt the next owner of this house,” I whispered as light-heartedly as I could, my voice obscured by the heavy rain pouring onto the roof.

He smiled, and it was one of the most heart-wrenchingly beautiful things I had ever seen. I think I might have given him one in return, though I couldn’t be too sure because the concept of smiling had become so foreign. The last time I was truly happy was… the last night we spent together. In each other’s arms, safe and warm and together.

And then he was gone. Just like that.

Cressida, whom I had only spoken to once in Thirteen when the war ended, was the one to tell me how it happened. Katniss was too personal, too close to him; Peeta’s instability rendered conversation futile. So, I had asked Cressida to tell me every detail—every expression on his face, every word he screamed. I don’t know why. Maybe it was so I could cling onto those last few minutes where he was still alive and breathing, despite dying and bleeding; or so I could replay the moment over and over in my head, as if somehow, someway, I could change his fate.

“He talked about you all the time,” she had told me. “Actually, I don’t think he ever spoke of anything but you. No one minded, though. While we were out there, no one ever really smiled, but every time your name was mentioned, Finnick would get this great big grin on his face, and it was impossible not to look at him and start smiling as well.

So, we all started asking questions about you: ‘What colour is her hair? Her eyes? Where did you meet? What are her hobbies?’—just to see him smile… A week passed, and it was like we all knew you inside out. It was all we could do to hang on to some shred of happiness, even if it meant talking about a girl who, to all of us, was a stranger.”

I was inconsolable after that.

She kept talking, but my sobs had drowned out most of her words, so much that I had asked her to retell me everything later in the day, despite inducing the same outcome. So, she told it to me again, just as she did the day after that and the day after that and so on until I returned home to District Four.

“He also spoke about how you never felt comfortable living in the Victors Village. He had this idea that the two of you would move somewhere far away, outside the borders of District Four, though he emphasised remaining by the sea was very important—something about how you looked while swimming during sunset and the water was all sparkly around you.”

At this point, she had been holding my hand, knowing full well how debilitating it was for me to hear. Then she had spoken with a quiet incredulity and a facial expression to match, as though she’d never encountered a love like ours before. “He wanted to build a house for you…”

He wanted to build a house for you.

And now he never would. Our love was too ephemeral for that to happen; destined to remain history; to be a memory.

Finnick's eyes stared into mine, the green hue now a dark grey from the overshadowing dimness of the room.

“I would’ve gone anywhere with you,” I whispered to him, placing my hand on the sheets between us. “I would’ve travelled thousands of miles away from this place. Would’ve lived in solitary, just the two of us, for the rest of our lives.” A warm tear tickled the bridge of my nose. His eyebrows scrunched together in shared anguish. “God, Finn, I miss you,” my voice broke. “I miss you so much.”

I contemplated crying, sobbing, screaming, or begging for him to come back, but I was just too tired. All my energy had been spent on grievance throughout the following day, and my eyes were growing heavier by the second as my body was sinking further into a state of relaxation.

Between slow blinks, I watched Finnick’s large hand move to rest atop my own, and at that point, I knew sleep would soon catch me because I swear I could feel his warm touch.

Images flashed through my mind—incomprehensible and melting together, yet somehow still graspable.

Sky blue water rippling with calm waves, the surface glittering in the setting sun. A white stonewall cottage fronted by soft, white sand and tall palm trees. Two plates of fruit-filled yoghurt and scrambled eggs on toast. Three pairs of footprints in the sand, one larger, one smaller, and another between them so delicately tiny I could fit them into the palm of my hand.

Sea-green eyes above me. Golden hair tangled between my fingers. Finnick standing in the wooden doorway of our white stonewall cottage wearing a cream-white sweater and rolled-up slacks. Finnick grinning deeply and then throwing his head back with laughter. Finnick standing in front of our bed, taking my hand in his and guiding me towards him. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick.

Finnick holding our child.

I was between worlds now, both indistinguishable from the other. My eyelids were drooping, and I was quickly growing insensate. Just before my eyes closed completely, I saw Finnick’s—he who wasn’t really my Finnick—lips move. It wasn’t in my bleak reality in which I heard him speak, but rather in my mind, and God, did his words offer the sweetest relief.

“I’ll see you when you fall asleep.”

332 notes · View notes

rebelfell · 6 months

Text

Surrender

Eddie Munson x fem!Reader x lesbian!Chrissy Cunningham

When your boyfriend Eddie wants to introduce you to his old friend, you can't help being worried he’s secretly interested in her. As it turns out, he’s not the one you had to worry about.

Part One. Part Two. Part Three.

cw: established relationship, platonic!hc (eddie and chrissy are college besties), jealous/insecure reader, alcohol - nothing too explicit yet because this is mostly establishing and setting up. Time period is modern-ish.

Everyone is aged early 30s. 5k 18+, MDNI

“Are we sure tonight is the best night?”

You hate the whininess of your own voice as you call out to Eddie from the bathroom. Hearing your petulant question, he promptly appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his head tilted at you and a sweet smile on his lips.

“What’s up, princess? You don’t wanna go?”

He’s already dressed for your night out and, of course, looks perfect. Dark jeans and a black dress shirt, untucked and unbuttoned at the collar to reveal the guitar pick hanging around his neck. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows to show off his forearms and tattoos, chunky silver rings catching the light as he drums his fingers on the door jamb. His hair is down and loose around his shoulders, looking hydrated and bouncy from the cream you bought for him after he went through a whole tube of your own. It never made your hair look as good as it did his, anyway.

You, on the other hand, are a mess. Hair falling flat despite being freshly styled. Wearing a flippy-skirted sundress you normally liked for the way it cinched your waist and accentuated your shape, but tonight feels more like a vice you’ll be prone to spill out of. Sweating through your light make-up and struggling to get your winged eyeliner to match—a losing game if there ever was one.

The past ten minutes you’ve done nothing but huff and grunt and sigh at your fruitless efforts, hands only getting more unsteady the more flustered you became.

For weeks, you’ve had these plans to meet up with Eddie’s old friend who was back in Hawkins for a visit. But now, less than half an hour from when you were due to meet them at The Hideout, all your resolve is crumbling. And it’s not so much the thought of going out that has you fledgling, but rather who you’re going to meet.

You’ve heard a lot of stories over the years about Chrissy Cunningham.

You knew she and Eddie had attended the same high-school, along with most of his other closest friends. But unlike the rest, Chrissy and Eddie’s knowledge of each other was mostly peripheral until they wound up at the same small liberal arts college after graduation.

There were tales of them pulling all-nighters in the library, dominating beer pong and flip-cup tournaments at frat houses, leading epic tee-peeing sprees across campus on Halloween. Somewhere in there was an ex-boyfriend of hers Eddie would refer to as the human incarnate of spoiled milk—evidently this was the same guy who had labeled Eddie as the local demon summoner of their hometown.

“I stole his yearbook and drew a pentagram on the last page. Pretty sure he burned it,” Eddie told you once, lips spread in a devious smile.

In none of these stories had there been mention of anything romantic; nothing even hinted at other than a platonic with a capital “P” friendship. But still, you couldn’t help but wonder. Surely being that close there had to be something more. They were both attractive, clearly got along well. They’d kept in touch all this time, and if she didn’t live so far away you’re sure you would have met her long before now. She sent him postcards from all the varied places she traveled for work, and always signed them with three little x’s.

Sensing your frustration in the way only he can, Eddie quickly closes the distance separating you. He comes to stand behind you with his chest pressed against your back and winds his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder to meet your gaze in the mirror.

“Come on, baby,” he coaxes you gently. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t know,” you mutter. “I’m tired and stressed out. Not in good first impression mode.”

You use these meaningless descriptors because you can’t quite articulate the way Chrissy makes you feel without sounding like a big baby. Eddie’s Hawkins High yearbook is basically a shrine to her, plastered with seemingly endless pictures of her cheering and being crowned as queen of something no less than three times. And even in those grainy black and white photos, she’s completely radiant. Meanwhile, all you could find of Eddie was his standard portrait and one shot of him in the club photos with his D&D group, making his favorite devil face.

“Hey,” he coos, low and soft in your ear. “You’re gonna be great. She’s gonna love you as much as I do. Well, almost.”

You huff, unable to fully enjoy the warmth of his breath on your skin, because you’re not exactly worried whether or not Chrissy will like you.

You’re trying not to be needy; trying not to feel so insecure at the prospect of meeting Eddie’s old friend; trying not to compare yourself to someone you’ve never even laid eyes on in person. But it’s so unbelievably difficult. Because as far as you can tell…she’s basically his dream girl.

You’d already quizzed him about it relentlessly, but the urge to rehash it one last time is too strong. Some part of you knows it’s pointless—that there’s nothing he can say to assuage this relentless doubt gnawing at your insides. If there was, he would have said it. And yet…

“So you guys were just friends? You never dated?”

“Nope. Never.”

You frown, despite his answer, chewing on the inside of your lip and staring at the sink to avoid his gaze. He places his fingers beneath your chin and tilts your face back up.

“What?” he asks with a smirk. “You don’t believe me?”

“Of course I do,” you groan. “It just doesn’t make sense—you say she was like your best friend, and you guys were doing everything together, and yet somehow you never ever considered, even once, asking out the prettiest, most popular girl from your high-school?”

The slight whine in your voice finally cracks into something resembling a cry. You feel it in your throat the moment it starts to break through and instantly feel the sting of tears welling behind your eyes. Perfect, you think. That’s just what your eyeliner needs.

You hated feeling like you were about to step into one of those horrible rom-com scenarios where two best friends, after years of denying their feelings for one another (or being completely oblivious to them), realize they’ve been madly in love all along. More than likely at the most inopportune moment possible—like right before one of them is about to get married.

Because it had to really suck being the partner of one of those dumbasses.

And, yeah, maybe you and Eddie weren’t getting married. Although, he had been bringing it up more often and you were almost certain one of your rings had gone missing for a good day and a half before reappearing in your jewelry tray on the dresser. Still, this was probably as bad a time as any for him to discover he was secretly in love with his best friend.

“Did you ever think about dating her?” you ask. “Like were you ever out at a bar or stayed up late after a party talking and just thought to yourself maybe, someday…”

Maybe, someday was the clarion cry of these horrid arrangements. If you had a someday person, you were basically earmarking them in your mind for later and it was only a matter of time before the two of you got together. Someday was this magical time that could be years and years from now or it could be fucking tomorrow. And if it was tomorrow, that made you the one the someday person trounces over on their way to true love. It was going to be your heart that wound up shattered and no one watching in the movie theater would even care.

Eddie starts to sway gently, rocking you with him as he mulls over his answer.

“Honestly? I had, like, a glimmer of a crush on her in high-school, but I barely knew her then. And the more we hung out…it just wasn’t something to pursue.”

“Why not? What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” he says. “We were better as friends.”

Your face sinks into a pout and you make no attempt whatsoever to disguise it. You can’t put your finger on exactly why, but you feel like there has to be more to this story. She’s pretty and thin, funny and exciting, glamorous and worldly, and Eddie just magically never had feelings for her? Never considered her romantically in the slightest? It doesn’t add up.

“It’s not like that, I swear,” Eddie says when he sees you sulking, arms wrapping tighter around you, trying to reassure you with his touch.

Normally, it helps. But not tonight.

“I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me,” you admit with another sigh.

His eyes are waiting for yours in the mirror. A pair of deep brown pools as warm and comforting as a freshly poured cup of coffee stare back at you, but fail to have their typically calming effect.

Against your back, you feel Eddie’s chest rise and fall as he takes a steadying breath.

“Well, there kind of is,” he says. “But I swear it’s got nothing to do with that. It’s just not mine to tell. I don’t know if Chrissy wants you to know or if she wants to tell you herself.”

It’s not the worst thing he could have said, but it’s also not, not the worst thing. You groan and bury your face in your hands.

“Maybe I shouldn't go,” you grumble into your palms.

Staying home suddenly feels like the only solution. Leaving them alone might only hasten the inevitable. But if they were gonna fall in love, you shouldn’t have to sit around to watch.

“No,” Eddie whines, tugging insistently on your wrists to pull your hands from your face. “Don’t say that. Please come? I’m really excited for you two to meet.”

“I’m only gonna be in the way,” you sniffle, unable to look at him. “You guys will be reminiscing all night and I’ll just sit there like a mute idiot.”

Third wheel to your own boyfriend.

His jaw ticks and he clenches it in that way he always does when you talk down about yourself. He doesn’t have time right now to go into just how wrong you are. And he can tell you won’t be receptive to it in your current state. He’ll take care of it later, when he has you pinned beneath him, driving his body into yours, making you gasp and pant and plead until you’ll say whatever he asks—including admitting how fucking perfect you are.

“I want you to meet her because I think you’ll get along.” His breath ghosts across the nape of your neck as he presses his lips to your skin. “Because she’s great…and you’re really great…and I think you’d be great together.”

At last, you swallow the tears rising in your throat and nod. You lift your head and find his pretty doe eyes in the mirror again. Eyes that love you. Eyes that would never compare you to someone else.

Eyes that are only for you.

You and Eddie walk into The Hideout, your hand held firmly in his. The bouncer and bartender nod at you both in acknowledgment, too inundated with customers for a longer interaction. They knew Eddie well from the many years his band had spent here playing to nearly empty rooms, as well as when he started working as a barback on the weekends to earn some extra cash. And they know you from the number of “dates” you’d spent visiting him during a shift.

Chrissy spots you immediately and throws her hand up in the air, wiggling her fingers excitedly. Her strawberry blonde hair was swept up in a ponytail, soft curls bouncing with her every move. She’s in cream-colored trousers cuffed at the ankles with a wide black belt holding them up so they sit high on her tiny waist. Her top is a sleeveless black turtleneck, cropped to reveal a little sliver of her abdomen. It’s one of those cool-girl outfits that’s so effortlessly trendy and chic it instantly makes you feel overly plain and unassuming in your sundress.

Jesus. Did she have to be that pretty?

She was cute as a goddamn button with big, round eyes and full, cherubic cheeks that only grew as she flashed a smile with enough wattage to power the whole bar. Maybe the entire town. Like in her picture in Eddie’s yearbook, one of her front teeth was a little crooked. Yet somehow it only made her smile, and her by extension, all the more charming.

Every pair of eyes in the room is watching as she scoots out of her seat in the corner booth. With a wide grin, she stretches up on her tiptoes to throw her arms around Eddie’s neck as you and he approach the table she’s secured. He slides his free arm around her waist, wrapping her up in a tight squeeze, but keeps your hand in his the entire time. You can’t say it’s not a relief, having already loosened your grip in anticipation of him dropping it as he went to hug Chrissy.

Only when he steps back from between you does he let it go, placing his palm on your shoulder as he gives Chrissy your name. She beams at you, eyes sparkling even in the dim light of the dive bar. You feel your cheeks pinch and your teeth clench as you force a smile.

“Hi! It’s so nice to finally meet you!” She reaches out to take your hands in hers and gives them a gentle squeeze. Of course her skin is as soft as velvet. “Gosh, you’re even prettier in person.”

A waft of her perfume hits you, fresh citrus swirling in your nose, and you falter slightly at her words. In person? In person as opposed to what? Your social media was private, as was hers, and neither of you had yet to extend a friend request or so much as a DM. You only knew her face from Eddie’s yearbook. How did she know yours?

“You need a drink, yeah?” she asks. “I’ll get the first round, my tab is already open.”

Eddie’s hand rubs across the small of your back in a soothing circle. “I’ll get you something,” he says to you softly. “You guys sit.”

Chrissy grins and ushers you into the booth as Eddie heads for the bar. You slide into the center and nod at the pink cocktail garnished with an orange curl that sits in front of her.

“What are you having?”

“A cosmopolitan,” she says. “Not normally my first choice, but Benny makes them so well I always order one when I’m here. He loves to bitch about it, but I know they’re only as good as they are because he drinks them himself.”

She smirks at the bar where the massive, burly bartender is talking animatedly with Eddie as he pours drinks. You can’t help but giggle imagining him sipping Chrissy’s bright pink cocktail.

“I’ve never tried one,” you say. “Is it good?”

“Have some,” she chirps. “Just know it’ll ruin you for all other cosmos.”

Dainty fingers adorned with thin gold rings push the glass towards you and you bring it to your lips for a taste. There’s a little smear of her lip gloss on the rim and the peachy flavor of it mixes with the taste of the drink in your mouth. You let out a little hum of approval as it splashes on your tongue, a perfect balance of sweet and sour.

“Wow, that is good,” you say. “I never would have pegged that as Benny’s drink.”

Chrissy smiles knowingly. Most of the Hideout’s bartenders looked like they shower in scotch and use bourbon as body wash. She leans in close and lowers her voice to a conspiring whisper.

“He’ll never admit this…but he’s a huge Sex and the City fan. I came in once to pick up a jacket I'd left, and he had it playing on the TV.”

Your eyes go wide at the revelation and you shoot an appraising glance towards the bar. “I feel like he’s a Samantha,” you say with an impish smile.

“Oh, definitely!” Chrissy laughs and then nods in the direction of the bouncer. He’s smaller than Benny, but still woefully intimidating, especially as he’s frowning and turning away a couple of kids with fake IDs at the door. “And Luke acts like a Miranda, but he’s a total Charlotte.”

You both giggle at that and your shoulders brush as you lean together. The warmth of her skin on yours surprises you, but not nearly as much as when she reaches out her hand and lays it gently on your wrist. Her eyes land on your face and you feel your breathing stall as you stare back into them. Deep blue-green like the ocean, framed by her long lashes and accentuated by the pale wash of shadow she’s swept across her lids.

“Your eyes are so pretty,” she says softly. “I can never get wings to match that well.”

“Thanks,” you breathe out, heat rising in your cheeks. “I really like your eyeshadow.”

“Aww, you’re adorable.” Chrissy smiles and her lashes flutter, showing off more of the shimmery powder blue there. “Eddie was right, you’re such a sweetheart.”

Her words ignite a little flicker of excitement that trickles down the back of your neck. You shift slightly in your seat and look down at your lap, hoping she can’t see how it affects you. You tell yourself it’s not her, just her use of your favorite pet name Eddie uses for you. Very different.

The more you talk with Chrissy, the harder it becomes to keep up the animosity you’d been stewing in the past few weeks. She’s just so…nice. In the time it takes for Eddie to get drinks from the crowded bar, you two have already brought out your phones and started cooing over pictures of the other’s cats. She’s in the middle of a story about her fat gray tabby Templeton when Eddie returns carrying his pint of amber colored beer and a rum and ginger for you.

He places your drink down on the table first, but passes his own glass into your waiting hand. You sip his beer and he chuckles at the sour face you make before sliding into the booth next to you and tucking you securely under his arm.

“Not poisoned,” you tell him, still grimacing. “Just disgusting.”

It’s an old bit, one that goes back almost to your first date. You weren’t a big beer person, but you still liked taking little tastes of the ones ordered by friends on the off chance of finding one you did like. Eddie had then offered you a sip of his and basically beamed at the adorable way your face scrunched at the taste you considered vile. He suggested in a past life you were probably one of those servants who had to sample a king’s wine before he drank.

You had laughed and rolled your eyes, but leaned hard into the joke from then on.

“My liege, no!” you’d exclaim anywhere—at dinner, a bar, one of Steve’s keggers that was masquerading as a barbeque—hand dramatically outstretched, eyes bulging with fear as he paused raising his glass to his lips before descending into a throaty chuckle. It didn’t take long before he got in the habit of handing over his drink without even thinking about it.

Eddie slots easily into the conversation with you and Chrissy. All three of you chatter back and forth about Chrissy’s work, Eddie’s music, your impending thesis. You feel all that apprehension you’d been building up finally retreating and let yourself relax a little.

And if Chrissy is harboring some ulterior feelings for your boyfriend, she’s either terrible at showing them or incredible at hiding them. She listens raptly to boring stories about all your upgrades to Eddie’s house since moving in, and earnestly asks about your relationship.

“Okay, so you have to tell me everything. How did you guys meet?”

Chrissy sits forward in her seat and sets her elbows on the table, folding her delicate fingers together and resting her chin on them as she looks back and forth between you and Eddie with those sparkling eyes. They’re bright with interest like she literally can’t wait to hear what you’re about to say. If she’s only acting, she’s incredibly gifted. Truly Oscar-winning caliber.

“Oh, jeez,” Eddie groans and covers his face with his hand as he starts to tinge pink. He peeks out at you from between his ringed fingers and a bashful smile curls up the corners of his lips, showing his teeth. “Do we have to?” he asks. “It’s not exactly Romeo & Juliet.”

You nod back at him, flashing a mischievous smile of your own as you sip your drink. Eddie’s hand drops to the table and he sighs, playing up the dramatics you assume for Chrissy’s benefit. She’s eating it up, practically wriggling in her seat like a little puppy waiting for a treat.

“We were…at a strip club,” he says.

“Oh, of course you were!” Chrissy snickers and her eyes dart to you. “Here I was thinking you’re such a good girl and you're secretly a little vixen.”

You shiver instantly and look down at your lap again trying to hide your reaction. Her eyes flit across your body and that familiar little thrill runs up your spine, stirring something inside of you that makes you tingle all over. You let yourself imagine, if only for a moment, maybe you are the little vixen she’s imagining. Ridiculous a thought as that may be, it makes you feel extra bold.

“Hardly,” you laugh. “I was in town for my sister’s wedding. I’d been here like a week already and I was staying with her through to the ceremony to help coordinate and stuff. We went to the club for her bachelorette party, but I was essentially their chaperone. Or maybe more like a wrangler for all her friends? It was like herding cats. Except the cats were drunk. Drunk and in heels.”

The most boring possible reason to be at a strip club? Check. Chrissy doesn’t seem to judge, though. If anything, she tilts her head a bit and smiles like she’s endeared by you even though you completely failed to live up to that visage of a bad girl she thought you might be.

Still, it was fun to pretend it might be true for a second.

“And what were you doing there, Mr. Munson?” she asks, arching her brow at him. “Gathering material for your spank bank?”

“It was for Steve’s bachelor party,” Eddie says pointedly. “It was basically mandatory according to all his finance bros. I wanted to play laser tag, but I had to appease the dark side.”

“Right, because you would never deign to set foot in the Lusty Leopard otherwise,” you say with a teasing smile. Chrissy’s eyes glint as they meet yours and she jumps in seamlessly.

“Yeah, Eddie, we know how much you despise looking at butts and boobs on pretty girls,” she says, giving you a little nudge with her elbow.

“I had to look into getting mine replaced! He can hardly stand the sight of them!”

You feel a bit giddy as you and Chrissy toy with your boyfriend, exchanging your wry smiles and sharing in bubbly laughter. It’s almost like being drunk, even though you’ve only had half of your drink. It sits neglected in front of you and most of the ice has melted, watering down what was left.

Eddie lets you have your fun, but his hand finds your knee under the table and he gives it a firm squeeze. Not mad, just a signal to look at him. His eyes flash when you meet his gaze and his mouth curls into a cool, confident smile that tells you in no uncertain terms he’ll remind you of this later. Another little thrill runs through you and makes you quiver with excitement.

“Anyway,” he continues. “I thought we won the lottery or something. Not only were there gonna be strippers, but there was a whole party full of girls too? We were stoked.”

His eyes flick to yours again. This is where you come in.

“Except someone failed to check their website and see that it was Ladies Night…and an all-male revue. Which is what we were there for.”

“Oh no!” Chrissy exclaims, covering her mouth with her hand, unable to hold back her laughter.

“I have a photo of Steve getting a face full of banana hammock that is pristine.” Eddie cackles and does a little chef’s kiss as you go on.

“So our two parties kind of merge and Eddie pretty much throws himself at me—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, that is slander, sweetheart,” Eddie interjects. “I was valiantly keeping you occupied to spare you Steve’s antics.”

“Uh-oh, what was Steve doing?” Chrissy asks.

“He was wasted, trying to convince the girls at the party to strip once the guys were done.”

“Yeah,” you scoff. “In the name of justice and equality.”

“Oh, Steve,” Chrissy let out a gentle sigh, shaking her head at their mutual friend’s foolishness.

“Exactly,” you say. “Anyway, we wound up playing Truth or Dare and Eddie dared me to do an Irish Car Bomb with him. And whoever finished last, their group had to perform on stage.”

“So, who won?”

Chrissy’s eyes flit between you and Eddie as the two of you share a coy glance. After letting suspense build for a few seconds, Eddie sighs and tips an imaginary hat to you as you smile proudly. Chrissy beams back at you, her hand shooting up for a high-five..

“I knew it!” she says. “Nice one!”

You grin as your palms meet, heart fluttering in your chest. You think back to that night and how your adrenaline had spiked and coursed through you, making your fingers tremble as you held the shot of Bailey’s and Jameson over the pint of Guinness while Eddie stared you down across the rims of the glasses. It was the first time his gaze had completely stilled your breathing and it was strikingly similar to the feeling you got when Chrissy’s eyes had roved over you tonight.

“So, wait, did they actually strip?” she asks. “Please tell me you have a video!”

“I wish!” you laugh and shake your head. “They wouldn’t let anyone on stage. But Eddie did a very tasteful lap dance to I Want it That Way and I was powerless. He asked for my number after and I just had to give it to him.”

“That’s adorable,” Chrissy says, looking at you both all wistful and moony like she was reading some harlequin romance novel.

Eddie looks down, a happy and bashful smile tugging up the corners of his mouth and making his deep dimples appear in his cheeks. His hand rested on the leather booth between you and he slowly slides it over, linking his pinky with yours. You can practically hear what he’s dying to whisper in your ear right now.

Best night ever.

“Gosh, Truth or Dare really takes me back,” Chrissy sighs as she starts to sit back and then jolts forward. “Oh, my god! Is that what we were playing that first time we…you know? Or, wait, it was Never Have I Ever?”

In an instant, your spine went stiff. You withdrew your hand from Eddie’s, the loss of the heat from his pinky leaving a cold ring around your own, and stared cautiously at Chrissy.

“Um…the first time you, what?”

“You know,” Chrissy says, bouncing her brows suggestively. “Our thing.”

“Wh-what thing? What does that mean?”

All the airiness you’d felt just seconds ago has been vacuumed straight out of your chest. You look over at Eddie with wide eyes and find his face is panged with regret.

Chrissy glances at him warily.

“You didn’t tell her?” she asks. Oh no…

“No, not exactly,” he says. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted her to know about…you know…”

Jesus fucking Christ if someone doesn’t finish an actual sentence I’m gonna scream.

“Oh my god, Eddie! Look how panicked she is!”

Chrissy scoots closer to you, placing a gentle hand on your back and rubbing it in small circles. It’s almost calming right up until the moment you imagine her fucking your boyfriend, or blowing him, or jerking him off, or a million other things that apparently didn’t qualify as “dating.”

“I’m so sorry we upset you, babe,” she says. “I swear, I figured you knew. It’s not a secret, it just might sound a little scandalous.”

You swallow hard, throat clenching, trying to bring some relief to your mouth that has gone impossibly dry. Reaching for your drink, hoping neither of them can see how your hand trembles as you do, you take a long gulp and place the glass back down a touch too hard.

“Can one of you please just tell me what you’re talking about?”

“Of course, of course,” Chrissy says. “We had a, um…” Her eyes sweep to Eddie. “What would you call it? An arrangement?”

Eddie shrugs as he takes a nervous swig of his beer. “An alliance?”

Chrissy’s head bobs, ponytail swinging back and forth, not entirely satisfied with that either.

“Well, whatever you call it…we were sharing girls.”

Of all the things you expected to come out of Chrissy’s mouth, that didn’t even make the list. You can feel your mouth parting in confusion, brows marrying together as your face furrows.

“Wh…what does that mean, exactly?”

“We would hook up with girls together,” Chrissy explains. “He and I never did anything, but if we found a girl we both liked, we’d take her home.”

Your brain scrambles, trying to make sense of what you’re hearing.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t get it. How…how, um, did that work exactly? Why would you…”

“Did you tell her anything about me?” Chrissy demands, her gaze whirling onto Eddie.

“I didn’t know if you wanted it broadcasted,” he says, voice hushed as he glances around.

Chrissy shakes her head, a long-suffering kind of motion like he was her little brother who had left the toilet seat up. Her attention turns back to you and she lowers her voice seriously.

“In that case, I’ve been holding this in long enough and it’s high time you knew the truth.” She reaches out to take your hands in hers and arranges her face in the most solemn expression possible. “My name is Chrissy Cunningham…and I fucking love pussy.”

Part Two

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