#she thinks its in a romantic way but it isn't she's just really close with him

[capslocked]

PASCAL

male reader x karina & irene

part 1 of two roses, by every other name

28k words

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

Irene’s is remarkably not.

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so it goes.

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

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

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

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

“So I guess, pace yourself or something.”

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey," is how you answer, always.

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

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

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

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

And so it goes, and so it goes.

-

"Have a drink," someone keeps saying.

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

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

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

Happy New Year, sorta. You wait it out.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if you had any intention of absconding without her.

-

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

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

A real celebrity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And wouldn’t you know."

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

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

"Hm, I’m thinking."

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

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

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

Irene will finally perk up, gleaming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tough to say.

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

And - she would, really.

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

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

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

It’ll make the cab driver clear his throat.

"What you’re saying is ‘no.’"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Um, do you mean Rosé?”

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

-

Enter then, Yu Jimin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not for long, the question lingers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is sorta how you've always known her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You're one to talk, Irene."

“Careful,” Irene warns.

"What, you gonna set me straight?"

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You remember the knit of her brow.

“Do not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ha."

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

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

Karina just runs her tongue across her lips, sighing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just to keep her gasping, panting.

Like a woman starved for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-and vanish somewhere in Irene's mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

You both do. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm… fucking cumming.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She breathes, "god. Irene."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like Karina wants you to look.

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

She laughs at the premise. 

“I dunno, what's a girl to do?"

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

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

-

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

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

Irene laments and hopes in the same breath. 

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

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

"Honey," is how Irene responds, leisurely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She ends it so charming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the girl absolutely fucking keens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fucking, please, god-."

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

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

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

One.

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

Two.

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

Three.

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

Four.

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

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

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

"God, I can’t, just- ah.”

“Breathe,” Irene says.

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

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

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

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

And she wants you to-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You absolutely get it. 

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

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

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

Who stands any chance to resist?

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

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

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

"You can cum for me too, baby."

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

“Just cum.”

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The three of you know she deserves nothing less.

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

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

The thing is, with Irene: facades fade fast.

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

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

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

She simply shudders apart.

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

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

“Irene, look-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Irene lets out this wanton sound, desperate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It steps out into pure necessity.

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

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

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

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

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

In and in and in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And in case you missed the point:

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

-

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

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

So,

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

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

A bit of color.

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

She finishes with a cough. And says again:

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

Well. She's got you on that count.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because I'm not the type.”

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re not married,” you correct.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s probably right.

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

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

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

-

On Monday: the holidays are officially over.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She doesn’t really care.

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

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

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

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

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

She’s totally caught you staring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stop fucking her, halfway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking god, Irene-”

“Mhmm?” she fucking coos.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sight alone.

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

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

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

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

You’ll make your vows like any other.

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

"I think you might be projecting."

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

"An affair," you repeat, skeptical.

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

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

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

"That's the fantasy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right in her warm, wet little mouth.

Jesus, her tongue too-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her pout, right there, waiting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

// Karina 10:42 pm > suggestions?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

// Karina 11:07 pm > really

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

// 11:11 pm > you're funny

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

"Something edgy," you deadpan.

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

"No," you say. “God, no.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

// Karina 11:17 pm > and… do what?

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

“Can you fucking leave it-”

Irene rolls her eyes.

// 11:18 pm > do you need ideas

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

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

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

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

"How, what - babe."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mm."

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

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

"You'll be good right?"

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

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

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

"And give her an extra hello from me."

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Though, unfortunately, the suggestion falls short on delivery.

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

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

"Shut the door behind you?"

"Locking it too," you tell her.

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

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

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

She must see the confliction you're in-

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

"I- don't really-"

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

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

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

-

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

This isn't quite how you pictured-

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

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

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

"Yeah. That would work."

Like it's no big deal-

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

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

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

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

(You know, god help you.)

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

Always traveling for this reason or that.

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

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

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

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

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

The long and short of it is: 

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

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

“Yeah, I’m sure she’d love that.”

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

-

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

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

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

She takes another spoonful of yogurt between her lips.

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

“That’s fucked up.”

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

-

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

“Elaborate.”

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

"Are you really."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Holy fuck, you're-"

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

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

But instead,

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

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

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

You cum just like that: 

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

You shoot clean up, all thick, hot splatter.

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

"Jesus, Karina, baby you’re-"

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

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

(Sanity is being generous, considering.)

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

The protégé, the goddamn heir-apparent:  

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

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

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

#karina smut #irene smut #aespa smut #red velvet smut #male reader smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut

[a-hazbin-reader]

Okay we also see Alastor go ham and how wifey swoons over him but now what if wifey let lose, like someone threatens him or the hotel and before anyone could react she dashes forward killing them brutally and mercilessly?

🥵

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Violence, Blood, Wifey is crazy, Suggestive

Description: ☝️⬆️

Not many people know that Alastor's wife is a badass, mostly because you're content to watch and support your husband on the sidelines

But that doesn't mean you aren't your own kind of terrifying, you're a bad bitch and that's how you pulled your husband

He knows you can take care of yourself and loves it when you put someone in their place, he even likes it when you put him in his place 😏

Everyone is so used to Alastor protecting you that they never consider what you're capable of, your husband is just being a gentleman

But Alastor knows this and looks forward to the times you want to handle things yourself

Someone is harassing you on the street? Being crude and disgusting to you because they assume you're just some random dame?

Your husband simply looks at you to see if you want him to handle it or not, he would love to teach this punk a lesson for you

But he gets excited when you shake your head and start taking off your jewelry, holding his hand out to hold it for you

"Oh? Do come back dirty for me, I'll lick you clean~"

"Promise?"

He just watches you pummel the street urchin with a satisfied smile on his face, letting out a lovesick sigh at the sound of your victim's screams

"Isn't she a vision, Husker? Look at the way the blood drips down her body~ Absolute poetry in motion~"

Husk just sighs and chugs a bottle of booze, already so done with the two of you

"Yeah, uh, she's really somethin'..."

Alastor lets out a happy hum and turns back to watch you, completely enamored by the sight of you

"She really is~"

You try to help your husband in a fight? Well suddenly its just you figuring because Alastor stops to watch the show

"Alastor, aren't you going to help her..?"

He almost doesn't hear Charlie speaking to him, a cloud of hearts practically fluttering around him as he stares at you, frozen in place

"And deprive myself of this beautiful sight? Now, that would be a true sin... Look to your left, my dear!"

He actually has to cover his mouth with his hand to hide his blush when you spin around and impale them, blowing your husband a kiss

"Thank you, darling~"

His tail is wiggling with happiness, dramatically catching the kiss and keeping it close to his heart

Charlie thinks at some point she hears him whistling at you but she doesn't want to look and confirm

Or when someone tries to hurt your family, Alastor has seen you lose your shit because you caught someone trying to assassinate him

One moment, he's relaxed and snuggling with his darling wife and the next, he hears a crash and sees you throwing the attacker across the room

And he'll be damned if he doesn't say that it does something to him to see you like that

You're practically feral as you tear apart the screaming demon, a blinding rage taking you over

"How dare you come into MY HOME! Try to hurt MY HUSBAND!"

Alastor is nearly blushing, flustered and pulling on his collar as he watches you defend him like he's some helpless little demon

"Darling, you sure do know how to make your husband hot under the collar, don't you~?"

He catches one of your hands mid strike and takes you out of your rage, unable to stop himself from kissing your blood covered face

He can't help it, seeing you so angry and violent reminds him of when he first met you-

The would-be-attacker is still alive, a weak hand coming up to grab at your ankle when you suddenly use your own powers to finish him off

You're too busy being kissed and fondled by your husband to devote any more attention to them

He hoists you up suddenly, your legs wrapping around him as he steps over the body of your victim, leaving the room to take you upstairs instead

He nuzzles his face against your neck, distracting you from glaring at the corpse in the other room

"Do you think you could toss me like that, darling?"

"Alastor~!"

Wifey is just a doll 😍

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin x reader

[kentopedia]

I loooveee the way u write nanami 🥺🥺 was wondering if u could do a mini fic on nanami x reader but when they were in high school :O I feel reader would constantly flirt with him but he stays unbothered until she stops 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 thank uuuu

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEARTS — nanami kento

omg thank u so so much, you're very sweet <3 i think i was taking requests when you asked this, so im so so so sorry i took forever to answer :( this isn't exactly what you said but i hope it's close to what you had in mind <3

contents: sfw, high school nanami & reader, mutual pining, silly teenage emotions, fluff, it's not even really romantic but they're best friends that won't admit they have a crush on each other, reader is shorter than him, gn!reader — 1.2k

“you can’t stay mad at me forever, kento.”

your best friend — or so you thought — stayed silent as you walked through the abandoned warehouse, searching for the curses that needed exorcising. so far, they’d evaded you, just as kento had all of your questions.

he glanced over at you, mouth drawn into its usual line. “i can if i want.”

“oh really?” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you continued forward, following him through the building. “are you fifteen or five? you’re supposed to be the mature one!”

kento rolled his eyes, but didn’t dignify that with a verbal response, letting his blade dangle loosely at his side. an odd sound echoed through the hallways, but it wasn’t quite menacing enough to be a curse.

you groaned. “don’t you know everyone will just keep pairing us up on missions until we work this out?” if kento was going to continue to be a pain, you wouldn’t allow him the silence he wanted so desperately. he’d been ignoring you for over a week. “haibara’s lucky. he gets to go with the second years.”

nanami glanced over his shoulder, raising his eyebrow, before looking ahead once more. “you mean he’s lucky he gets to go with gojo.”

though you weren’t sure if it was supposed to be an insult to you or not, you laughed. “maybe.”

“yeah,” kento scoffed. “i thought so.”

the tone was flatter than usual, even for someone like kento, and you raised your eyebrows, letting the words settle between you.

“you’re being so sour. you know, you never even told me what i did wrong. you’re so mad at me, kento, and i don’t even really know why.”

kento watched his feet take one step, then another, the opposite ones moving ahead. he’d grown a lot over the summer — a fact you’d somehow only realized. since when had he been that much taller than you?

“i’m not mad,” he finally settled on. a weak argument as to why he’d been ignoring you for the duration of your mission, and the week before.

you frowned, chewing the inside of your mouth. although kento had a kind heart, you knew how nasty he could be to people he didn’t like. you didn’t want to be one of those on the list. “kento… i really am sorry. if i’ve done something wrong.”

the tension drained from his shoulders. he sighed. “you haven’t.”

despite wanting to push the issue further, you let it die, deciding to listen to the silence in case of any curses. though, it had been nearly half an hour, and you hadn’t found any yet. you were beginning to think that maybe your teacher had led you astray.

“can i ask you something?” kento, after ten minutes, finally interrupted the quiet again. and though that sort of phrase was never a good sign, you would’ve taken anything to get him talking to you again.

“of course, kento.”

he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, seeming shy, almost. had it not been so dark, you would have seen the slight tint of pink on his cheeks, that you only assumed was there to begin with.

“what is it about gojo that you like so much?”

you blinked. “what do you mean?”

“you’re… interested in him, aren’t you? like that?” kento shifted awkwardly, holding his body as if it wasn’t quite his own. “i mean, i just assumed…”

all over, you great hot, your cheeks burning with embarrassment, a wave of dread heaping onto your stomach. “you think i have a crush on gojo?”

“don’t you?”

you thought about it for a moment, staring at the ceiling. “i don’t know. maybe.”

“maybe?” kento pinched his eyebrows together. “what the hell kind of answer is that? you either do or you don’t.”

“i think he’s...” you stumbled over the words, not really sure when you’d started talking to nanami kento about these sorts of things. the words tasted sour in your mouth. “well, i suppose he’s attractive, isn’t he? he’s certainly charming. he makes me laugh.”

“you’re always flirting with him," kento said skeptically.

you shrugged. "i'm just teasing. if you consider that flirting, then i guess i am."

“hm. you sound like you think you’re supposed to be interested in him, just because he’s gojo.”

that raised a small laugh out of you. “maybe you’re right. i think i might just be interested in people i know won’t ever like me back.” kento’s eyes flashed, and before he could say anything, lips parted, you continued. “but what do i know about anything, anyway? teenagers are supposed to be dumb like that, aren’t they?”

kento frowned, brown eyes softer than you’d seen in awhile. “i don’t think you’re dumb.”

“thanks.” for some reason, that made you bashful, darting your eyes away as you smiled at the ground. “have you ever had a crush on anyone, kento?”

he gave you a tiny little smile, poking you in the temple, before repeating your words from earlier. “i don’t know. maybe.”

“you’re so stupid.”

kento laughed, then, a light noise that was more familiar to you than it was to a lot of others. “you know, if it makes you feel better, i think gojo likes you. really, i do. he thinks you’re pretty. he likes when you laugh at his jokes. geto told us. he talks about you to him all the time.”

and though you’d expected the words to send a wave of glee over you, the sort of silly emotion that came with a teenage crush, you didn’t feel excited as you should've. perhaps because satoru had never been the one you wanted.

“gojo just likes to be admired. besides, everyone likes when people laugh at their jokes. that's not special.” you kicked at the floor. “anyway, geto’s probably just telling you all that so you’ll tell me and i’ll make a fool of myself in front of them. that would really make them laugh.”

kento frowned, contemplative. “i don’t think he would do that.”

he wouldn’t. it just seemed the only good way to diverge the conversation.

you threw your hands up, expelling a loud sigh. “well… whatever. honestly, it doesn't matter. i don’t think i even want a boyfriend.”

kento gawked at you for a moment, lips slightly parted, before he shook his head, another snort of a laugh leaving him. “you’re so confusing.”

“you should be relieved. wouldn’t you be miserable if i started dating gojo?” you were only teasing him, bumping his shoulder with your own, a playful grin on your face.

but kento’s voice was gentle when he returned his answer, and the relief was evident on his face. “i would.”

whether you knew it then, or not, that little confession had changed the course of your life. you brushed it off easily, gripping your cursed tool tightly as you turned the corner again.

“hey kento?”

“what? the curses are going to sneak up on us if—”

“you’re my best friend, by the way. even if i was dating gojo, you’d still be my best friend. you’ll always be my best friend.” you stopped him, serious now. “no matter what happens.”

kento smiled softly, barely there at all. he squeezed your hand in return. “i hope so.”

#kento nanami x reader #jjk x reader #nanami fluff #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #kento nanami x you #nanami x reader #jjk x fem!reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #xoxo rylie 💌 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

[iiotic]

｡‧General dating headcanons ༻༉

Alastor x Gn! Reader

༉‧.tw - Ep 5 Spoilers, slight nsfw, mentions of cannibalism.

༉‧.words - 0.7k

༉‧.a/n - Just general dating headcanons for my boy </3 I apologize for any mistakes English is not my first language

At first you gained his respect for respecting his boundaries and not stepping over the line and in return he respects yours (not really). Somehow you ended up dating?? So lucky you.

Alastor is such a gentleman. He'd treat you like royalty!!

He adores cooking for everyone but when he'd cook for you Alastor be extra careful to not fuck things up and add extra flavours. Loves making Jambalaya for you!! Would definitely tell you all the stories about him and his mom cooking together.

I bet he'd love to cook or bake with you. I mean just look at you smiling and giggling like a child!! Adorable (in a good way)

Would try atleast one time to make you try demon meat. If you like it he's very pleased but if not?? He's fine with it too. Not everyone likes the taste of it.

Your relationship would be private so PDA is off the table. Maybe linking your arms together, a hand on the waist or a quick kiss on the cheek when no one is looking. It doesn't mean that he doesn't love you but he has a high status in hell. He wouldn't want you to be a target for other overlords or sinners.

At first only Rosie would know about your relationship but as time passed by Charlie found out and passed the information to Vaggie then Vagatha accidentally fucked up and passed the information to Angel Dust and again and again. Mimzy somehow found out too.

And as a little revenge for Alastor from kicking her out of the hotel (ep 5) she passed the info to other overlords.

So now sinners are aware of you guys being together and The Radio Demon is not very pleased with it. He started to get a tiny bit more protective of you then he was before. However when someone saw you it leaded to them running off, scattering because they're absolutely terrified of what could happen to them if they did anything and I mean anything wrong in your presence.

They looked at you wrong.. Oops where did their eyes went? They touched you without your permission. Suddenly their arms are nowhere to be found! They tried to hit on you and now they are missing. I wonder where they could be??

As i said he is a gentleman!! Opening doors for you, lending you his coat when you're cold, pulling out the chair and kissing the back of your hand.

Every Wednesday he'd bring you a bouquet and each one of the flowers he'd choose has its meaning. Isn't it cute??

His love language is Acts of service and quality time. Alastor loves when you bring him black coffee or something to eat when he is broadcasting someone's screams on the radio when he didn't even ask you for it. Like what do you mean you remember his daily hours of his "work".

Takes you out on dates without an accasion though he prefers to keep it private then to go to a club. He may take you out on a walk in the garden full of red roses and a buetiful fountain however Alastor would also love to cook you your favourite meal and eat it for as an romantic dinner with youuuuu!!

I don't think that even in private he's a cuddler, he doesn't like psychical touch but doesn't mind it from people he is close with. Maybe if he is feeling a little extra today he'd let you hug him as a good morning. In return he'd kiss the back of your hand.

Not exactly much of a kisser either pheraps a quick peck on the cheek or on the forehead?? This doesn't include the times he's feeling extra romantic and dips you in a long passionate kiss. But he's not the time to do full make out session yk??

One day Alastor would tell you that he likes pineapples on pizza and if you're not a big fan of it (me neither) you would be like WHAAAAT.

Alastor loves seeing you in his clothes it's just looking cute on you and kinda turns him on

#Spotify #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #dating headcanons

[reverieblondie]

Rehearsing

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara X Spider-woman!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Plot, Smut and Fluff, Accidental Voyeurism, Masturbation, Praise, Unprotected Penetrative Sex (wrap it before you tap it), Riding, Pining, Dumification, Overstimulation, Aftercare.

Summary: Miguel isn't good when it comes to feelings...especially when it comes to you...

A/N: I just really like the idea of Miguel having a crush on reader and not knowing how to navigate it. This went through so many rewrites so I hope you enjoy. its pretty Fluffy and cheesy, but I'm a hopeless romantic so I enjoyed it.

Word Count: 5,547

“Tsk, why did she have to say that…”

Miguel can't help but feverishly type at his holo screens, with each passing second his irritation spreads.  

It started a couple of months ago when you got recruited, at first it was just a simple attraction but the more you graced him with your presents the more he couldn't resist his growing feelings. 

The problem is for one having a crush is ridiculous. He's not some teenager, he's a grown-ass man, leader of the spider society he can't just go having crushes on the people who work under him. Even if he got over that part of it there is another problem however plaguing his….situation, he can hardly even speak to you. 

Before he was Spider-Man he was quite suave and if he didn't want to converse with someone he could at least manage it. Nowadays, he seems to only be talking in gruff commands, short sentences, or just downright mean. Closing himself off from personal things. He blames the whole masked vigilante thing for his lack of practice in conversing. 

It's not like he hasn’t tried though, he's come close to having normal conversation with you numerous times but when you look at him with those eyes something in him seems to short-circuit and he's a mess of a man before you. Shocking ridiculous…  

Finally, Miguel couldn't take it anymore; he had to get closer to you. The plan was simple: he arranged for you and him to go on a mission together. It was the perfect way to get closer to you, You and him alone, out of the society walls away from prying eyes, he could finally open up to you. 

Unfortunately, the beautiful plan he had so painstakingly rehearsed over and over again in his mind, came to a screeching halt when the day of you walked into his office with Gwen and Hobie in tow. Of course, something was going to derail his plans. It couldn't ever be simple 

Miguel could easily say no to Gwen and Hobie asking to tag along, but those two were clever. They had you ask for them and of course, you did.  Miguel knew that the inclusion of them would wreck his plan but he just couldn't resist you, he would do anything for you…anything…you just had to ask. 

Now with his whole plan derailed he was sulking in an isolated corner of the rooftop building as the rest of you all surveyed the city for anomalies. 

“This is pretty dull…” Hobie comments 

Well no shit, Miguel thinks to himself. This was supposed to be an easy mission so he could get closer to y/n. It wasn't supposed to be stressful, it was supposed to be easy. In his plan, he and y/n were supposed to already be enthralled in conversation. He had of course looked up conversation starters to use, it would have been perfect…  

Miguel can only groan at Hobie, just looking at him makes his blood boil. Needing to calm his sudden irritation, his eyes fall on you. Looking so vigilantly to the city, taking the mission so seriously. He could do this forever, just watching you, he would gladly just be a piece of furniture in your life if you let him. There for you to use when you needed him. He would sit so patiently as he just watched you live. Just basking in the warm radiance of you. 

Miguel can’t help but stare at you, mind racing with thoughts. So when you finally turn he is quick to move his gaze, pretending to not have been staring, tapping again at his watch. 

He thought for sure he had been slick but when he looked up again to gaze at you he saw Hobie with a wide smirk on his face. Almost like Hobie has been reading his mind. Hobie huffs a chuckle to himself before he looks at you then back to Miguel, Then that damn question rang out from his smug mouth. 

“How about some team bonding huh?” All eyes fall on Hobie and before anyone can even respond he's continuing “I’ll ask the first question, what does everyone fancy?” 

Going to voice his protest about how that is not imperative knowledge to know about a teammate Gwen is chiming in “Oh! I love a guy with witty humor, even if it's not particularly funny, if he's clever I will like it.” 

Hobie nods “Very nice gwendy, personally, I have a thing for hands”

This caused a laugh from y/n and Gwen and Miguel just couldn't help the irritated look on his face.

“Miguel how abou-” 

“No” Miguel quickly cuts off the question.  

“Fine, Y/n what about you?” 

Now Miguel didn't care about the teen's answers, but yours, this could be his chance to find out what you like. He was hopeful it would be something similar to him or something that he has. Watching with bated breath, your face contorts into deep thought, and then your answer rings through making his breath still. 

“I like smiles”

A smile…of course, you would say a smile…

You couldn’t say, tall or muscular, or stern, you couldn’t have just pointed to Miguel you had to say smiles…something that he never does

Pulling himself back to the present Miguel stops typing away at his holo screen shutting them off. It had been a couple of days since the mission and he was still agonizing over the revelation. Smiles…Staring ahead towards one of his monitors he studies his face through the reflective surface, his ever stern face showing no sign of emotion. 

Miguel then practices a smile and quickly stops with a frown, sighing irritatedly as his foot begins to tap, what is he doing? Looking forward again, He braces his large hands on his desk then smiles again, this time showing his teeth, large fangs on display from the grin. He keeps the smile placed there and turns his head from left to right smiling a bit wider. He then stops whipping his hands down his face.

This is ridiculous…he should be working not practicing how to smile but, you like smiles…maybe if you thought he had a nice smile…

Miguel feels his face slightly flush and the tips of his ears warm. Looking back to the reflective surface he takes a deep breath to ready himself. Sure this is pathetic, but it's for you, he would do anything for you and if you want a smile he was going to make sure to practice to give you the best smile he could muster. Training, it's just like simple training… 

“Hey, how are you today y/n?” -smiles-

“Oh, are you eating lunch? Can I join you?” -smile- 

“What? You like my fangs? Well thank you y/n” -smile-

“You look gorgeous today.” -smile- 

Miguel breaks the last rehearsed smile and rubs his hands on his face once more, an exasperated sigh leaving him again. 

“this so stupid…that wouldn’t work…”Practicing how to smile for her. Pathetic. 

The sound of his office door opening breaks his pouting. Miguel quickly puts his screens back up making him seem busy with work. Then the sweet sound of your voice rings through his blushed ears, turning, he thinks it can't be true, but there you are. Staring up at him with those shining eyes.

Just give me a chance, you won't regret it; he thinks to himself.  

“Hello Miguel, we caught the anomaly in dimension 0798, Peter had a mayday emergency come up so he asked me to deliver the reports.” 

You type away at your watch screen sending the completed report his way. 

“I also wanted to see if you had anything else for me before I take my leave,”

Miguel opens up the report you sent his way, it's pristine and thorough, you always wrote the best reports…god could you be sexier… 

Scanning over it quickly before putting it away his eyes return to you. Unable to help himself he stares at your beautiful form for a bit too long, face still in that stern look, no smile to greet you. Studying you for a moment wanting to confess his desire for you, wanting to tell you what you make him feel. But the words don't meet his lips, just a curt grunt. 

“Nothing else, you can leave”

Giving a small nod you turn on your heels to leave, As you are walking towards the exit Miguel can't help himself and calls out your name. Whipping around quickly you face him once more with curious eyes. 

Shit, he didn't think that through. Examining you he takes you in again. lovely eyes, glossy lips, those hips…he could stare at you forever. Clearing his throat averting his eyes to calm himself before he speaks. 

“I hope you have a pleasant evening.'' He says not looking at you, then he forces himself to slide his scarlet eyes to you, then quickly balling his clammy hands into first he gives his best shot at a smile. It's more of a smirk and he's worried his fangs might be popping out too much. Sure, he's going to have to practice to do better, but this is what he's got for you now. He feels intense eyes not matching the smile but he keeps it on hoping this is enough for you; he feels like an idiot. 

You look surprised for a minute before your lips widen to that additive smile of yours. God how you make his chest warm from your small actions, do you even know what you do to him? Breath catching in his throat he just watches how the simple act of your smile lightens up his dingy office. 

“You too Miguel, thank you.” Turning back you exit the office, completely oblivious that you have completely melted him.

Watching you leave the smile turns more natural, softening his rigid features slightly. 

“Well, that seemed to go well, practicing is starting to pay off huh?” Layla beams floating around Miguel's head, his face instantly falling back to his ever-iconic frown. 

“Could you just, not?” the voice irritated but the slight flush of his ears gave away how on the inside he's beaming. 

-----

Miguel couldn't help himself, after your brief interaction in his office a few days ago, he just couldn't resist the urge to see you again. But instead of just finding and talking to you (like a normal person) he settled on watching you through the cameras of HQ. 

Yes, Kinda creepy, but when you are near he clams up so this was the alternative. You were training in the strength and conditioning room, sparring with Gwen to improve your combat skills. Miguel appreciated how seriously you were taking your training, sweat and fatigue in your eyes showing how you were instant to push yourself. Movements so graceful chest heaving as you wore out over time. Seeing your sweaty body a familiar rush spreads through him reaching his crotch, you're going to be the death of him… 

Finally, the training wrapped up, Miguel watched as you stretched out your neck rubbing your sore shoulders. The training session wore you out. Always pushing yourself towards improvement, Miguel admired that about you. 

“Si, baby so sore,” Miguel whispers as he watches you. If you gave him the chance he would rub all your soreness from you, he would make it his mission just to make you feel good. 

Getting closer to the screen he thinks of what it would be like to just touch you, to hold you, just once. That's all he needed one touch and this crush would disappear. 

Watching intently he sees that smile, like the one you had given him spread to your lips when Gwen handed you a bottle of water. Eagerly opening the water you press the bottle to your lips and start drinking in haste, the water running down your mouth to your neck. His heart skips a beat and his pants get tighter, of course, one touch wouldn't satisfy him. If he had you he could never let you go, his plight would only worsen. 

Zooming on to your face he studies every curve, every feature. 

“Just one chance, give me one chance…” 

“One chance what?” 

Peter's voice breaks Miguel's daze and causes him to quickly hide the monitor with his hands. It's too late however Peter is right next to him and has heard what Miguel said. Peter's face is confused at first but when he looks at Miguel's eager hands trying to hide something he leans in further, and then a sliver of your face shows through. Realization hits him and an excited smile spreads to his face. Peter watches as Miguel's face slightly flushes and contours to irritation. 

“Miguel, wait, do you-”

“No, ¡Cállate!” 

------

After a long conversation of Miguel telling Peter to shut up while he guesses his crush correctly, he's boasting about how he figured Miguel was interested in y/n and how he was going to help Miguel out. Miguel was reluctant, but he wanted to get closer to you desperately, so if Peter was going to help to make that happen he would just have to grit and bear it, for you, anything for you. Peter assures Miguel he knows how to help him but he first has to go pick up some supplies…. 

Peter returns to Miguel’s office with a bag. Miguel knew he was about to regret this. 

“So I figured because you have a hard time talking to y/n the best thing to do is rehearse what you are going to say. When I asked out MJ I practiced this whole speech for her, very romantic. She loved it.” As Peter talks he opens the bag to reveal a wig that is very raminist to your hair. Peter flips the wig on his head and faces Miguel. 

Miguel just shakes his head disapprovingly

“No, Absolutely not.” 

“Come on Miguel we are just going to practice what you're going to say” Peter tries to reassure with a smile.  

“Is the wig really necessary?” Miguel groans as he watches Peter flick the hair from his face and adjust the wig. 

Peter holds his hand to his chest in mock offense “It helps me get in character” 

“I'm not doing this” Miguel turns to leave to go back to working on his platform before Peter quickly protests.

“Okay, okay, I'm just trying to help ease the tension, but let's do this, practice what you are going to say.” 

Miguel huffs, he really must be desperate to be getting Peter's help like this. “How do I even approach her?” 

“You could start with a hi, you know like a normal person?” 

Miguel groans “Okay…” Peter turns away from Miguel. Miguel takes a moment to think of his approach before he walks closer to Peter. 

“Hello, Y/n do you have a second to talk?” 

Peter whips around in a perky dementor, “Oh hi Miguel, of course, I have a second just for you” Peter says in a mockingly sweet tone and shoots Miguel a wink that has his skin crawling

“She wouldn't do that” 

“You don't know, plus I'm playing y/n so I am putting my creative twist to it, now continue”  

Miguel rolls his eyes before continuing. 

“I enjoyed reading your last mission report, very thorough as usual” 

Peter groans breaking character “Miguel, that’s boring, don’t talk about work. You're trying to ask her out not give her a promotion” 

Miguel thinks “Well that’s a thought…” 

Peter snaps his fingers “Look you like her you need to get personal share your feelings; share your passion.” 

Miguel scoffs rolling his eyes, sharing his passion. He couldn't get that personal so quickly. Peter can read his distrust and is quick to convince him.

“No, trust me, I landed MJ I know how to talk to women, now try again but with more passion and fire!” 

Peter goes back to where he was standing before. Miguel turns and thinks of Y/n. Passion? Fire? 

His thoughts go back to when he first saw her, he thought she glowed in a breathtaking radiance, and he couldn't remember when he saw someone so beautiful. Then once she started talking she was so positive, but never naive, she just always wanted to bring people up and make them feel better. She was also a hard worker, always picking up the slack for others and always wanting to improve herself, not everyone was like that, they would just be content with how things were but not her. Then there was how she always made a room warmer from just being there, things were just a little bit better when you were around. Miguel saw qualities in her that he wished he had, or that he wished a partner would have. So since he met her, she was stuck in his mind. 

Finally, he thinks he has it,  

“Y/n”  Miguel breathes.

Peter turns around slowly “Why yes…” Before he can finish his words Miguel’s large frame is looming over him, hands quickly squeezing his arms to his sides staring intensely.

“I think you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. You are so warm to me and I would destroy anything or anyone who would ever think of harming you. Just give me the word, give me a chance and I will…for you…anything for you…” 

Peter looks terrified from the intensity of the confession and a coughing nose makes them break the intense eye contact. 

They see Jess and Ben staring at the two of them Jess is the first to speak up

“Should we come back later? Or…” 

Miguel and Peter quickly break apart. 

“Look that wasn't towards me Miguel has a thing for Y/n” 

Right as Peter voices your name Miguel's hands on his throat to strangle him. Jess and Ben all let out a long ‘oh’ as Miguel proceeded to shake Peter by his neck. 

“It’s actually been quite sweet” a voice calls “I mean we all should have guessed considering he stares at her like a love-sick dog.”

This causes Miguel to stop his assault on Peter and look around confused. Dropping down he sees Hobie with that smug look on his face. 

“Your kinda obvious mate.”

Miguel shakes his head, irritation and embarrassment starting to take him over. 

“What are you doing here?” Miguel growls

“Look mate I just came to catch a nap, didn't expect to catch a show instead.” 

Great, Peter knows, Jess knows, Ben knows and now shocking Hobie knows, this can't get any worse. 

“So, when are you going to confess?” Ben asks curiously 

“We were shooting for next week” Peter, now back to life, places his hand on Miguel's shoulder. 

Hobie sucks air between his teeth and this causes everyone to turn to look at him confused. 

“I wouldn’t wait that long if I were you, apparently she has a crush she's going to confess too soon.” 

Miguel's eyes glow red, it just got worse- “She likes someone? Who!” He barks out to get an answer

Hobie holds his hands up in mock surrender “I ain’t got scooby doo mate, just what I heard” 

“Well that could just be a rumor,” Jess says trying to calm Miguel's sudden rage

“It was from a reliable source” Hobie counters with a smirk.

------

What is he doing, What is he doing? 

Miguel's mind races as he swings through y/n’s dimension. It was just a rumor he tried to assure himself, but that small voice in his mind counters, what if it wasn’t? What if it was true and he missed his chance, no, even if you reject him he needs to tell you how he feels. All his nervousness seems to flow away as he gets closer to your apartment. 

Your apartment in view he takes a deep breath and swings over, gripping the wall with his talons to catch himself. Climbing with a fever he reaches your window which was left open by a crack, the curtains of your room hiding the inside. He didn't even know if you were home, and just going in would be an invasion of your privacy but Miguel can't resist he needs to talk to you tonight!

Slowly opening the window more he first smells it, then your whimpering moan confirms it. Miguel swallows trying to soothe his suddenly dry throat. With slow movements, he carefully opens the window and peaks through the curtains. 

There you are, back arched, hair messy, bouncing on a large dildo. It was the image he had fantasized about and now it's happening right in front of him. Completely hypnotized by the sight and urged by the tightening of his suit's crotch area. He moves his head in more, pushing up on the window to open it slowly wider to lean himself in.

“Ah!~ ah!~” 

Eyes widening Miguel thinks he's dreaming, the throbbing of his cock is killing him and as he moves his hand from the window to palm his sudden ache. But with no warning the window slid shut abruptly, landing hard on his head and making a loud thump. The sudden noise startles you to scream, quickly unsheathing the dildo from your wet pussy and fumbling to cover yourself with the ruined sheets of your bed. 

 “Miguel? What are you doing here?” you ask in a panic.  

Face flushed Miguel crawls through your window landing clumsily on the floor. He's too embarrassed to answer your question. 

“What's wrong with your window?” -smooth, avoid the question. 

“It's broken, it only stays open a crack” you ramble in confusion, then you furrow your eyes back to him “wait, don’t avoid the question, why are you here?” 

Miguel stumbles off of the floor now towering at his full height.  Looking down at you he can't help the desire flooding down to his cock. The sweat makes your skin glow, your hair a disheveled mess from fucking yourself too fast, nude body wrapped in your thin white sheets that as your arousal completely drenches it making it appear slightly see-through on your body. Great, he thought confessing to you would be hard before, but now it seems downright impossible. 

Miguel sees you shuffling uncomfortably so he turns around before he speaks, the tips of his ears red from blushing. 

“I wanted to speak with you.” 

“Uh, You couldn't call?” 

Miguel's shoulders slumped slightly, this was not going well…

“No, it's not a work matter”

“Then what-”

“Personal” Miguel quickly whips around looking at your eyes before turning back around. He starts tapping his foot feeling nervous. 

“You see y/n, I'm not exactly the best when it comes to talking..about…personal things. I usually focus on work, especially since founding the society that honestly takes up my entire life-” Miguel feels himself starting to ramble, great he's talking now but not saying what he needs to. “Well lately there has been something else occupying my mind, and it involves you.” 

Miguel hears you shuffling around and his nerves are threatening to get the better of him. How can he face anomalies, and lead a whole superhuman society but he can't just tell someone he likes them? Taking a deep breath he steadies himself once more. He just needs to do it, confess, come on it's just like ripping off a bandaid.

“Do you remember what Hobie asked us?…” 

Miguel winces and scratches the back of his head, Why is he bringing this up now? Great; This confession is already crap…

“Um…Yeah?” shit, you sound so creeped out. Well, how could you not be right now? Just need to keep going.  

“Well, the thing is, it's you…the thing I like, well you're not a thing. The person I like..is you. But I guess Hobie was talking about characteristics…you have actually a lot of characteristics that I am fond of…like your eyes for one…but it's not just your appearance, shit…¿Qué demonios estoy diciendo? (what the hell am I saying).”

As Miguel rubs his hand on his forehead feeling stupid for doing this, his words are cut off by the sensation of a hand touching the middle of his back gently. The hand rubs up and down slowly, causing a shiver to roll down Miguel's spine. 

“I like you too,” Your voice rings in his ears, the thumping of his heart stilling for a moment as his breath stops. Miguel turns around to face you. You're looking up at him still wrapped up in your sheets, arms wrapping around his waist. That smile that lights up his mind, how your touch warms his body. He's addicted to how you make him feel.  

“I’m not good at this…there was this whole speech I rehearsed..” 

“Yeah, you might need some more practice on your romantic speeches”

Looking down you look like an angel wrapped in your white sheets looking up at him with such tenderness. Not wanting to waste this moment he leads down towards your face. 

“I think I'm more of a man of action, rather than words” 

Feeling your soft hand touch his face he sees how to lift your toes to get closer to his face fanning your breath over his lips. 

“Isn’t the saying? Actions speak louder than words?” 

With that he swiftly lifts you from the back of your thighs, instinctively you wrap your legs around him, and then your arms wrap around his neck while your fingers play with his dark hair. Seating himself down on your bed with you straddling him. Miguel's crimson eyes just keep to your face, taking in how your face changes with every movement he makes.  

Tenderly you place your hands to the sides of his face, leaning in you carefully catch his lips into a kiss. He reveled in how your glossy lips formed to his, his tongue gently pushing through your lips. He has to open his eyes and close them again just to make sure this is real and not one of his daydreams. 

The kiss becomes more heated, you taste better than he could have imagined. Slowly he rubs his gloves hands over you causing your thin sheet to slip off you pooling to the floor.  

Miguel breaks the kiss and looks down at your nude body. A low groan vibrates through his chest as he pushes your body closer to him, then roughly grabs your ass. The sudden touch has you jumping forward with a whimper. Taking the opportunity, he is quick to latch his plush lips to your perked bud. Tongue swirling around the sensitive peak while his talons threaten to pierce the skin of your ass. 

He's lost in the moans of you losing yourself to the pleasure. Tugging and pinching your sensitive skin as he licks the valley of your breast. Getting drunk off your moans he swears he could continue to taste your skin forever but, the feeling of your wet cunt rubbing against his erection tips him off to how needy you are becoming, your rutting into him like you're in heat, and he's quick to make it worse by grinding into you latching onto your breast once more. 

“Miguel, please…” 

That's right, beg…Miguel releases your nipple with a pop. 

“Please what my angel?” he grabs your neck and licks a stripe up to your ear that causes you to shake. 

“I want you, Please.” 

Miguel smiles and deactivates his suit, his strained erection quickly popping forward to slap your puff folds, moans escaping from your lips. Grabbing a hold of his cock he slips it through your folds coating it your slick. Practically coming undo then he feels how your nails scratch his skin, the teasing is making you desperate. Miguel can't help himself; he slaps his cock on your swollen clit just to hear you whimper. 

“Ride it, angel.” 

Grabbing his cock he holds it still as you breathlessly line yourself up to the pebbling tip of his cock. Tight grip on his shoulders you slowly sink yourself down. Inch by inch slowly splitting yourself open on him.  

“It’s ah, big…” 

You're already clenching and you're only halfway down. Miguel is quick to rub soft circles on your hip gently guiding you while cooing praises to your ear.

 “Shh, I know but you're almost there, just relax.” 

Finally, you have pressed him in, the delicious stretch making your head roll over your bare shoulders. Taking a moment to adjust to his size Miguel presses delicate kisses to your chest and collarbone. His hands hold your hips as you adjust to his length.  

“Look at you, you're taking me so well”

Glazed-over eyes meet his praise and your glossy lips stretch to a smile. He thinks he could cum just at the sight, but he knows you need more, and he's not going to disappoint you. Quickly he's lifting your hips up and down fucking you slowly down on him. All you can do is moan and grab his shoulders tighter and his pace builds from slow and tender to more vigorous. 

Subtle grunts of ‘Mine’, and ‘sweet’ escape his lips as he practically uses you as a human fleshlight. To Miguel's surprise though you're pushing his chest to lay his back onto the bed. Once he's down you start bouncing faster on him. 

Bouncing, up and down the squelch of your wet pussy clenching on him, you are mewling in pleasure as your face contours to that of a silent scream. Body glistening from the sweat fucking yourself hard on his cock, back arching as you chase your orgasm. Miguel can help but throw his head back moaning, his mouth hanging open fangs stretched out. He never thought his sweet angel could be so relentless, it has his cock throbbing. 

“That's it, baby, fuck yourself dumb on my cock”

Miguel starts rubbing and flicking your clit that has your eyes pricking with tears. He watches as you pant, your velvet walls clenching down on him as you continue to ride him approaching orgasm. Sweat rolls down your flushed skin and you continue. Taking his hand he gently grabs your chin and makes you look down at him, he wants to etch the fucked out expression to his mind forever. His sweet angel mouth in that perfect ‘o’ and her hooded eyes pool with tears from the intense pleasure. 

Biting his lip he slams his hip up nudging into your cervix that has you throwing your head back screaming, your nails digging into his chest as you finally squirt on his cock.  

“Cumming, I'm cumming miggy~ ah, ah ah!” 

“That’s it, cum on my cock, such a good girl, squirting all over me.”

Fucking you through your orgasm he stops your bouncing and grabs your hips guiding you to rock back a forth on his length. Squirming and wailing in overstimulation he knows that the pain and pleasure are swirling together making your brain split, your cunt gets wetter as it tightens to try and accommodate to the rapture you are feeling.  

“Just hang on for me angel, ah please…”

Thoroughly fucked dumb you're only able to blabber incoherently and nod through half-lidded eyes as Miguel's throbbing cock chases his orgasm. With your blissed-out agreeance, he Grabs the globs of your ass and fucks into your faster. 

“Ah, I'm going to fill you up, you want that? Be filled with cum?” 

You can only release a stream of ‘uh-huh’ as the coil in your stomach starts to tighten again. It's not until you muster a sweet coo of “fill me” that has him rutting harder shooting his hot cum inside you with one final thrust. Whimpering as he fills you, you sit still on his cock till you’ve practically milked him dry. The intense throbbing of his cock and the sudden rush of heat bursting inside you has your coil snapping as you cum on him a second time 

Gently rubbing your sides he coaxes you down slowly to his chest. Curling his arm around you he softly kisses your spent body. Staying like that for awhile, it's you who finally rolls off his chest and disappears out of the room. Miguel hears what sounds like a bath, leaning up he looks up to see your nude body leaning in the doorway smiling at him, it's so infectious that he can't help but smile back. 

----

Miguel's head is pressed to your chest as you gently massage the conditioner through his scalp. A smile pressed to his lips as he just relaxes with you in the warm bath. His large hand rubs tender circles on your knee as he just listens to your sweet hums as you tenderly wash him. The steam from the bath rises to create the perfect haze in the room, it feels so natural to be doing this,to be with you in such an intimate way. Kisses get pressed to his face as you hug him tightly, the smile on his face only growing wider. 

“Miguel” 

“Mhmm?” He lazily looks up at you to see your sweet smile. Carefully he brings his hand to brush your hair behind your ear. 

“Nothing, I just really like your smile”

#miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel spiderman #miguel ohara #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel o hara #miguel 2099 #miguel atsv #astv miguel #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara fic

[duke-daemon]

hazbin hotel redesigns wooooooooo

okay so. i'm gonna discuss my thoughts about them n shit, putting under a readmore bc it's gonna get long and rambley. sorry in advance for the shit formatting, i'm on mobile </3

just some general shit about how i would rewrite it. i think the premise of redeeming sinners is entertaining but is executed horribly. i also am a fan of the "heaven isn't great either" idea but again, executed horribly. i'd make the hierarchy of angels more accurate because it's cool as hell and i have autism about it. the characters from hell would swear still (albeit not as much), but the angels would outright refuse to swear or make vulgar jokes ever. this would be partially to further the gap between heaven and hell and make the differences more stark.

hell would also be more like dante's inferno (again because i think its cool). the ars goetia would get a full redesign and would be more prevalent in demonic society.

now for the characters!

---

VAGGIE VALTIEL:

starting off with vaggie, or Valtiel as i've renamed her because let's be honest her original name sucks. Valtiel (Val for short) was an aspiring power angel who wanted to be an exorcist. she looked up to lute and thought the idea of killing demons was really cool and badass. however when she actually was on the field for the first time she discovered how awful this actually was. she tried to help a few demons but lute figured it out and felled her right then and there. the rest of her story is relatively the same. personality wise she's more stoic and less prone to all-out aggression. she still get angry, sure, but it's in a quieter and more menacing way. you DO NOT want to fuck with Valtiel.

CHARLIE:

next up is charlie! i had two ideas for her. the first one (unsettling drawing) has her as a mannequin/doll type demon. lucifer and/or lilith was unable to conceive and as such they built a kid from scratch. she's overall similar to og charlie personality wise, very kind and cheerful despite her unsettling appearance. she struggles with empathy sometimes but really does mean well. her motive for rehabilitating sinners is so they get to see their family again. being able to see heaven from where they are in hell must make them sad, so she wants to help make them happy again!

the second idea for charlie has her as an angel. specifically i casted her as a dominion angel due to their reputation as holy judges. she was once a demon but has been rehabilitated and has risen into angelhood! she now wants to help her former kin do the same and redeem themselves in heaven's gaze. again, similar cheery personality, but a bit more prudish in this rendition

tangent time!

as a side tangent, valtiel and charlie would have a different relationship in this rewrite. their relationship felt shoehorned in in the original show, like it was just there for the hell of it. we didn't see much development between them and it just felt kinda bland. so in my rewrite, charlie and valtiel are amiable exes. they tried dating when valtiel first fell (when charlie was still a demon in the charlie-angel version) but realized their feelings for each other were much more platonic than romantic. they ended things off on good terms, deciding they were much better as friends. they are still besties to this day! later charlie ends up with emily (or 'ellie' as i plan to rename her)

back to the characters

Alastor:

note: i made alastor mixed-race, which could be seen as bad by some due to vivzie saying he's black. however, as many have pointed out, he has no ethnic features whatsoever and i honestly wouldn't be surprised if she said that just to get away with using voodoo symbols (a closed religion) in his imagery/design. like viv, i am incredibly white and have little to no knowledge of voodoo, and even if i did i would not use it for something like this anyways due to the stigma the religion already has and (again) it being a closed practice. as such i removed it from his concept altogether, but made him mixed race (white passing) because.. why not i guess, i forgor my actual reasoning

with that being said...

alastor is by far my favorite of the redesigns and i'm honestly tempted to turn him into a legally distinct oc. i imagine he's somewhat reserved, along the lines of norman bates albeit a bit more extroverted. during his life he was a serial killer with a day job as a radio announcer. he took pleasure in reporting about his own murders on the radio, but that is eventually what got him caught (ie accidentally letting slip info that wasn't released to the public). as a result he was sentenced to death. upon arriving in hell, he quickly rose through the ranks to borderline overlord status and is a feared presence by demons and sinners alike. why is he bothering to assist in the hotel project? who knows... his motives are a mystery, like the rest of what he does

(he isn't actually alastair crowley i just thought the naming convention was ironic. however he may have also dabbled with satanic magic in lifetime..)

Angel Dust:

TW: brief discussion of SA

this is definitely my second favorite redesign. i loooove insect themes and wanted to do more than just Extra Arms, so he now has fucked up legs and a lot of eyes too! story-wise, angel used to be a criminal mastermind, hated by both the mafia and the feds. he was a gentleman thief, arranging massive heists under the cover of night while also partaking in the occasional drag show. he ended up a cocaine addict later in life, which caused his work to become sloppier. eventually he was killed in a heist gone wrong, specifically shot by the police.

i'm not gonna go too in-depth on the SA part of his story, but he is hypersexual due to being assaulted in both his life and afterlife. it would be something he'd be working on in the rewrite. his reason for coming to the hotel in the first place may have even been for help with this trauma. underneath his sultry exterior is a broken guy who really just needs someone to care about him for who he really is and not for what his body can do.

LUTE:

so lute and adam are some of the characters i have the most gripes about. the biggest one being why viv chose adam as the leader of the exorcists in the first place. if she wants a biblical figure tied to demon killing, Archangel Michael is RIGHT THERE, aka the one destined to kill satan during the events of Revelations. if she wants the first human to die, that would be Abel, not Adam. and i kinda doubt abel would want to do the stuff that HH!adam has been doing. if she wants an angel related to torture, Dumah is her guy! an angel that rules over wicked souls and tortures sinners every day except sabbath. so many better options...

with that out of the way, Lute is still the lieutenant of the exorcist, who are a specially chosen group of powers sent to purge hell once a year. think navy seals. she's pretty much the same as in the show, albeit more muscular and visually different from other exorcists (seriously why do they all look exactly the same?????) she's a very repressed lesbian who hasn't had time to work on that due to her duties

i also redesigned the exorcist uniform/armor because those LED purge masks are fugly as hell and their clothes don't even look remotely like armor.

Adam + Final Thoughts

i did start a redesign of adam but got bored of it. regardless, i think he'd be the head of C.H.E.R.U.B. instead of the exorcists. he doesn't want his children to make the same mistakes he and eve did, so together they started C.H.E.R.U.B. to help lost souls stay out of hell

final thoughts uhhhh i'm tired. show sucks, it had so much potential but viv ruined it by being a shitty writer and an even shittier person. the designs are fine i guess but they all look exactly the same and are in desperate need of variety. the humor is dogshit, saying dick and balls and penis over and over and over again doesn't make it any funnier than the first three times you made that joke. anyways that's it, i hope you liked my inane ramblings. gonna go vanish for another forty years or so, adios

#am i gonna do more? idk. we'll see #oh boy sorry about the seventy million tags #i eat bees #artist #oc artist #artists on tumblr #artist on tumblr #hazbin hotel #hazbin critical #hazbin redesign #hazbin rewrite #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critique #hazbin hotel redesign #hazbin hotel rewrite #hazbin hotel vaggie #hazbin vaggie #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin angel dust #hazbin hotel lute #hazbin lute #hazbin art #hazbin hotel art

[lightfeltmemories]

episode one: phantom troupe and romance; headcanons from least toxic, to most toxic

characters include: chrollo, machi, pakunoda, shizuku, uvogin, shalnark, feitan, phinks, bonolenov, kortopi, hisoka, illumi, nobunaga, franklin. (not in order)

tw's: nsfw but nothing explicit, mentions of non-con, spoilers for the deaths of pakunoda, shalnark, kortopi and uvogin, toxic relationships, lovebombing, mentions of torture (not on reader), mentions of cheating, mentions of reader's death,

notes: a completely self indulgent post, you can probably tell who im biased towards by how long certain sections are.

because this contains mentions of nsfw, do not interact if you are under 18, you will be blocked if you do !! also, do not leave negative comments please, they will be deleted :)

pakunoda

out of everyone, guaranteed, she'll be the best partner out of everyone else, you might even end up shocked that she's apart of the troupe if it ever comes to you finding out.

she's a darling, spoils and cares for you like anyone else, a great listener and partakes in your interests in hobbies, its (almost) like a fairytale by how the relationship is, the troupe knows you but you don't know them! and she wants to keep it that way, of course still she's a murderer, so it would break her if you were to have found out about everything, she vowed to never let you know or even have you close to knowing about what she does, but you just can't help but wonder what she's doing when she's away for long periods of time.

until it comes to her death.

now, you eventually find out that she died from a close friend of hers, but he knows paku doesn't want you to know about the troupe, so, he's a bit vague, and a bit creepy.

--

nobunaga

personally out of everyone else, i feel like nobunaga would be other most normal when it comes to relationships, but then again, he's an enigma, he doesn't strike me as the type to be the best boyfriend literally ever or very very toxic, i feel like out of everyone else, if you're looking for someone to be in a semi normal relationship with, nobunaga is your best shot, but of course, he's a part of the phantom troupe, and any member apart of it isn't exactly the best partner by default.

he's still a murder and thief, like all members i believe that he would definitely steal things that remind him of you, he'd most definitely kill for you.

unlike someone like feitan or machi, he doesn't exactly have a problem with being vulnerable when you get to know him, he'll tell you about himself, and of course, because he's a criminal he can't exactly tell you what he does for a living, but can't bring himself to lie about it either, he's just hoping that one day, if you know, you won't leave or judge him for it, his childhood isn't exactly all sunshines and lolipops, y'know?

he'll love you from the ends of the earth, but he definitely won't let you walk all over him, quick to put your in your place and won't allow you to manipulate him, he won't lie to you (about trivial things, at least) so why should you? (who knows, maybe you're apart of a criminal organization and is pretty much a wanted criminal yourself :P)

--

bonolenov

similar to nobunaga i think if you want something that's somewhat normal, bonolenov is also a nice choice! (100% not putting him up so high because we don't really know that much about him it's totally because he would be a decent partner! honest!)

for one, you would definitely be introduced to usual romantic gestures and advances that come from his tribe, he'll tell you all about how things work with him, he'll do dances he learned when they were still here for you to show how much he adores you, and dresses you in garments that resemble such from his tribe, it's pretty cute, honestly!

now, what concerns him a bit is.. how you'll react without his bandages, he's not exactly sexy like chrollo but (to me, TO MEEEEEE) he's not the ugliest thing in the world! he just hopes that eventually if you see him in his true form, you don't scream and run away at the sight of him, its okay if you do! ..... kind of.

and if you don't, oh you'll mean so much to him!

--

kortopi

now, here's another one we don't know much about! but i'll try my best either way (i just want to contribute to the lack of attention him and bono get in these spaces.) he's another somewhat normal one, he also doesn't strike me as the type to be the absolute worst, but still is apart of a troupe of murderers and thieves.

similar to everyone else, he'll steal and kill for you (idk if this guy even has a body count but lets pretend he does.) and is a lot more open to being vulnerable than some other members.

now, nine times out of ten you'll be taller than him because this guy is even shorter than feitan, so, he'll definitely be wearing your t-shirts and hoodies, and he ain't complaining about it!

and eventually, he dies, now, honestly, something told you that kortopi seemed... like the odd one out when it came to the troupe, he doesn't seem like the type to be apart of... that! you better hope that hisoka doesn't care about you, or things are gonna turn ugly faster than you can blink.

--

uvogin

he's big (as hell), but he's sweeter (you know why they're in bold italics) than the others twice his size.

physically the strongest, you're rather lucky to have him has your partner, if someone won't stop messing with you, they're dead within a millisecond, or at least scared off since you know.. he isn't exactly built like the average guy and having someone that's eight foot fucking two walking up on you not really excited to see you is quite terrifying, depending on his mood they'll sometimes get away.... sometimes.

enough of that, how is it like when it's just the two of you? sitting on the couch or laying in bed watching movies together, his arm around you, it's basically a pillow! a hard ass pillow at that.

not the most vulnerable, he's not some weird incel who see's women as sex toys or anything, he's decently capable of being in a normal relationship, you won't see each other often sadly, but when you do, he'll pay 95% of his attention towards you, he'll even let you know straight up that he won't know when he'll get back, but he will! ... until he doesn't..

ah yes, his death at the hands of kurapika, how will you react? hell, how would kurapika react to your existence? something tells me that kurapika might kill you too, send you right off with him, or, in a rather strange twist of events, he might try to fuck you and take you to the other side, not in the way of barging into your house and straight up non con, nah, more like a get to know you then get in your pants type of way, uvo won't be there to protect you now would he? of course the latter is highly unlikely, but to be honest it's kind of fun to think about.

and now that you think of it... you don't even know what uvo was doing or where he was going, you choose how you want to react to how you found out about his troupe business.

--

shizuku

another woman! she's similar to another person right below her! she looks cute, but she's anything but!...... sort of.

she's not the best or worst partner, she's pretty normal, a bit distant but it's not something you can't manage, maybe she just needs some space and you're overwhelming her, but something that really gets to you is her forgetfulness.

at first, she'll forget things such as your birthday or your anniversary, but going further into the relationship, she becomes less and less forgetful (she might even remember things that you don't even remember.)

what exactly do you guys do together? well, she does try to partake in your interests, and does try to get things you like!

--

franklin

he's similar to uvo, he's big, he's actually nicer than he appears.

what makes him so low is.. well to be honest i don't know, i don't feel like he could be high up but not so low, so, this is the perfect spot for him.

for one he does have a bit of an anger problem, not as bad as phinks, but he doesn't mind a slight argument, good thing he wont assault you, and is quick to make up for the argument.

i don't know how to write him, so, please forgive me for how small this passage is. :(

--

shalnark

we're starting to get into uh... strange territory, he looks kind, and seems normal, but he's anything but that, he's not the most toxic but he also isn't the most caring and understanding either, similar to nobunaga he's kind of an enigma.

he's a love bomber and very good at manipulating, definitely takes advantage of his rather cute looks, he'll figure out what you're insecure about and compliment those things specifically, i do think he is capable of loving someone genuinely, but he sometimes does things without realizing that they aren't really normal, maybe he's getting his troupe personality mixed up with the one he has with you.

he does come off as sweet at first, brings you flowers and takes you on some rather expensive dates (an uncanny feeling creeps up on you about how the waiters act, but you don't pay much attention to it.) and sometimes he's more distant and a little bit aloof, you take this as him needing his space.

he's not abusive, but he isn't the absolute best partner, there's definitely better out there.

his death doesn't hit you as hard as the others but it was still devastating, you best hope hisoka doesn't come for you, and if he does, you hope he swiftly kills you, because you really don't want this murder clown to take an interest to you.

--

phinks

phinks is another one 'that's kind of odd to me, i don't want to judge a book by its cover and say "yeah he's a piece of shit!!" but again, he's a lot better in comparison to anyone below.

he's similar to shalnark in quite a few ways, one, he does things that kind of makes you think he's a bit of an odd ball, he's intimidating to look at and is the second strongest physically in the troupe, so you're lucky to have someone like him if you're looking for protection.

i don't see him as the type to take you out to fancy restaurants and bring you flowers, stuff like that is a bit too sappy for him, he shows other ways like giving you thinks you like or taking you to like carnivals or other fun events.

his main problem is his anger issues, he won't physically harm you especially if you don't use nen, but he's not above arguing with or yelling at you, he doesn't do it often, but he might call you an idiot or a bitch if you take him to that point.

the relationship is somewhat normal besides that.

--

chrollo

chrollo is weird, some say he's loving, caring, blah blah blah while some might say he's the exact opposite.

for one he is charming, he's a relatively good looking man, he's intelligent, and is looking for someone who's also intelligent.

i feel like chrollo definitely has a type, he likes people who are elegant, he wants someone that'll make him look good while he's in public, he doesn't care much for how people view the relationship outside of that, he also looks for someone with a personality he doesn't want someone who looks good yes, but is boring to be around, someone he can have a deep conversation with and talk about his interests with.

for one, you will not know about the troupe's existence, until he is 100% ready to tell you, which will definitely take a while, but he's confident that the troupe and himself will protect you from anyone who tries to avenge.

now, what makes him so low on this list? well, he's quite manipulative, a gaslighter, too, what do you mean you saw me with another woman? it's all for business, i'm just trying to steal her nen ability.

he does want to be a good partner, but this relationship is kind of a "too good to be true" type, something is happening behind closed doors and the thought is too persistent to ignore.

--

illumi

this guy is... strange, for one, his beady ass eyes make him look like a bug (affectionately), and section.. his very warped perception of what love even is.

i agree with the fandom that he has a breeding kink no doubt, his intention on dating is marriage, and you will bear his children, no ifs, ands or buts.

you'll meet his family but you'll never meet the troupe, he doesn't want you getting involved in fighting (he might have someone teach you some basic self protection) because he doesn't want you to die, that'll fuck with him... kind of, you're basically trapped in the mansion.

his overprotection is toxic on its own, you don't have that much freedom, you can't go shopping unless he's with you (or if he can't be there, one of his servants will accompany you), you're never truly alone unless he's away, and when he's here, things are no better, he's distant and cold, there's not much to talk about with him, sure, he loves you, but doesn't know how to express it much.

--

machi

one out of three toxic ass individuals, one of them consists of machi.

lets start off with the fact that she's cold hearted, as hell, if you cry in front of her she'll look at you like you're crazy, if she's really in that mood she'll tell you that you look stupid and you need to suck it up.

not good with physical touch or romance, who knows how the two of you managed to continue the relationship, she does leave flowers for you but won't tell you that they're from her, won't admit that she's the one who got them for you.

i feel like similar to a certain clown, she won't care much for you if you aren't either powerful or capable of protecting yourself in some way.

but all she's really doing is putting up barriers, she's actually caring in her own weird way, she'll still be there for you, patch up your wounds if you managed to get cut or stabbed and would probably mourn your death.

--

hisoka

were getting lower, and a certain sadist who loves torture is worse, but somehow, hisoka is slightly better than him in some way or another.

for one, hisoka probably won't be that interested in you if you aren't powerful, it would be worse if you were a regular civilian, he'll take that as an opportunity to take advantage of you sexually, physically, psychologically and mentally, and the relationship will be literal hell..

but, lets say you are pretty powerful, dare i say a troupe member yourself, he won't be as interested in fighting you as much as he would chrollo, but he would be interested in... other ways.

how you managed to get into a relationship with this freak is unclear, but you two one day just.. hooked up, and it all goes downhill from here.

he has no problem killing you if he gets tired of you, he already killed two and plans on killing the rest of the spiders, why not kill another? especially you? or, in an alternate scenario where he does manage to kill off all the spider, you're the only one who's left, this can go two ways, one, he can fuck you one last time then kill you, or, he takes you with him! if you managed to have a lasting impression on him, that is.

outside of sex, he just isn't a good partner, he's probably the only one on this list that's probably willing to cheat on you (don't you dare get back at him, both you and your lover will die) he's manipulative as hell, he doesn't necessarily care about how you feel and he'll provoke you just to get a reaction out of you.

--

feitan

and last but not least, feitan, oh boy, good luck to you for managing to have this man attracted to you. (im a feitan girlie, so this one might be a big longer than the rest)

for one, he'll hate your rotten guts for making him feel this way, for making him feel so weak, so emotional... he might even contemplate on killing you, but when that time comes he can't bring himself to do it.

i don't want to say yandere is his default since he doesn't really know how to properly love, because i do think he has some potential, but it does make sense for him, because there has to be something about you that makes you interested in him, maybe you're his polar opposite? maybe you're also a sadist?

he's not the most romantic partner, he doesn't want to come off as vulnerable, or sappy, so, what considers as a date to him? he's the type to probably take you to a cemetery at night as a form of a date.

he will not allow the troupe to know you or you to know them, for one he's going to be teased from hell and back for finally managing to pull someone and second while it appears that he doesn't care for you much, him protecting you from them is his way of showing you that he cares.

he can't find himself being vulnerable, he might teach you his language if you're up for it, and he might bring you some things he knows you like, but thats kind of it, also he won't force you to see him torture people.. unless you betray him in a way.

#hunter x hunter #phantom troupe #phantom troupe x reader #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x reader #chrollo lucifer x reader #shizuku murasaki #shizuku x reader #feitan portor #feitan portor x reader #feitan x reader #hisoka morow #hisoka x reader #hisoka morrow x reader #franklin bordeau #franklin bordeau x reader #bonolenov #bonolenov x reader #kortopi #kortopi x reader #uvogin #uvogin x reader #pakunoda #pakunoda x reader #machi komacine #machi x reader #shalnark x reader #shalnark ryusei #phinks magcub #phinks x reader

[sarahsartistportfolio]

SAGAU: A Rumor Spreads

Forewarns: Female reader, real self indulgent shit, not cult au or imposter au, reader is a virgin, reader is soft and feminine, ok honestly this is straight up virginity kink I'm going call it what it is lol, Kazuha having a bittt of a corruption kink, Wanderer's section turned out really romantic? lol, this bit isn't 18+ but future chapters might be, Cyno on his knees for us👀, Xiao yearning hard,

AO3

Kazuha - Cyno - Xiao - Heizou - Zhongli - Childe - Wanderer - Maybeeee Lyney and Albedo

“Ei I’m thinking of planning a girls only getaway at an Inazuma hot springs? Would you and Yae Miko like to help me out?” 

The two are immediately beaming and receptive to the idea. Any chance for you to spend more time in Inazuma is quickly snatched up. As you sit with the two lovely ladies, planning out who to invite, where to host the outing, you explain to them that you’d rather keep this event private. If word got around(especially to the other nations) that you were holding an exclusive get together in Inazuma(at an hot springs no less) you’re afraid some nosy guests might try to peep in on the conversation. The two swear to you they’ll keep their lips shut but as your invites go out rumors just tend to spread. Now every woman in the nation of eternity would love to attend this private get away, just to get an opportunity to speak to you their goddess one on one. And of course there are those with a little more devious intentions of seeing their beloved goddess in such an exposed state. 

Oh and of course once the word gets around to the boys, the absolute disappointment on their faces plus the swirling curiosity. A trip with just the girls? What will you speak about that you don't want any male ears to hear? Is it about them? Are you going to speak about them in private?

(Heizou not so subtly asking Sara what was said on this trip. Thoma sneakily listens in to conversations any of the women have on the estate that even mention your name. Itto loudly and desperately begging Shinobu to tell him where you are holding this outing so he can just, you know, not subtly spy on your conversations.) 

Despite the rumors still floating around, you follow through with this little getaway plan. With extra reassurance from Yae Miko that if she catches any peeping toms she'll be sure to zap them. 

And despite some of the girls being more nervous to be so up close and personal with you, others are just jumping at the chance to see you so laid back and vulnerable. And the steam from the hot springs just seems to melt away your walls, as the night goes on you find the conversation drifting to…romance. You tell Yae Miko how you love to write sappy cheesy romance novels and she’s more than happy to give some of your rough drafts a read. You playfully start to run your hands through Kirara’s damp hair just to hear her purr and now suddenly Yoimiya is asking “Me next! Me next!”

It isn't until you sheepishly say “Ah well despite writing about romance a lot I’ve never actually been in love or slept with anybody.” that an audible pause washes over the group. The deer scare making a loud echoing “clink”.

Now they all begin to coo and question you. 

“There’s no way no one hasn’t fallen head over heels for your Grace yet?! You must be like thousands of years old, surely you’ve stolen someone’s heart” Yomiya loudly proclaims.

“Aww so you’re saving yourself for your one true love, how cute.” Yae Miko insinuated.

“When you say it out loud its embarrassing-”

“Has anyone caught your eye yet your Grace?” Sara asks a bit too calmly as she and Ei eye you down with anticipation. 

The girls continue to grill you with nosy questions “What’s your ideal type?” “Do you prefer men or women more?” 

And you answer them with giddiness, happy to spill your life long dreams of getting married and having a family of your own one day.

“Ah, so you desire to get married and become a mother?...” Yae Miko vocalized aloud, wondering what this would mean for the whole of Tayvet. 

“I know it's a silly little dream of mine…”

“It's not silly at all, your Grace!” Yomiya cheerfully chimes in. “If you have your heart set on someone let me know and maybe I can set up a huge fireworks display that spells out I love you.” She giggles and Kirara nods in agreement.

Thanks but I don't really want anyone to play matchmaker…

The rest of the night goes on with laughter and drinks. The women feeling blessed to see this vulnerable side of you. You assume the conversations you had with the ladies will remain private but…it seems like someone has loose lips.

Soon days after the trip, rumors start to pop up.

“Ah didn't you hear our dear goddess is still a virgin, as pure as a lily kissing the sun’s rays for the first time.” “I aspire to have the same chastity as her.” “I heard she’s specifically looking for a husband because she wants to have kids.” “Surely if she chooses a man from our nation that means she’ll permanently reside here right?”

When you meet up with Venti again he’s a little more gleeful than usual. And when you part to say goodbye he leans in, eyes close but you abruptly stop him with a hand covering his mouth.

“What are you doing?”

“I wanted to kiss you before anyone else does.” He says with disappointed eyes, voice still muffled by your hand. When you allow him to speak more it's then that you know. Somebody in at that hot springs squealed. 

And there’s no stopping these nosy rumors once they start going. What happens when they reach the ear of...?

#my writing #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact fanfics #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #sagau #genshin sagau #sagau x reader #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #genshin kazuha #genshin cyno #genshin heizou #genshin wanderer #genshin zhongli #genshin childe #genshin xiao #female reader #genshin impact reader insert #scaramouche #xiao #zhongli #childe #cyno #heizou #kazuha

[strawb3rrystar]

GUH! There is NOT enough helluva boss x reader imagines out there in the world. I was wondering if you could do a romantic hurt/comfort imagine with any number of the helluva cast (literally I'll take any of them, you could even do just one and I'll eat it up) (if you do only do one tho preferably striker or blitz)(maybe platonic stolas) but basically reader (gn or fem) gets incredibly injured, and helluva cast feels its their fault, with lots of reader reassuring it isn't. Tysm!!!!!

It's not your fault.

Pairing: Blitzø, Moxxie, Millie, Loona, Fizzarolli, Striker, Stolas, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Mammon x GN! Reader

Warnings: Reader gets hurt, so violence

Word count: 900

✰Masterlist

Blitzø will feel absolutely terrible if you got hurt during an outing. He'll automatically blame himself because he's been the cause of so many others' pain. He'll immediately stop everything to protect you. Once you're back safe in his office, he'll have Moxxie tend to your wounds. When the two of you are alone, he'll apologize profusely. Telling him it's not his fault won't really calm him down, unless you grab him and look him in the eyes while you say it. Even then, he'll still feel guilty.

Moxxie will rush to your side to help you. He'll also bring you away from the danger and won't leave your side. He'll bangage up your wounds himself. Afterwards, he'll break down in tears and begs for your forgiveness. Obviously you do, but he'll continue to sob and cling onto you. He'll keep repeating how he's a terrible partner because he couldn't protect you. It takes a while to fully convince him that it wasn't his fault and you still love him.

Millie will immediately lash out at whatever hurt you. Like full on snarls and growls. She'll then bring you to whatever place is the safest. She'll apologize for putting you in harms way like that. You remind her that she's the one who protected her in the end, which makes her feel a little better. Make sure you tell her it's not her fault. She'll take less convincing than Blitz and Moxxie, but she'll still be extremely worried about you.

Loona will pick up your injured body and run away from the danger. Like Millie, she'll lash out, but only if something tries to attack you again. To her, it is more important to get you to safety than to try to fight. She'll insist on bandaging your wounds herself because she doesn't trust anyone else to do it. Will blame herself because she wasn't looking out well enough for you. She'll immediately agree when you tell her it's not her fault because your word is the only one that matters.

Fizzarolli will try to bring you away from the danger above all else. Since he's not really the best at fighting, his first instinct is to run away. Once the two of you are safe and out of breath from running, he'll break down in tears. He'll think he's not a good enough partner because you probably got hurt protecting him. Reassure him it's not his fault. That you still love him and he's the best partner you could ask for. He'll start to calm down once he feels your hands cupping his face.

Striker will immediately step in and protect you when he sees you get hurt. He'll pick you up and the two of you will flee on horseback. When you get home, he'll tend to your wounds. He ends up blaming himself because his job put you in harms way. He'll apologize for putting you in danger and kisses your forehead. You tell him not to worry because you knew he would all ways be there no matter what. That doesn't exactly make him not worry, but at least he knows your okay.

Stolas will internally panic and rush to your side. He'll go into his demon form and absolutely destroy whatever hurt you. He'll pick you up and carry you home. He'll have one of his servants tend to your wounds while he sits beside you and holds your hand. He will blame himself for putting you in a dangerous situation in the first place. He'll apologize profusely while holding you close, putting all the blame on himself. You tell him it's not his fault, he doesn't really accept that however and makes you promise you're okay.

Asmodeus will immediately go into his demon form to protect you. He'll pick you up and carry you back home, apologizing the whole way. He will blame himself because he wasn't there for you in the first place. He'll tend to your wounds, his large hands working very, very carefully. He promises to be a better partner for you. However, you tell him he already is a good enough partner and you'll love him no matter what. This doesn't exactly calm his nerves and he'll make sure he's always with you, or you have bodyguards from now on.

Beelzebub will freak out if you get hurt at one of her parties. She'll stop the entire thing for you, making sure you're alright. If you're not, the party will end and she'll bring you home. She'll get you anything you need or want, apologizing for hosting the stupid party in the first place. She won't host one for a while, wanting to spend time with you instead. Even if you reassure her it's not her fault, she'll still blame herself. She's the party host, it's her responsibility to make sure everyone has a safe and good time.

Mammon will actually feel terrible if you got hurt at one of his shows. But only because he has a soft spot for you. Surprisingly, he'll end the show for you and carries you backstage. He'll have his staff clean you up and your wounds. He'll blame himself because it was his show, so it's his responsibility to take care of you. Also surprisingly, he'll apologize and promise to do better. However, you might not be leaving his side for a few... months.

Star's notes -> I agree, there is NOT enough Helluva Boss x reader fanfics out there!! But, that's why I'm here :}

(Thank you, @willyoubethepookietomypookster for requesting!) (Requests are open!)

Taglist -> @samohxt2-0 @sunshines-bright | Join the taglist

#☆strawb3rrystar answers requests #helluva boss #helluva boss x reader #blitzø #blitzo #blitzo x reader #helluva boss blitz #moxxie #helluva boss moxxie #moxxie x reader #helluva millie #helluva boss millie #millie x reader #helluva loona #helluva boss loona #loona x reader #fizzarolli #fizzarolli x reader #fizzarolli helluva boss #stolas #helluva boss stolas #stolas x reader #striker #striker helluva boss #striker x reader #asmodeus #helluva boss asmodeus #asmodeus x reader #helluva boss beelzebub #queen bee helluva boss

[aspoonofsugar]

do you think the song out for love says something about Camilla and veggie and to veggies character arc

Hi!

Yes, it does. I want to talk about Vaggie in other metas too, so in this analysis I will focus on her relationship with Carmilla, since this is what you are mainly asking about.

Before I start, though, I am gonna link to you this meta by @hamliet, where she talks about the main message of the song:

You're gonna fight without gloves And when that push comes to shove Yeah, you just might rise above Long as you're out for love

If you love, you might rise above. So Vaggie, a fallen angel, regrows her wings by choosing love and protection over hate and revenge. The meaning is crystal clear. Love makes you worthy of Heaven. Just like in the finale Pentious ascends thanks to his selfless sacrifice.

This is the meaning of the song when it comes to theme and to the series as a whole.

At the same time it is not by chance this theme comes out so strongly in relation to Carmilla and Vaggie, as they are both tied to "love".

FAMILIAL LOVE AND ROMANTIC LOVE

Carmilla Carmine: So I, I'll be your keeper Do whatever it takes, I'll make the mistakes I'll keep you safe and keep this secret

Vaggie: So I, I'll be your armor Do whatever it takes, I'll make the mistakes I'll spend my life being your partner

Carmilla and Vaggie are set up as foils in episode 3, when they share the song Whatever It Takes. This ballad is a love song, but Carmilla and Vaggie express two different kinds of love:

Carmilla is singing to her daughters (familial)

Vaggie is singing to Charlie (romantic)

This is a pattern throughout the show:

There are two versions of More Than Anything - the first one is about a familial bond, whereas the second explores a romantic relationship

Sir Pentious gets redeemed after expressing his feelings for Cherri (romantic) and sacrificing himself for the Hotel Crew (familial)

So, Hazbin Hotel goes out of its way to celebrate all kinds of positive bonds: platonic, romantic, familial. All of these relationships are enriching and help people grow. Vaggie and Carmilla are two characters linked to this very concept, as they are ready to fight and suffer for their loved ones:

Both: Whatever we go through I know I~ (Carmilla: I'll be your keeper) (Vaggie: I'll be your armor) Whatever it takes (Carmilla: I'll make the mistakes) (Vaggie: I'll make the mistakes) Whatever it takes

They are both warriors, but fight for love. They are out for love. However, Whatever It Takes also highlights a major difference between them.

TRUST AND SELF-EXPRESSION

Scrambled Eggs is an episode about trust. This is true especially for Carmilla and Vaggie, who have opposite secrets:

Carmilla killed an angel

Vaggie is an angel

Throughout the song the conflict between Heaven and Hell is mentioned by Carmilla and is present in subtext in Vaggie's stanza, as she looks at her old home.

Both are struggling under the pressure of these truths and are confronted by a loved one:

Zestial: Carmilla, what troubles thou? Losing thy composure is unlike thee. Carmilla Carmine: It's nothing, Zestial, really.

Charlie: Vaggie, don't say that! You do so much! It's- Vaggie: I'm sorry. I'd… I'd like to be alone for a minute.

Carmilla chooses to open up to Zestial and tells her daughters how much she loves them. Vaggie instead closes herself off and refuses Charlie's attempt to talk. She is singing to Charlie, but Charlie herself isn't present to hear her out. Even when it comes to their respective secrets...

Carmilla says hers in the song:

Carmilla Carmine: I always thought that I would keep blood off my face But when that thing attacked, I had to act To cross that line and keep them safe But if anyone knew, then all of Hell would rise to war And who's to say who'd survive the fray? I might lose the ones that I was killing for

Vaggie only alludes to hers in the lyrics:

Vaggie: When I saw your face You made me feel like a stranger in a brand new place And it felt so good to be understood But there's so much I wished that I could say

Vaggie meets Charlie and feels like a stranger in a brand new place because at the time she is in fact a stranger in a brand new place:

So, Carmilla is able to express herself, while Vaggie can't. This isn't surprising, as Vaggie is basically a child-soldier:

Adam: Do you really think I wouldn't recognize one of my top girls just cuz you're out of uniform? You were on the front lines, I wouldn't forget a bad bitch like you. It's why I named you after the best thing ever. Vaggie.

She is brought up in Adam's army and is taught that love is conditional. She is one of Adam's best fighters, but the moment she makes a "mistake", she is discarded:

Lute: Sinful filth like you has no place in heaven.

This is why she feels Charlie will love her only if she is useful and never messes up:

Vaggie: I'm supposed to make your dreams a reality. I'm supposed to protect you. I'm supposed to never fail you. (...) If I can't help you, what's the point of me?

This fear of abandonement and rejection is also at the root of Vaggie's inability to tell Charlie about her past:

Adam: I guess I'll just tell little miss butterflies and rainbows that she's been fucking someone who's killed-- thousands of her people. I'm sure your relationship will be fine.

Still, despite her communication issues, Vaggie's heart is in the right place:

Rosie: If there's anything I've learned, it's that words are cheap, but actions, they speak the truth. So, what have her actions said?

Vaggie is a person of few words. This may be why she has less songs than other characters. Still, she lets her actions speak, so she is given a ballet lesson by a very talented ballerina:

DANCING THROUGH LIFE

Carmilla has a ballet motif, as her outfit resembles that of a ballerina and her two daughters are called after protagonists of famous ballets. So, it is only natural that she teaches Vaggie a new way to fight through dancing.

Vaggie was taught to fight with hate and anger. So, her fighting style is aggressive and focused on attack:

Carmilla: You leave yourself open with every swing. You fight like someone unafraid of harm, and this is what you'll take advantage of. Angels wield no shields, little armor and fight with reckless abandon.

Carmilla tells her she should instead dedicate herself to love, protection and defense:

Fuel yourself with the fear of losin' That somebody who's your reason to live Harnеss your heart and you can't help choosin' To fight with all you can give

Vaggie shouldn't just fight. She should dance:

She shouldn't hate:

I see you're driven by your detestation Your every step is stoked with animus You need a different type of motivation Or there's no way that you can handle this

She should love:

Out for love~ Love~ Think of who you care about Protect them and be out For love~ Love~

Vaggie listens to these teachings and applies them in the finale, in two ways.

She sings her love for Charlie in More Than Anything Reprise:

Vaggie: You've already done so much So many lives you've changed So many souls you've touched And in the end, if it's only me you've saved Charlie and Vaggie: There's something that I've been dying to say More than anything, more than anything Need you to know I love you more than anything More than anything

As stated above, Vaggie doesn't sing much in season 1, but in the final episode she gets a short moment to express how she feels to Charlie. This is in contrast to Whatever It Takes, where she sends her girlfriend away before she starts singing. More Than Anything Reprise shows Vaggie's progress when it comes to self-expression.

She follows Carmilla's advices while fighting

On a practical level she covers herself up in a battle suit inspired by Carmilla's outfit, she wears a harness on her heart and ties her hair:

Vaggie: I'm not used to fighting with long hair.

On a thematic level she reveals her wings and defeats Lute, when the exorcist threathens Charlie:

Lute: So, I'll spare you the pain of seeing your demon bitch die.

And Vaggie eventually chooses not to kill the other angel:

Lute: Do it, then. Correct your mistake. Vaggie: Seriously, you're pathetic, you know that? Ready to die rather than accepting mercy? No, live. Live knowing that you only do because I let you, the failure.

Vaggie is asked to choose between her hate for Lute and her love for Charlie and she chooses the latter. This is why the scene ends with Vaggie leaving Lute and flying to help Charlie. She is given the chance to get revenge, but doesn't take it. She is given the chance to hate, but she loves:

I know you're thirstin' for vengeance, Vaggie You're out for blood But you'll only stand a chance if you're out for love

This is important in two ways:

1- The macrochosm - Vaggie refuses Lute's ideals and defies her expectations. For Lute it is normal that Vaggie is going to kill her. After all, Vaggie is discarded because she shows pity to a sinner, which makes her weak. Still, Vaggie bests Lute in a fight, so she is now strong. It is only obvious then that Vaggie has snapped out of her foolery and is ready to kill. She can correct her mistake. She did not kill the cannibal child, but she can kill Lute. This is how Lute understands the world. And yet, Vaggie doesn't finish her off. By doing so, she moves away from the mentality Lute embodies. She is strong precisely because she can show mercy. Adam is wrong. Lute is wrong. Vaggie isn't out for blood. She is out for love.

2- The microchosm - Vaggie sparing Lute isn't just the morally correct choice, but it is Vaggie's first step into healing:

Husk: (To Vaggie) This one. Judges everyone and everything because she hates herself.

Vaggie hates everyone because she deep down hates herself. She despises Heaven and Angels because she can't forgive her involvement in the exterminations. So, Vaggie hurting Lute would be Vaggie hurting her past self. As a matter of fact Lute is Vaggie's dark mirror. She is who Vaggie might become if she gives in to hate.

A person who hurts others:

And herself:

Vaggie instead has to value her life, so that she can protect others. She must save others and heal herself. Only in this way she can be by Charlie's side. She needs to let go of self-hate to embrace a healthy love. Vaggie's arc is her learning self-love through her bond with the Princess of Hell.

Obviously this journey is just at the beginning and our Angel of Love has a long way to go. How will her story contiue? We can make some hypothesis, which once again stem from Vaggie and Carmilla's foiling. This is just a theory, so take it with a grain of salt, but Vaggie may have a secondary personal antagonist in Hell:

Why is that so? It's because Scrambled Eggs sets Vaggie and Velvette up as foils.

RESPECT(LESS)

Velvette and Vaggie are opposites in their interactions with Carmilla. Both girls are younger than the Dancer Overlord and could learn a lot from her. However, Velvette refuses any kind of mentorship and shows no respect:

Velvette: Mad that I acted respectless? Well, it's cause no one could respect this! You're long past trending! Sorry, bae, but I ain't swiping right! You've lost your relevance-

Vaggie instead comes to respect Carmilla and learns from her:

At the same time, both Velvette and Vaggie confront Carmilla about her secret:

Velvette: 'Oops!' Did I strike a nerve? 'Cause when I brought out the angel's head, couldn't help but observe, that your wrinkled face was turning red! And why are you avoiding war? That's what the guns you sell are for! Thanks to my being respectless, one thing I'm starting to suspect is You know why this angel's headless! Do you have a disclosure?

Vaggie: I know what you did on extermination day. We can talk about it inside, or I can yell about it out here.

They call Carmilla out on killing an angel and keeping this knowledge to herself. Not only that, but both argue that it is necessary to fight back to stop the exterminations:

Velvette: We found it during Extermination day. If these Holy Rollers can be killed, the game has changed. We can take the fight to them. The boys and I have come up with a full assault plan!

Vaggie: Miss Carmine, I'm here on appointment from the princess to enlist your aid in the defense of hell from the angelic extermination. We know an angel fell at your hands and we need to know how.

Still, Velvette fails to get through to Carmilla because she uses war rhetoric:

Velvette: Oh, I get it. So Grandpa is too pussy to fight, so I guess there's no point, right? Oh, what's the matter, Fossil? Too senile to make a real power grab...

She speaks of violence, strength and power.

Vaggie instead convinces Carmilla to help because she mentions the necessity to fight for loved ones:

Vaggie: We didn't pick this fight, but it's here now. And they aren't going to stop with us. You didn't see the look on their leader's face. With us out of the way, it's only a matter of time before they come for the rest of you. They won't stop until all of hell is wiped out, so you can help us make a stand here together, or you can stand alone tomorrow.

She speaks of protection, love and comraderie.

In short, Vaggie succeeds where Velvette fails. Of course, this is true for Charlie's group in general when it comes to the Vees:

Vox: My dear people! We at VoxTek Enterprises have always been at the forefront of innovation. And now, with this new oncoming threat, we are shifting our focus, to your protection. We are pleased to announce VoxTek Angelic Security is coming soon! Trust us, with YOUR safety.

Katie Killjoy: Breaking news - Extermination day is cancelled! Charlie Morningstar managed to fend off the angelic attack with more than just nice words.

The Vees make big declarations of how they are gonna protect the people of Hell, but in the end it is Charlie and her friends who fight for the sinners.

When it comes to Vaggie and Velvette specifically, it is going to be interesting if their foiling is expanded. If so, then I guess Velvette is gonna help Vaggie mature a little bit more, so that when our ex exorcist faces Lute (her nemesis) again, she is gonna be ready for it.

#hazbin hotel #vaggie hazbin hotel #vaggie #carmilla carmine #velvette hazbin hotel #chaggie #charlie x vaggie #hazbin hotel meta #my meta #asksfullofsugar #anonymous #hazbin lute

[saintsenara]

As someone who isn't the biggest Hermione fan and keeps it quiet because greater fandom LOVES her, I'm honestly gagging for more of your Hermione takes. Especially your takes on fanon Hermione, who I can't STAND. Have a good one x

thank you very much, anon - there are dozens of us!

hermione is certainly the character i struggle to find common ground with the most - and this has been the case since i first read philosopher's stone as a child.

[which has actually been a really fascinating pop-culture experience - i think we tend to overlook, both because the media landscape and its representation of child and teen girls has changed since the 1990s and because of jkr's increasingly harmful views on gender, just how groundbreaking hermione was as a female protagonist in media which wasn't marketed primarily or exclusively towards girls. there is a reason why so many girls and women identified with her when the books were coming out - and it was very interesting for me growing up to not be one of them.]

the cause of my beef with hermione is for the incredibly petty reason that i find people who possess many of her more... striking traits quite difficult to deal with in real life, particularly if they don't acknowledge [which people in the hermione vein often don't...] that these traits are things it might benefit them to work on in their interpersonal relationships...

but this doesn't prevent me recognising that canon!hermione [and any real person like her] is interesting - and that her more annoying traits work well with her more straightforwardly admirable ones to create a fully-rounded character who, from a fanfiction perspective, is a great vehicle for all sorts of tropes, themes, and storylines.

which brings us - of course - to fanon!hermione...

fanon!hermione is, at her core, another brick in the wall of mary-sues. she's beautiful, and so clever she can solve millennia-old puzzles without batting an eyelid, and she's preternaturally emotionally intelligent, and she's morally spotless, and she's always right, and the story's preferred romantic partner worships the ground she walks on, and anyone who doesn't like her is punished.

i don't think - to be clear - that there is anything wrong, per se, with people wanting to write fanon!hermione [nor, to be frank, with other flawless fanon versions of female characters, oc mary-sues, or self-indulgent self-inserts - i'll defend the right to have fun with characters to the death]. this is a hobby, and people's way of engaging with that hobby doesn't have to appeal to me - it's fun escapism sometimes to write a character who is wonderful and perfect and beloved and has a sexy partner; and when it comes to accusations of writing someone "out-of-character", let she who is without sin cast the first stone...

but i also think - and [sigh] here comes some discourse - that fanon!hermione is part of a slight... girlbossification of female characters in the harry potter fandom [and presumably in others, i just don't follow closely enough to know] which i've always been a little uneasy about.

i understand why this happens - this fandom, like many, has an overwhelming preference for making blorbos of male characters and for imagining these characters in slash relationships. the treatment of female characters in slash subfandoms - i.e. tonks in wolfstar spaces; lily in jegulus spaces - is often straightforwardly misogynistic, and even in cases where it isn't, female characters are often shuffled quietly to the sidelines, except when they pop up - often suddenly in a queer pairing of their own - to benignly cheerlead the male couple.

and i think it's good that this is challenged - as i also think it's good that the heteronormative vibes of a lot of slash are challenged - and that we, as a fandom, are increasingly interested in female-centric works [whether focused on a romantic pairing or otherwise] and discussions. i hope these continue to take up fandom space.

but i have also noticed that the way female characters are written and talked about in these context is - as i've said - quite #girlboss in its approach. the focus is on women as clever and competent and feisty and unruffled and brave.

[including female villains, there are a lot of girlboss bellatrixes knocking around...]

and great! it should be! - but from what i've seen this also comes accompanied by a resistance to the idea that women can also be boring, unintelligent, self-infantilising, vain, arrogant, ignorant, talentless, meek, domestic, rude, dislikable, conservative, incurious, complicit in their own victimisation, plain wrong, and so on, and not only still be worthy of exploration, but be worthy of these characteristics not being automatically considered bad things for someone to possess and it not being seen as letting down the sisterhood to explore a woman who possesses them.

and, sure, hermione cannot be described as many of these things - but she is...

self-righteous; cruel; petty; from a privileged class background in the muggle world which blinkers her understanding of the class structure of the wizarding one; stubborn; terrible under pressure; shown by the text to be intelligent largely due to an ability to rote learn; a people-pleaser with a tendency towards a slightly hagrid-ish blind loyalty; extremely deferential to authority and willing to tolerate cruel treatment from authority figures [i.e. snape]; the most childlike of the trio [she takes her schoolbooks on the run and reads through them for comfort! she's an enormous animal lover!]; interested in one of form of stereotypical femininity [knitting! wearing pretty dresses!] even if she rejects the form of stereotypical femininity liked by e.g. parvati and lavender [and anyone who thinks she's not going to get along with her mother-in-law because molly's a housewife is dead wrong - she's having the time of her life helping put together a sunday lunch at the burrow]; possessed of a filthy sense of humour [i will never understand why emma watson said that the key to playing her was to be prim...]; someone who obviously wants to be liked and to be loved; and so on...

[and also, by the end of the pre-epilogue narrative, eighteen. she's often written in fics in a way which makes her sound like she's seen a lot of life - especially if the fic wants to claim she's "too mature" to bother with men her own age... but she hasn't - she's a teenager, and the reason she's so unpolished and abrasive is because literally all teenagers are unpolished and abrasive. it's just one of the mortifying agonies of growing up.]

we should love this. it makes her thorny and messy and mixed-up and human - and i am perfectly delighted by explorations of her character which delve into unravelling this tangle.

i just like her less as someone who is there to be right and beloved and uncriticised.

unless it's by ron. everyone should be uncomplicatedly adored by their wife guy.

#asks answered #in defence of... #hermione granger #annoying canon version only #we love unlikeable women in this house #reject the girlboss paradigm

[shepherds-of-haven]

Hiya! Sorry to bother, I really love SoH and I'm sure you hear this all the time but your writing is so amazing I can't help but come back and reread what's available just for fun! ♥

I have a small wonder, My main MC is going for exRed romance just full steam no eyes for anyone else and it's been a fun ride to watch them be so affectionate yet hesitant I gotta wonder though what the rest of the gang thinks having to watch their ridiculous dance? (I fully believe chase has a betting pool for when they get together.)

In Red's case, I think he's naturally affectionate/subtle/socially-mindful enough to not come off as stupidly over-the-top with his feelings in a really obvious or public way; because he's proceeding cautiously with an ex-MC and deliberately "feeling things out" without wanting to make them uncomfortable/make a fool out of himself, I don't think it'd be as obvious to others what's going on between him and MC unless they went to school with them both and witnessed the history there? (AKA Pan, Neon, etc.). For everyone else, it's:

Blade: literally doesn't think anything of it (unless he's also romantically interested in MC)--from his perspective, Red is equally friendly/comfortable/flirtatious with pretty much everyone, plus it would make sense that their being old friends/former lovers would come with certain closeness. In other words, he's not thinking about it

Trouble: took Red and MC at their word and just thinks they dated when they were teens, does not notice anything remarkable going on between them, but he can be naturally a bit dense in that area (though sometimes he isn't)

Tallys: oh my god just hook up already, the tension is starting to get under her skin lol she's of the camp that they should just jump each other and get it over with

Shery: she's 👀 and watching with bated breath, and subtly concocting excuses for them to be together, like "oh MC I needed to deliver a message to Red in his lab, but I'm "busy", could you please let him know so-and-so while I go do this other thing?"

Riel: he's actually broached the topic with Red before out of curiosity because the romantic tension was sooooo obvious to him: it was a really brief conversation because Red was caught so off-guard by Riel going "so are you going to tell MC you still have feelings for them/do you want to try things again?" that he just sort of looked at Riel blankly, but they sort of fumbled their way through a conversation where Red was sort of airing his thoughts/asking for advice and Riel was just like clinically listening?? and then they never talked about it again, lol. It's not like Riel ships them, he was just interested in what was going through Red's head at the time, and now he doesn't really care anymore, whatever happens is between them! but now and again Red will look up from subtle flirting with MC, catch Riel's eye, and Riel will have this unimpressed face like 🙄

Chase: gleefully has a (private) betting pool and trolls Red/the two of them as often as he possibly can without entering the zone of over-interference, much like an ecologist trying to observe a rare animal without over-affecting its natural behavior

Ayla: she notices if she's romantically interested in MC, but otherwise shelves their behavior as "things exes/old friends must do, which I wouldn't have any personal experience with, so I guess that makes sense to me" and doesn't give much romantic significance to the way they act around each other, that just must be how it is! 🤷🏻‍♀️ She'd be really surprised if someone like Lavinet was like, "Oh, darling, they are obviously still mad about each other..." Ayla: "oh, I just thought their whole thing was how all former lovers who stayed friends acted." Lavinet and Briony: noooooo

Briony: she is peak shipper for ex!Red and MC, she picks up on things right away and is watching both of them with her ponytail whipping back and forth like she's at a tennis match 👀, she's squealing and swooning internally every time they smile over a book together and is like barely keeping things together out of respect to them...

Lavinet: she's amused and intrigued by what's going on, ex-lovers who reunite years later is so inherently romantic, it's like something out of a drama!!! She's smirking and making sly comments here and there to sort of nudge things along now and then, but otherwise she subscribes to the "leave no trace" observing from a distance mentality rather than an active interference (unless her interference is specifically requested, in which case she's all hands on deck)!

Halek: didn't even realize they're exes, I think because no one told him or he wasn't paying attention, he just thinks they're Like That (as in, they want to bang each other, obviously, he just figures they're dragging their feet about it because they work together or something)

#Shepherds of Haven #Red #MC #feelings about #Red Antiqua

[multifandoms27-blog]

I tend to never be satisfied with my potrayal of Jeff. I'm going to try to nail it down today though.

Content: Jeff the killer HC's

Warnings: Bullying behavior (cyberbullying), toxic behavior, psychotic episodes, impulsivity, aggression, obsessive behavior

Notes: Inspired by my Toby list and my EJ list, and the song Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge. This one is probably my longest one.

• ───────────────── •

(Art by kawacy on DeviantArt)

❥General

Okay, we should all know the drill by now. Jeff is psychotic, often hurting and humiliating others for his own entertainment. He's the biggest bully in the mansion.

When you join, he will immediately target you. He'll make fun of your appearance, try to cut you or burn you so he can get a sick laugh (normally when he's in an episode)

Why would you ever want to be anything more than acquaintances with him? He doesn't seem trustworthy at all, and he'll likely spill you secrets to BEN, who will then tell everybody online.

He's constantly getting into fights to prove to the others that he's "top dog," and that he isn't scared of anybody. Ironically enough, the only one he doesn't really try is Eyeless Jack. Motherfucker could eat him in like, two bites, so I understand.

Honestly, as much as he bullies you, you will never be as much of a target as Jane is for him. Which is good, that's a good thing.

When he isn't in his psychotic episodes, he'll still be very snarky, but he won't be going around and getting into people's faces anymore. It's during his calmer moments when you'll be able to start befriending him.

• ───────────────── •

❥Romantic

Jeff won't really be receptive to you trying to befriend him for a while. He knows how he treated you, he knows who you are. He doesn't care about you, but he'll stick around while you talk to him about whatever. He's just kinda shocked that you've decided to try to get close to him of all creeps. But he'll come off as indifferent.

Don't trust him with your secrets right away. Even if he's not in an episode, he's still going to tell BEN everything.

Just making an effort to talk to him though, not really attempting to get to know him, will start to make him interested. You know who he is, yet you're not...interested in him? His past or why he looks like this? At all?

That was new for him, considering Jane, Liu, Nina, BEN and Slenderman. In fact, he thinks about it so much that he'll begin to obsess about you when he goes back into a violent episode. He'll rip you away from anyone you're with - if it's not a creep, he's killing them on the spot - and will try to force you into his room.

He'll want to talk to you for hours on end, about you. He wants to know you. Why aren't you interested in his past? What was your past? Why are you here?

He goes from not caring about you, to caring about you way too much. Anything negative he's told BEN, he'll go to him and threaten him to take it off the internet, completely scrub it. BEN is confused, but he does it.

Jeff will use that as evidence to him being good to you. He won't admit that he wants your approval, but its pretty obvious.

He begins to spend less time with BEN and more time with you. He wakes up before you? He's pounding on your bedroom door until you open it so you can be up with him. You want to play a game with another creep? He's either watching or forcing his way into the game.

This guy will eventually try to spend every waking moment with you

He goes from not wanting to be around you to becoming OBSESSED

He wants to know everything about you, but he wants you to tell him when you're alone with him. Others don't deserve to know things about you, especially BEN.

This would be around the time he begins to develop feelings. Now, he's still in an episode, so he'll be impulsive with it. It doesn't matter how long you guys have been friends, he wants you and he's going to have you.

He'll pound on your door and when you open it, he'll kiss you on the lips. No prior notice as to how he feels about you, no warning about the kiss, nothing.

You think he's messing with you and you shut the door in his face. He angrily pounds on your door again until someone else comes to take him away.

He thought that was you rejecting him and he went back to hating you. He told BEN a shit ton of things you told him in confidence and you sobbed as you saw gossip about yourself online, along with rumors that weren't true.

Jeff made you out to be the mansion whore, sleeping with anyone for anything - benefits, food, clothes, whatever. It didn't have to make sense for it to spread.

Your other creepypasta friends came to your aid, which irked Jeff even more. Especially your guy friends

It wasn't until he heard you tell Toby about your feelings for him that he realized how much damage he had caused

This whole time he thought you didn't like him...oh, he fucked up

He takes to the internet to debunk the rumors and fight anyone who kept up with them. He once again told BEN to scrub any evidence, leaving the boy confused.

Jeff will come to your aid, but his heart clenches when he realizes that you don't trust him anymore.

He begs and begs for forgiveness, and finally you give it to him so he'll shut up

He's back to following you around like a puppy, and his feelings resurface. He's not in an episode now, and he wants to handle this delicately

His way of doing it delicately is by...giving you one-liners. Yep.

He'll stalk you on your social medias and check out every account you follow, and get jealous if you follow another guy. He's not even in a relationship with you yet!

Finally, he asks you out while you two were playing a game. You had to pause it to look at him and see if he was even serious

So, the two of you start going out. He goes full blown crazy boyfriend

He forces you to move into his room pretty soon, and he keeps tabs on everything you do

He's super paranoid you'll cheat on him, so he's always hanging around in the mansion. You'll never be alone with your friends again now that you're with him.

You don't dare fight him on it, he's the most unstable one and can be super aggressive at the drop of a hat

Probably installs a tracker on your phone so he can monitor where you go and when you leave the mansion if he can't be there for whatever reason

Knife fights anyone who brings up his past behavior or the rumors from before about you, and always wins. He uses this to get praise from you

He wouldn't trade you for the world - you are his world, and he'll make sure everybody knows it. You will never know peace again, even if you manage to run away from him, leaving a breakup letter behind.

You're stuck with him.

• ───────────────── •

Here is my Masterlist in case you want to request, or look for more of your favorite character!

#jeff the killer #creepypasta #creepypasta jeff the killer #jeff the killer x reader #jeff the killer x you #jeff the killer x y/n #Spotify

[thatstonedwriter]

Can't Sleep?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A/N: Gee, I wonder what inspired this one, def not all the all-nighters I'm pulling whaaaat?

Content; references to sleeping disorders, implied romantic relationships, angst, comfort, mentions of physical affection

Feat; Stolas, Fizzarolli, Loona, Blitzø

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you can't sleep...

Stolas will hold you while he reads or sings to you. If the issue persists, he'll use his grimoire to let you see the stars without leaving the comfort of your bed. If the insomnia episode turns into an all-nighter, you can bet he'll make y'all some cereal while you talk, or watch something. Stolas will do his best to stay up late with you (being an owl demon helps), but generally, he'll fall asleep before you. Let's you sleep in the day after. No pulling curtains or guilt tripping. He knows you need the rest. Stolas will check up on you periodically and bring you food/water if you can't get yourself out of bed. Expect lots of cuddles. I'm sure Stolas would read books on techniques to make it easier to fall asleep, what medications work best, and mental health resources so that he knows exactly how to help you in any way possible. It may seem overdramatic, but all of Stolas' fussing just means he's concerned and wants to do everything in his power to help you get the rest you need.

Fizzarolli decides to sit with you. He doesn't force you to speak or anything, but he's there if you want to. To start out, he'd likely hold your hand or lean his head on your shoulder. He's another who will end up falling asleep before you though. He tries to stay up, but he's just not built for it. Fizz doesn't know how (an is never allowed to) cook, so he'll order delivery from your favorite place. If it's too late to place an order, the best he can do is heat up leftovers or frozen food. Its the thought that counts. In the mornings, Fizz will encourage you to at least get out of bed, even if it's for a few minutes. He won't be pushy, but he knows it's important to get you awake and moving. If you're with Fizz and Ozzie, the latter will be in charge of cooking any meals. Ozzie would also try and help you get out of bed (likely by carrying you, but hey, it's something). Fizz knows it can be difficult to take care of yourself, and that's why he's so adamant about making sure you're okay.

Loona will stay up with you. If you're in your room she'd pull up some movie or TV show to have on in the background while y'all lay in bed. I think Loona would find it comforting to have her hair played with, so she'd try that with you. She can be surprisingly gentle, and you're one of the very few who can see that side of her. Unlike the first two, Loona won't sleep until she's sure you've dozed off first. Most of the time, Loona will make some simple meals so that y'all can snack together. She also knows that it's a bit easier to sleep with a full stomach. It's likely she also struggles with sleep, so more often than not, y'all stay up together. Sometimes Loona will ask to go on walks (not bc it's a hellhound thing). The quiet, cool air, the and the faint sounds of late night traffic echoing through the streets all create a surprisingly serene atmosphere, and by the time you're back home, you're ready to collapse in her arms. Of course, that was Loona's plan all along. You also end up sleeping through most of the day afterwards unless you've gotta get out of bed.

Blitzø will probably just keep you up. To be honest, he probably has sleep problems too. At this point, he's so used to pulling all-nighters that, at first, he doesn't think much of it when you have the same issue. But then he notices your lethargy, the bags under your eyes, and the way you doze off during the day. That's when he decides to take action. Dude practically forces you into a bed or on a couch. And of course, he provides lots of pillows and blankets and hops into bed with you, holding you close and turning on the TV. Blitzø isn't really one for talking about this kinda stuff, but if you need someone to listen, he's all ears. Be warned, dude probably snores and moves a lot in his sleep, so if you need your own space, he'll offer to sleep on the floor. Blitzø would probably try to distract you with jokes and stories, and really appreciates the late-night company, even if it's unfortunately caused by sleeping disorders. At least one good thing comes of it. Like Loona, Blitzø doesn't fall asleep until you do, and even then, he'll probably end up staying awake for another couple hours. He does find it easier to sleep when he has someone with him, though. Mornings after tend to involve a tired Blitzø clinging to you an begging not to get out of bed. Once he's there with you, it's hard to get him anywhere else.

#helluva boss #helluva boss x reader #helluva boss headcanon #stolas x reader #stolas helluva boss #helluva boss fizzarolli #fizzarolli x reader #loona helluva boss #loona x reader #helluva boss blitz #blitz x reader #romantic attraction #romantic headcanons #writings.onthe.wall

[deargodhelpmeaaa]

Deltarune (lightner) ships analyzed for how likely they are to be canon. (ship whatever u want this is just what I think, feel free to comment an argument for your ship, too, I'm happy to hear you out) spoilers if u missed playing this game for the SEVERAL YEARS ITS BEEN OUT

Krusie

I think they're just friends tbh. Susie doesn't show any signs of romantic interest in Kris at all, but Kris MIGHT like her romantically. Ralsei mentions feeling warm when he thinks about the way they care about her and her tea heals Kris the most out of all of them and how much it heals is based on how much the characters like each other (Susie's tea heals 400 of Noelle's health points) and when asked who they'll take to the festival, Kris is implied to sound confused when you make them say they want to go with Ralsei or Noelle.

Susie and Ralsei's dialogue when Kris drinks Susie's tea is a little sus, too.

But again, there's no specific interactions that REALLY indicate that they really do like each other like that. Susie isn't really shown to like Kris as more than a friend, and Kris likes her, but a lot of this stuff sounds like they just like her as a really close friend...

They really do strike me as best friends. They're excited to go to the dark world together in chapter 2, and Susie is excited to go there again at the end of chapter 1. How they want to keep it a secret because it's their thing... I think that trying to say it's a romance is just reading into it a bit too much. Susie's probably going to end up with Noelle and not Kris.

Also I think it's super interesting that Kris and Noelle both like Susie a lot as people who lack control over their own lives- Noelle being super submissive and Kris literally being possessed.

Suselle

The ferris wheel scene they have together, it's implied that they did stuff together in Snowgrave. Susie blushes when Noelle gives her the chalk and they have a lot of cute, awkward interactions. Susie does seem to like Noelle back but doesn't know it yet, and it is clear to me that they're going to get into a relationship.

Kralsei

A bit weird.... Ralsei looks like Kris's brother and kind of forces himself onto them a bit since we know they don't really like him as much as we do and he's appealing to the player who's controlling Kris and not necessarily Kris themself. He still blushes around them, and if you choose to hug him on the boat and fight Spamton, he forcefully hugs Kris to distract everyone from what's going on. Not as wholesome as it initially looks, is it? If it becomes canon it will be against Kris's consent.

Kriselle

Honestly? It's possible. Snowgrave is forced and fucked up but I think even in the normal route there might be tiny hints that Noelle likes Kris a little bit.

(WHY SHE DO THAT) I might be reading into it too much, though.

Ralsusie

Not really canon, either. Again, she doesn't show any romantic interest in him, he doesn't in her. There's not a lot of grounds to stand on to say it will be canon. It seems like Ralsei is too interested in Kris (or more accurately: the player) and Noelle is too interested in Susie, who is unaware that she likes her back. I think it's a cute pairing but I really do just see them as friends and nothing else.

Krerdly

I already did a post on this but I've updated my reasoning since. I will reitorate some of my previous evidence nonetheless. JUST BECAUSE I CAN!!!

Berdly lowers the fee on the library book for seemingly no reason in chapter 1, is shown to care about Kris and views them as a friend but is only pushing them away to maintain his status as the "smart kid." They play games together and it's clear that Kris likes Berdly, too, and one of my favorite instances of this is the narration when you stare at his stupid statue for too long (skip to the 3 minute mark on the video)

He's the only character to open the present you give them and has the most heartfelt reaction to it.

He loses interest in Susie at the end of chapter 2.

And indicates that he's not repulsed by the idea of being with Kris, only turning them down because he thinks he likes Susie and that Susie likes him back, and so therefore he tries to pursue her.

and is put under the impression that they like him when they show concern for him. It is possible that they do like him romantically. It is possible that he likes THEM romantically and is just too out of touch with his own feelings to recognize it. He's really nice to them a lot more than he needs to be even when he's trying to be condescending. Obviously he values them as a friend even if initially trying to deny it.

His character development isn't completed at the end of chapter 2 and it seems clear to me that he's going to be coming back somehow. He's only just a little less hesitant to study with Kris and Susie at the end of Chapter 2. He still has that weird relationship with romance since he thinks nobody can love him without some ulterior motive, like romance. He thinks romance is super important, this massive form of intimacy and he wants it desperately, and that will hopefully be explored further and developed more.

Chapter 2 is all about him and Noelle and he gets a lot of his own individual development that is pretty separate from Noelle's and not even aided by hers, which is different from Lancer (who he's oft compared to) whose development is connected directly to Susie's. There's no reason to just throw Berdly's ass away right after chapter 2 (unless you literally forced Noelle to do that to him lmao) I think he's gonna do more in the story somehow, in some way. He's gonna develop more, and I think we're going to see more of his relationship with romance. We might get to meet his family and see more of that. Like.... he's just too good of a character to throw away IMO. Not to mention how a lot of the computer world's denizens resemble him in some way, the butlers being literally birds, Queen's mech sharing some visual simularities to him,

Spamton being an almost direct parallel to his character.... lots of things about that seem pretty sus and make me think he might be important in some way just because of that.

We also have the route where he breaks his arm which will take his development in another direction as well.

Toby Fox mentioned that the game is taking so long because he and the team need to do all these new mechanics, the branching paths, and it's very complex.

So.

Basically.

What I think is going to happen.

Is that Krerdly could happen in one or more routes where Berdly is still alive. So it hurts even more that he's dead in snowgrave. Whoops. Killed our characters' future boyfriend. My bad! Lmao! And yeah I think it's Kris who will be interested and not necessarily the player because that's less weird and cuter to me hehe haha hahaha.

I.

I.

Listen.

I might be reading too much into it because I really like Berdly and relate to him like crazy. (big shocker: the crazy tumblr girl that writes long rambly analysis about videogames and youtube and shit and constantly draws Berdly and is obsessed with him relates to Berdly)

Oh yea one unrelated theory I think that he might be the only light world character you can force Noelle to kill. It'd be kind of dumb to repeat the snowgrave route like that IMO and make it more impactful that way but maybe I just want my boy to be special IDK.

Noelle x Berdly

Sunken ship. They don't like eachother romantically at all. Berdly thinks she likes him but doesn't like her back, and Noelle doesn't like Berdly romantically at all, and even may hold some mild, repressed contempt towards him, but she still cares about him. It's made clear as day in the game that they are just friends and not interested in making their friendship anything else, unless Noelle asked out Berdly, the pinnacle of masculinity himself, (which he'd agree to since he would worry about what would happen otherwise) but heh. Yea.... like that's going to happen...

Susie x Berdly

Susie doesn't like him romantically, he loses interest in her at the end of chapter 2.

Ralsei x Berdly

They never interact and we don't know if they will interact.

Noelle x Ralsei They never really interact yet either. Later on I can see them interacting more since Toby described Noelle as "one of the main characters" but it's not going to be romantic. I think that's obvious.

We don't know the other characters well enough to say anything about them. That being said...

Dessriel

Toby Fox commented that someone was making something really similar to Deltarune and it's speculated it was in reference to omori.

We only have one comment about Dess using Asriel's jacket to back this up, as well as the fact that Dess and Asriel are friends so Kris and Noelle were friends, and everything seems to have fallen apart after Dess's disappearance. I think about Hero and Mari here, and wonder if that's what he meant in this tweet. It's possible that Dess and Asriel liked eachother romantically or were dating (I don't think we've gotten any specifics on the nature of their relationship). We don't know yet, though but it's a theory. A GAME THEORY THANKS FOR READING!!!!

To reitorate before I go: Remember even though I said your ship is unlikely to become canon I'm not dissing it and you're not a bad person for liking it at all, like what you like, ship what you want (but know where to draw the line of course, be normal, JESUS). So yeah no shade on anyone this is just what I think, aight?

#Youtube #deltarune #susie deltarune #kris dreemur #ralsei #noelle holiday #suselle #krerdly #deltarune berdly #berdly #kriselle #not tagging the other ships in case i piss someone off #i know how shipping culture is

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

PLEASE I need more punknoir headcanons if you have any I LOVE these I LOVE those two <333

(If youre comfortable with it any first kiss HCs?? I would LOVE to see your thoughts)

Oh I HAVE SO MANY SO MANY CUTESY STUFF and also I do have a First Kiss HC!! But this is long as hell so I'll probably post that set of HC next!

Thanks for this :) !

A LONG-ASS LIST OF FLUFFY-ASS PUNKNOIR HEADCANONS

Peter is actually REALLY good at rubix cubes now, especially after Gwen introduced him to speed-solving. He does it as a (slightly-nervous) habit now

Since the rubix cube was invented in 1974 - and Hobie is from 1978 canonically - he is ALWAYS picking up new ones and new designs from his universe to give to Peter

Peter loves them a lot and always keeps one on him, just for boredoms sake

Hobie always chuckles when he hears the sound of Peter clicking away on his rubix cube in the next room

They're both HARDCORE night owls

It's never really 'sunny' in either of their universes, because - one is noir and the other is London

But even then, they like to stay sleep in when they can, and Hobie will keep Peter in bed as long as possible, panda-hugging him like a sloth in the mornings

Their love language is sharing things - it's like words of encouragement, acts of service, and receiving gifts all in one

Hobie and Noir aren't the type to buy many things, or need anything to be brand-new, so books become their way of being with each other always

Noir likes to scribble neat notes in the margin in grey pencil, while Hobie covers his in bright post-its covered in sharpie and hi-lighter.

They've read each of each other's favorites, and always treat each other's books with care. Hobie introduces Peter to so many newer publications his world doesn't have yet, meanwhile Peter finds Hobie the best out-of-print or even non-destroyed books, copies that were destroyed in facist book-burnings in Hobie's world.

They kinda have an anarchist collection and archive at Peter's place

Being with Noir is one of the only times Hobie is super quiet

Hobie loves to listen to the rain at Peter's place, or listening to the scratchy 30's radio playing in the next room. He loves closing his eyes to the crackle of Noir's vinyls, or the sound of Peter typing away on his typewriter as Hobie lays on the couch

Even when Noir is at his place, it's a peaceful kinda quiet

Hobie lives on a canal-boat, so no rent, and no landlord, which Peter loves. And on foggier London nights, he and Peter can float the boat out on the river, sitting in the fog together

Hobie introduces Peter to a lot of new music

His favorite in Hobie's collection is Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen, and any other operatic, classical style rock.

They're pretty low-key about their relationship. They're not hiding it, they're just not that big on PDA outside of hand-holding and cheek kisses

But they're still very intimate in public in a different way. Hobie and Peter always asks each other for their opinion in front of others. Peter is always acting chivalrous towards Hobie, and Hobie always speaks highly of Peter.

They may not be making out in public, but their own version of PDA could be just as subtle and sweet, even down to Peter adjusting Hobie's pins, making sure the words are facing up

Or Hobie flicking a piece of colored lint off of Noir, or leaving small bright, collage-style origami for him

It take's Gwen maybe a couple weeks to catch on

She can tell Peter and Hobie are like IN SYNC, like spot on with each other. And that they crash at each others places a lot, but she figures maybe they're just planning some anarchist stuff together

Besides, Noir isn't all that romantic - especially compared to other Peters. He and Felicia don't have that complicated history, and MJ is a friend (i think). So it doesn't really occur to her

Until one day her, Hobie, and Noir are hanging out at Hobie's place and she notices Noir already knows where everything is

Noir knows exactly how Hobie likes his records to be put back, or how much sugar Hobie likes in his coffee and tea

And she's like 'lol u guys are like soulmates'

and Hobie just goes 'glad u noticed.'

and Gwens like 'WAIT'

Peter unironically calls Hobie his 'lover'

Hobie ironically and teasingly calls Peter his 'lover' (he usually sticks with partner, but often goes with boyfriend if he knows it'll get a reaction *ahem* Miguel *ahem*)

They bond over the mutal feeling of 'what the fuck is this technology bullshit' A LOT

Neither one has a proper smartphone (ever since they learned about Siri they call phones wiretaps)

Noir only uses a typewriter and says screens hurt his eyes and the most technologically advanced thing Hobie with entertain is an arcade cabinet or MAYBE a Playstation 1.

But Peter also likes having Hobie explain things to him

Simple things even. SO many times people tell Peter what happens in WW2 in their worlds. It's..not fun to say the least

He likes sitting around, listening to Hobie explain things like the best movies from the 60's, or the best color TV shows

They have a date-night tradition where they try out something 'modern' (aka 1970-2023) and rate it, then write it down somewhere

So far, they both really like the Exorcist. Watching to together for the first time was one of the best dates they've had

(Imagine being from 1933 and watching the Exorcist with no prior context wouldn't that be wild)

Their apartments look SO COOL now that they're together!!

Noir's black and white apartment, covered in shadows and bright pop art posters. Hobie's bedroom half desaturated, half covered in zines and supplies for protests

You know how in old cartoons there's the trope of a dude in a trench-coat and when he opens it it's full of watches as stuff - Noir's coat is like that, but with patches

And Hobie will take newpaper clippings from Peter's Bugle and use them in art and collages because Peter's writing inspires him a lot

He'll use slogans from Peter's writings in his protest art, and use Peter's melodramatic sayings in his song lyrics

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(once again not proofread because my brain dont do that sorry for typos i do be like that sometimes)

if you made it this far - thxs and i hope you have a rad day

#noirpunk #punknoir #spider punk #spiderpunk #spidernoir #spider noir #peter parker #hobie brown #hobie brown x peter parker #peter parker x hobie brown #noir!peter parker #atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderman #spider man #atsv shipping #shipping #headcanons #marvel headcanons