Summary: Princess Wanda from a conquered kingdom is forced into a political marriage with a prince whose known to be a monster just like his father. But is that really the whole story?
Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Violence, Reader has a penis, Smut, (18+), Political Intrigue, Slow Burn, Power Imbalance.
A/N: I had mentioned about this story before and it’s finally here! I hope everyone will enjoy it ☺️
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Chaos goes around as you and Taylor lovingly argue of keeping christmas lights on in january, to which only made you relent to her in an emergency.
teddy bear. 🤍
in the midst of cuddling, Taylor hears you speak of the sweetest words.
Its Nice To Have A Friend Series Masterlist 🤍
Four Chapters - 4/4
Being close friends with Taylor had it's amazing ups and small downs with her being so busy, but when you realize your heart beats faster when you see her, the two of you wind to a long waiting of a confession.
giant teddy bear?! 🤍
When February 14th comes up, you end up finding something peculiar on the couch, while Taylor was having her heart feel like a bundle of warmth.
a sleepy movie night. 🤍💛
The evening was coming to an end, while you had your favorite blonde giving you affection, even as your consciousness grew drowsy during a movie night.
a late date. 🤍
After a day at the studio, Taylor decides to surprise you with something special, and you spent countless hours making conversation with her.
waking up sick and tired. 🤍
Waking up in the middle of the night was the worst, especially when you realize your throat has the bothersome feeling of being sick, but Taylor had awoken to comfort you gently, and help you get out of bed.
the cold and the sickly kisses. 🤍
The moment you felt sick, nonetheless, Taylor stayed taking care of you, and sending you to sleep by reading a book.
it's okay. 🤍🩶
A week had gotten you down as you were healing your mental health. You were in between the feelings of good and bad, and you didn't know how to deal with it. But the least was, you had the presence of a blonde, someone who knew the right words, even if simple.
my morning sunshine. 🤍
A morning spent, with you awake before Taylor, and where you take your time to admire her every feature.
before work. 🤍
On a morning where Taylor has to go to work, you both spend time relishing the minutes she has beforehand, and she leaves you with the caring words she has, for the note in her mind where she knows that you've been restless.
stomach bug. 🤍🩶✨
When the worst of all stomach aches hit you, you find out its a stomach bug with a hospital visit, and Taylor goes through the day with you, keeping a comforting presence even after.
safe & sound. 🤍🩶✨
When you find out the way you're suddenly treated by the people you're closest with, Taylor spends her time trying to comfort you in the ways she knows how to.
oh. 🤍
When you were having a movie night with Taylor, it turns out that she had gotten all too exhausted without you realizing.
hideaway. 🤍
You and Taylor were in a hidden relationship from the rest of the world, and you kept in secret, but all the love was evident in your hearts, clear and true. Without any more worries, you soon both revealed yourselves with a surprise post, contentment settling in your life.
this tiring, built up feeling. 🤍🩶
You were tired from even just the morning, and Taylor decides to get you both back home, alongside some bakery delicacies and she comforts you back at home.
drunken night. 🤍🍂
When you and Taylor spend the night with a little bit of wine in celebration, you couldn't help but adore the way she was being silly until you both went to bed.
i'm so tired. 🤍🩶🍂
You had gotten so tired, you weren't sure you could keep up with everything anymore. Taylor was there, giving you her love and reassurance.
in bottled up feelings. 🧡🧡🍂
Misunderstandings happen all the time. But when it comes to your relationship with Taylor, it was all things to worry about.
nonverbal cuddles. 🤍
A lazy, quiet day, where Taylor goes from playing her music to eventually, joining you for cuddles in the bedroom.
a surprise of daylight. 🤍💛
You napped with Taylor in the bedroom, having a rest for yourselves with the comforting atmosphere. At least, until you awoke and she nearly fell.
not the stuffy nose! 🤍
On a quiet afternoon, you had thought you were the only one who had a runny nose, until Taylor had her own bothersome sneezes.
honey. 🤍🍂
In the sweetest of words, its always been twisted in other ways of perception. But it all changed when Taylor had started dating you, and the affection was seeping into the once backhanded words.
forever and always. short series
Five Chapters - 2/5
When it was starting to be time for your shared dream with Taylor of being wed, an unexpected scare comes both your ways, and her heart clenched to be by your side all through it, for however long it takes to reach forever with each other.
Warnings: many references of taylor's image being viewed by strangers, tay crying, and writing of her bodily insecurities, only in the beginning. florist!R(?)
Summary: In the sweetest of words, its always been twisted in other ways of perception. But it all changed when Taylor had started dating you, and the affection was seeping into the once backhanded words.
Word Count: 4.6k
Category: sweet fluff with a tinge of sadness at the start
A/N: I love this song wholeheartedly with opalite and eldest daughter so here you go. I hope everyone's been okay by the way<3
P.S, I got my signed cd and it arrived with the cutest heart :') i'm the happiest ever in my life.
| Started on 12/10/2025, 8:09 AM |
| Finished on 16/10/2025, 12:57 PM |
Main Masterlist | T.S Masterlist
Request Guidelines
"sweetheart, I adore you more than softness could explain.”
|——————————— ⸆⸉ ———————————|
It was a late night when Taylor was by the bar at some event, trying to enjoy her night off.
Its been a long few months in her case, fighting battles in her head, from breakup to rebound. And now, she was all alone, having decided to just stay true to herself.
The singer wasn't here to search for lovers. Not even a one night stand. It felt useless to, under the storm of feelings and shipwrecked memories.
Beats of music in the bar played along the air, all in joining the soccer game on the tv. It was dim, orange lights that alit the place. Any eyes that roam only see a room full of people, and she sat in the middle of it all.
Really, the wood on the bar might burn if she stared down any more. Fortunately, those kinds of powers don't exist.
So in a mindless motion instead, Taylor traces the rim of the glass with her thumb. But it didn't take long for her to regret it, since a sticky part she found had stuck on her skin. It was where her lips sipped the old fashioned, and residue of the drink had been sitting there.
She rubs her thumb against her index finger, only hoping the sudden feeling upon her skin would go away.
The least was, the sweat of the glass had it easily gone with a mere swipe. She had to take a look around, making sure no one had seen. There was not a single gaze.
It was a silly thing.
The drink in her hand has indeed been emptying out. Only, very slowly, and even now, it was static in the moment. To be truthful, she had gotten caught up in the webs of thoughts for so long, she wasn't sure she could care about the melted ice.
She's barely taken a single good look at anyone's face in the area, no matter how much time has passed. It didn't felt like it mattered, and she didn't want it to.
The thought sounded harsh, on another manner of her mind, but it had to be relieved of by a sigh. Taylor wasn't bitter, or mean. In some way, the blonde was sitting there, only wishing things that her life had another path to travel down. No one ever sees when you lose in solitaire, anyway.
Maybe someday she'll have a path with sunshine and sweetness, instead of raindrops with rumbles of storms.
"Back off, sweetheart." A girl next to her had sounded, making her blink. She wasn't there before, and it was clear to Taylor, even with the fact that she zoned out—the girl had just sat down next to her.
...Maybe she wouldn't hope on sunshine and 'sweetness' after all.
Her eyebrows furrowed as she turns to her. "He's mine and too good for you," the stranger murmured, her back facing the blonde now. She was supposedly chewing gum from the sound echoing. Taylor could hear the smack of the girl's lips. And her talking smack. She didn't even want any man right now, let alone another sitting beside her.
It had taken her everything to not speak back, simply tightening her lips, and the girl already turned her attention to cooing to the man beside her. She could only guess it was the prickly one's boyfriend.
Casually, Taylor turns back to her glass, processing the short "conversation" shared, if she could call it that. An encounter, to be fair.
She tries to calm down with her next finished drops of her drink, until the glass found land on the wood with a thud.
The girl didn't even care as Taylor stood, making her way off to the bathroom. It was more of an escape, really.
The only thing she could guess was that the girl was probably grateful—relieved even, that the woman who was supposedly 'trying to steal her man' was making further and further steps away from him.
Taylor didn't pay a glance, keeping her head forward.
Once she reaches the bathroom, the door opens with a slight creak, mixing in with the bar's music.
As soon as she steps in, she was able to take a breath without feeling like suffocating. The beats were muffled now, and the cheers or boos of the soccer game were easier to ignore.
She decides on a stall, taking her time, and trying to calm the loudness of her heartbeat.
With a couple more deep exhales, she felt stable enough to keep her ground. It wasn't even alcohol that had her mind frazed.
The flush of the toilet goes before she walked out the stall, aiming her spot to the sink. It wasn't a great bathroom. But it was the best a bar could do, even if at an event.
She washes her hands, before leaning down to splash her face with water. It certainly helped wake her up from everything else a little more.
Then, the bathroom door opens, and another person came in. She wasn't alone again, and probably didn't even get to have the tiniest sliver of peace. She hoped it was someone that minded their business.
But it never is the case.
"Honey, that skirt don't look like it fits you...you sure your hips aren't sore?" The woman said, her white teeth shining even under the luminescent green light of the bathroom.
The stranger eyed the blonde, walking to the sink beside her to put down a makeup bag, and touch up her face. That was it. Bathroom. Mirror. It certainly mentally slapped her back to reality.
Taylor's jaw wanted to fall to the floor at the absurd question. Despite how much it sounded like concern extremely all laced up in faux, she clenched her teeth. Not to hold back anger, but for how the woman called it out. Perhaps, in some twisted way of another's mind, it could be thought it was kindness and concern. But it didn't feel like it.
All she gave was a glance to the woman, before going out the bathroom.
As if her day couldn't get any worse.
She breathes out all the air in her tired body, dragging her feet out the bar. Each person was laughing or lonely and had their own story. Each part of her wanted to find anywhere to curl up and cry.
The cold night's wind found its way to her skin once her legs brought her outside, where puddles of rain was encoating the streets.
She decided to call her driver, having once hoped for such a wonderful, alone, carefree night, only for it all to be battered down by words from people she didn't even know of.
After a few minutes, the vehicle was coming into view.
She goes by the sidewalk, hugging herself as the added atmosphere of the rain's aftermath made it colder.
The car door opened easily as she slid in, thankful to be greeted my some kind of heater in the car, despite the ac's wind coming in to her face. She simply reached out, closing it down before she could freeze.
A breath leaves out her lips, slow and steady, and she had to let her body sink down in the seat.
For a moment, it all just needed to be relished in; the soft leather to rest against, the quietness, and for her to close her eyes without feeling like she needs to look over her shoulder.
The car was starting to drive, and her gaze could only follow the motions of the bare familiar buildings passing by out the window.
But it was difficult to just watch the view when her mind had those words back in the bathroom lingering.
Taylor stares down, for just a moment, and maybe too long, as her eyes were tracing dimensions and curves and edges...until she looked back to the window, and grabbed her phone.
She wasn't doing it again. Not again. It wasn't brought on by herself, it was a channel that needed to be switched, and she did exactly that.
She gently reaches for the phone in her pocket, trying to distract herself from the world. Earlier before, it was left to be on chrome, since she had some random thought needed to be searched of.
Since its been so long, the page had been refreshed to home, and she was about to close out of the app when she noticed an article on the 'discover' panel.
"Taylor Swift, famous singer, seen over-outfitted at a bar."
"Its honestly lovely, how she at least thought to wear a coat long enough under all that. Its showing she's putting some kind of effort on her look."
And slowly, the skin on her lip was starting to be attacked lightly by the shape of her teeth, nipped enough to cause marks.
Now, she wasn't interested in roaming the landscapes of her phone anymore, needing to press it face down on the seat.
The bar was barely even one traffic light away, as she tries to hold her emotions back in staring out the window.
But it was getting too late, even as her expressions tighten.
Her eyes acted out of alignment from her brain, and she began to break, the tears flowing with a stifled breath.
She could only hope the driver didn't notice. But at the same time, her emotions couldn't care less. Everything felt downhill, and it was a horrible, horrible day.
All she could do was try and let her hands cover her face.
When the time had passed where she arrives home, Taylor opened the front door with a slump, nearly stumbling as she took off her shoes, and eventually, dragged her feet to the bedroom.
The bed was comfortable, to the very least. Even if she fell into it. There was no need to be graceful right now, anyway.
And the only thing left was to drift off to sleep, with a red nose and tear stained cheeks.
|——————————— ⸆⸉ ———————————|
It had been months later, long after that stormy part of her year, and now in the fall, she was sitting quietly in her own home.
A while ago, Taylor had found you, on a random day, where she was walking with her morning takeout coffee, you were amongst a shop full of flowers.
She wasn't looking for anyone.
She certainly wasn't planning on buying any flowers either. But the thought of having something new, to take care of, to grow, perhaps even keep precious in the middle of all the darkness endured—it sounded like something her busted heart needed.
She was simply taking a look at the flowers, when you had just finished organizing the last of them only to notice her.
"Oh, you have lovely eyes..." you spilt out without even a second thouhht, and the blonde's cheeks betrayed her as her skin grew a tinted flush, she too, surprised by the sudden words. Yet, it felt like such a compliment, one from true generosity.
You hadn't even realized what you had said at first, until you saw the look on her face. It was either a compliment of her physical appearance, or of how her eyes caught the right thing. The right thing being you? No. Maybe. You weren't even quite sure yourself what you meant anymore, as soon as you landed sight of her blue eyes. They fit the color of the sky and something else entirely.
"...For-- um, flowers...you...picked a really pretty one. And its quite fresh, too." You try your best to mend the encounter, righting the misunderstanding, and she gave you a warm smile in return.
In a held back whisper of your mind, there lied a "...But you do have lovely eyes," in your expression, but you weren't sure whether to say it, or if you already had.
"Thank you. Really." Her eyes crinkled when her lips rose, and your expressions were just the same. She was holding the pot to take a closer look at the flower.
"What flower is this?" Taylor asks, looking back at you. Your face brightens, and she watches as you look at the pot in her hands.
"Oh...cosmos. They're easy to care for, and come in a variety of colors." Over by the shelf, there were similar ones, where your hand gestured out. There were pink ones, purple, orange, yellow, and a few that had their edges purple in contrast to the rest of the petal being white.
Taylor hums softly, taking in the sight of the flower. "This one looks similar to a daisy..." she says, holding up the one that was pure in all white.
You chuckle, nodding. "It does, yeah. But cosmos have a more upward, and bigger flourishing-like petals..." As you trail off, you put up a gentle finger. In a way to show the difference, you walked away enough to reach out for a pot of daisies.
"If you look closely here...you can see the difference." Taylor's gaze travels between the two, seeing the similarities and oddities.
in the middle, where the pollen most usually reside, the daisies had an all yellow, softer dotted look, while the cosmos had a much smaller one, with tiny little stems all around that could remind you of a bee's antennae.
For a while through the hour, Taylor had just continued talking to you without any interruption. It was as if the world was forgotten, and she only had you to talk to.
It didn't take long for the connection to form smoothly and sweetly, and that day, she decided to pick the cosmo flowers to take home.
With moving forward and onward, the casual meetings by your flower shop had turned into the both of you having outings.
It was gentle and slow. Friendly, and getting to know each other like normal people would
And then months that count as nearly half of the year later, the outings were soon able to be called dates.
Now, the time passed could only be shown as the memories past. Outside the window, any view of the trees held orange and brown leaves, fit to the season.
Taylor was on the couch, sitting comfy in a long sleeve. She was watching something, but it had long been overdue for a pause, since her mind had been starting to wander, which caused her to zone out.
She cuddled up to Benjamin like he was a mere plushie. Sometimes, it seemed like he was. The fluffiest you'd find.
As much as the position of being curled up and lazing like a cat appealed to her however, she knew there was a need to get up an stretch at one point.
But maybe in just three more seconds.
Or a minute.
Or more.
Maybe this is what cats think. Or they never think about getting up, and some do because of the call of food.
Either way, her TV had come up with the notice of 'Are you still watching this?' with a timer on it now, which urged her to get up enough to turn it off. Way for the world to give an urging push rather than a mind making its own decision.
Taylor decides in going off to the kitchen, finding her path towards the cupboard for a glass. The water resonated against the glass as it was poured, and she turns to lean against the counter, hydrating herself.
There really was nothing to do. At least, in terms of her work—Except for the items on the dining table that she had completely forgotten about.
Taylor glances at it and she walks over, glass still in hand. Upon the table, were fuzzy colored wires used in making some handmade flowers.
Since the restlessness within her body wasn't wearing off anytime soon, she sat down, opting to resume the project she left off on. There was another idea beside it, where she had cloth on the side for a baby blanket, made as a gift for a friend of hers. But that wasn't her current focus.
The wires soft against her skin, as she started to put it together with the most careful of hands.
Minutes passed, and nearly an hour. Her cats came by curiously every now and then, like Olivia taking her seat at one of the few chairs.
She was peeking up by the edge, slowly coming in with a paw, and Taylor eyed her from the side.
It didn't take long for her to stop Olivia, knowing well enough that she was eager to push an item off the table.
And so, from getting caught, the cat decided to sit and simply watch her instead, her tail moving slowly as if she was actually memorizing the movement.
On the other hand, Benjamin had decided that the fuzzy wire in her hand was a snack, and took a gentle bite at it. "Hey!" She looked down, gently prying it away. It was not delicious to his tongue, by the way.
A simple meow came from him as he gazed up at her innocently. All she could do was soften her gaze at him.
And at some point, give him a few pets and a treat of course, not as a reward, but for the fact that he could possibly be hungry for a snack.
At this time, she was fully in the present, and the corners of her mind wasn't filled to the bone with any negative thoughts, or a black hole awaiting to just push away all her progress. She was actually here, and nothing was eating parts of her integrity anymore.
As the minutes pass, Taylor was soon finished with one flower, and then two, until she was working on the third and final one. But right as she picked up another wire, she hears your car parking at the front of the house.
Her cats perked up just the same as she did, and she pauses to look to the door.
There you were, walking in with your keys echoing through the house, and you closed the door behind you.
"Honey, I'm home," you called out softly, yet your back was turned since you were taking off your shoes, and then she sees your face as you turn around.
Taylor was seen peeking over her shoulder from a dining chair, and you couldn't help the smile that rose on your face. In the meanwhile, she didn't waste time getting up. "Hi, baby."
You meet her halfway, your hands instinctually finding its place on her waist. "Hi..." Your words this time, were in reply to her greeting, rather than your entrance earlier. It was softer, and closer.
She leans in more for an eskimo kiss, and then an actual one to your lips. Your heart filled with warmth, and you returned it softly.
As she parted from it just enough, she whispered right against your lips, "...I missed you." You were just admiring the features and edges of her face, too busy getting distracted.
"Mmn. I missed you too." You replied anyway, and you were about to steal another kiss until she had intertwined your hands to pull you towards the dining table. "Come here."
Curiosity took you by heart, but your lips now had the ghosting feeling of her kiss, unfortunately losing any steals for the mere moment.
She picks up the fuzzy wire crafted flowers, and showed them to you, smiling widely. "These are for you."
Your lips part as you gaze at them, holding a twinkle of adoration when you reach out for the soft made flower. "Sweetheart..."
She watched your reaction with patience yet eagerness and excitement. You touched it delicately, as if it was a real flower to be held.
It was a cosmo, just like the first one she bought. Another, beside it, was your favorite flower that she had kept in her memories well by now.
Your smile only grew wider in proudness as you saw her expressions, and the third, last flower she finished to add to your hand. It was the color of your eyes.
"Oh, this is lovely, baby...you made them so well." Your gaze moved over to her, seeing her cheeks rising with a hint of pink.
"Thank you..." She leans her head against your shoulder, seeing you lightly trace the outline of the flower.
"They're so soft," you uttered. Her eyes brightened at your mention, having had that thought ever since she started.
"I know right? I could touch them all day. Oh, and Benjamin nearly ate one," she casually brings up. The cat had now been lounging by the couch, having hearing his name, but too busy in his own world and dearly precious nap.
You blink. "He what?" you had to ask, with surprise, looking over to the cat as if it could give you answers.
"Mmnhm. Its okay though, I stopped him and gave him snacks. Don't worry." She giggled, watching the expression on your face. You shook your head, simply returning your gaze to her.
"Okay, but seriously though...I'm so proud of you. Its so sweet...and thoughtful, and beautiful," you say, leaning in to her.
She smiled, and pulled you into a hug, her arms squeezing your body. "I love you..." she murmured.
"I love you too," you return it, before looking at her again. A sigh had left her lips as she rested her cheek against your shoulder, putting weight.
"I'm tired...and my hands are sore..." The gaze you had upon her was affectionate, and the comfort she could feel radiating from you, flows through as soon as your hand goes to her back. It was almost a massage that she needed from how she was sitting before.
"How long have you been doing this?" you ask her quietly, the warmth of your breath near her ear.
She had to think about it for a while, totally not getting distracted by the mere love and sweetness she was surrounded in. "For around...an hour...or two?"
You pause, leaning back to see her, then resting your hand on the chair to stand fully.
"Honey...thats amazing. But you need a break," you murmur, chuckling. She smiled, feeling her heart warm at your nickname and concern.
For a moment, it was only gazing and adoring. "How about we cuddle up together?"
"Mnhm." She did grabby hands, wanting to do it in a way she wouldn't have to walk. You chuckle, following her request in obligation, picking her up gently.
She held onto you like a baby koala, never letting go. "Where to, baby?" you murmur, pressing a kiss into her neck. She simply nuzzled her face in.
"Bed. Comfy," was all she had to mumble, despite muffled slightly against you, you turned to walk to the bedroom in compliance.
|——————————— ⸆⸉ ———————————|
The sun had rose high up in the clouds, hiding amongst the fluffy whites. By the window, sat the pot where Taylor had been growing the cosmos. They've been flourishing by her care.
The covers lightly rustle as you stir, just ever so gently.
Taylor was below your chin, buried in the crook of your neck comfortably like it was her safest place.
Your arms around her were an extra layer of security, all added up to the warmth.
A breath slowly leaves your body, as you cuddle her closer, as if you weren't already as close as you could be. But it wasn't impossible.
The air was gentle in waking you up a little more, despite being just a teensy too cool in temperature, the breeze was light.
She could feel your movements against her, and you froze as soon as you feel her shift. "Mmn..." the sleepy sound came from her throat, and she just nuzzled closer to your neck.
Your heart was slowly filling up with that sweet, fuzzy feeling that always felt like you'd rather live in it forever.
Beneath the covers, you could feel her legs brushing against yours in the meeting of skin to skin contact. She had worn shorts, and your sweatpants had rolled up, just a little.
It was clear she was awake, by the exhale and slow, lingering kiss she's leaving on your neck.
You smile softly, pressing one against the shell of her ear.
"Morning, sweetheart..." the whisper left your lips in a warming way. Like if she could hear the rays of sun as a voice, it would be within the tone you had just uttered.
She could only reply with a hum, too half stepped between reality and dream world to properly have a reply back.
You couldn't mind, holding a precious safekeeping in your arms was enough, especially one that was clinging onto you like you were a dream yourself, that could just poof, within seconds.
A shiver runs up her spine, and she pulls the cover up more. You could feel the hairs and goosebumps rising on her arms.
"Its cold," Taylor mumbled, pouting up against your neck. Never in a million years, she could imagine again, that she could be this comfortable with someone again, but she did. She has, now.
You lean back a little, just enough to see her. "You're cold...?" She could feel your hand radiating anything that could help her in the motion of going up her back, and down.
"I'll warm you up then," you whisper, changing it so that your leg was over hers instead of intertwined. You practically covered her like you were an extra blanket.
She giggled softly, burrowing further into you, and tightening her arm. You could spend time happily forever like this.
"And..." The comfiness she had was lessened when you pulled back, just by an inch. "With a kiss." You noses brushed as you let your lips meet hers in a warmth of themselves.
The kiss felt healing to her, despite the physical need of a fight against the cold air...it was soft, and as sweet as the love she felt.
She could barely realize you had pulled back until your hands were on her cheeks, and you were gazing down at her. She was melting.
"Honey..." you whispered, unable to hide the rise of your lips in that smile she was adoring. It was so different, so different from all those times she could remember she was called that way in an angle that was almost condescending.
But you were different.
She felt like she could melt against you forever, and even then, you'd keep her safe.
All those thoughts, the bars, the people, she didn't wanna remember them anymore, and it was all she needed to do. Because she was able to focus on this moment, the now, the present all over again.
It didn't always need to just be about the past, or the constant thinking, analyzing, overthinking or underthinking. Plenty words could signify such events and thoughts, but now she didn't have to linger anymore.
Not anymore.
And just as she was about to stay staring into your eyes like a gazing lovestruck idiot, which she didn't care however she looked, just as long as she got to be with you and see you.
And hear your voice that soothed her more than words could value.
"You're so cute." It left your lips like you meant it. And you did, and she could feel it. Her face was held in your hands like precious love letters. Her cheeks were flushed in both the affection and the morning rush.
For the first time, she felt taken care of. And for the first time, touched and spoken to by a genuine lover. And it was all she ever wanted.
"Oh, darling, I have been in love with you from the very start."
Main Masterlist | T.S Masterlist | Taglist
Warnings : none! unless you don't like sweet loving fluff<3
Series Summary : Being close friends with Taylor had it's amazing ups and small downs with her being so busy, but when you realize your heart beats faster when you see her, the two of you wind to a long waiting of a confession.
Genre : Fluff <3
Side Note : This is basically just a really soft short series that doesn't have much up and downs (or at all). Think of it as more of a big headcanon turned series of how Tay and R got in a relationship for all my other fics :] a compiled snippet of sweet days that showed affection, if you'd like!
(also a chance for me to experiment how I can turn one short song into a series<3)
Chapters :
Chapter 1, Tent
With the thought of being away from Taylor for such a long time, you finally decided to call her up, and with the idea of spending your time in a recently built tent.
Chapter 2, Post-It
As Taylor got herself a free day, she was making along a song before she decided to hang out with you, eiliciting a game day for the both of you.
Chapter 3, Gloves & Tiring Minds
The world moves in constant motion, but as you went on to hang out at a rooftop together, enjoying the sunset as conversations flowed through your minds, it served as a momentary peace, even in having to fight the cold weather.
Chapter 4, A Long Awaited Confession
On a day where you were realizing your heart's feelings, Taylor had of course, wanted to hang out with you baking some chai cookies and watching a movie.
Summary: This is a compilation of the stories with Elizabeth Olsen and her wife, G!P Reader who is a popular singer. Everything can be read as alone, but I am making this list because it has the same character settings. Additionally, minors, please do not interact with 18+ stories.
Warnings: (18+), fluff, angst, smut
A/N: There will be additional warnings when necessary. This story contains 18+ content. Minors, please do not interact with 18+ content. Smut stories will have * mark.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: Today is the reader’s birthday, and Lizzie has something special prepared.
Word Count: 8,527
Warnings: Fluff, Smut, (18+), Reader has a penis.
A/N: It was my birthday recently, so I decided to make this story. Hope everyone enjoys it. But Minors! DO NOT INTERACT!
Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist
---
Y/N’s POV
I woke up to the softest thing in the world—Lizzie’s lips tracing along my jaw, her breath warm and ticklish against my skin. At first, I thought I was still dreaming, half-buried in the sheets with that hazy morning fog wrapping around my thoughts. But then I felt her—her weight draped over me, her leg tangled with mine, and that familiar scent of her shampoo mixed with something sweeter, something that was just her.
“Happy birthday, baby,” she whispered right against my ear, her voice a low, sleepy melody that made my heart flutter. Her lips brushed the shell of my ear, then my neck, slow and deliberate, like she was trying to memorize every inch of me all over again.
I couldn’t help the lazy smile that spread across my face. “Mmm… that’s a really good way to wake up,” I mumbled, still half-asleep but melting under her touch.
She chuckled softly, that quiet kind of laugh she did when she was happy and trying not to make it obvious. “You deserve a good morning. It’s your day, after all.”
Her hand slid up my chest, fingertips tracing the faint rhythm of my heartbeat. She kissed my collarbone, then looked up at me, her green eyes catching the early light slipping through the curtains. “Do you know how hard it was not to wake you earlier? I’ve been awake since six.”
I laughed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “You? Awake before me? That’s how I really know it’s my birthday.”
Lizzie rolled her eyes playfully, but her smile softened. “I just wanted to start it right. With you.” She leaned in again, kissing me properly this time—slow, deep, and full of that warmth that always felt like home.
When we finally pulled apart, she rested her forehead against mine. “I made plans,” she murmured. “But first, breakfast in bed. Then maybe… some other surprises.”
I grinned, tugging her closer. “If this is how the day’s starting, I’m afraid to know how it ends.”
She smirked, brushing her lips against mine once more. “You’ll love every minute of it.”
And I already knew she was right. Because with her, every second already felt like a gift.
Lizzie smiled as she brushed a strand of hair from my forehead. “Stay here. I’ll go get breakfast,” she whispered, her voice still warm and low from sleep.
But before she could move, I caught her wrist and tugged her back down toward me. She let out a surprised laugh, landing softly against my chest.
“Or,” I murmured, tracing a finger along her jaw, “you could stay a little longer.”
Her smile faltered into something softer, her green eyes flicking between mine. “You’ll get cold pancakes,” she said, though her voice was already losing its resolve.
“I’ll take my chances,” I whispered, brushing my thumb over her lips. “Besides… you’re much better than breakfast.”
That made her laugh again—quiet, breathy—and before either of us said another word, I tilted my head and kissed her. It started slow, lazy, like we had all the time in the world. Her lips were warm, tasting faintly of sleep and something sweet. She melted into it, her hand finding its way to my hair, fingers curling lightly as she deepened the kiss.
When we finally pulled apart, she was smiling against my mouth, her breath uneven. “You know,” she murmured, “you’re going to make it really hard for me to leave this bed.”
“Good,” I said, still holding her close. “That’s the point.”
She chuckled, resting her forehead against mine. “If I stay any longer, we won’t make it to breakfast at all.”
I grinned, my hand tracing down her back in a slow, teasing motion. “And whose fault would that be?”
Lizzie looked up at me with that smile—the one that always said she was both tempted and determined. “Mine, apparently,” she admitted softly. “But since it’s your birthday…”
She gave me one last lingering kiss, then reluctantly slipped out of my arms, her robe brushing against my skin as she stood. “Don’t move,” she said with a playful glance over her shoulder. “You’ll thank me when I come back.”
I watched her disappear into the hallway, my heartbeat still a little faster than before, and couldn’t help smiling to myself. If the morning had already started like this, I could only imagine what the rest of the day would bring.
---
It didn’t take long before I heard soft footsteps coming back down the hall—the faint clink of dishes and the smell of coffee growing stronger with every second. I sat up a little, resting against the headboard, still smiling to myself.
When Lizzie appeared in the doorway, I swear my heart did a small flip. She was wearing her robe, tied loosely at the waist, her hair a bit messy from earlier. In her hands was a tray—pancakes, berries, coffee, and a tiny candle flickering in a muffin.
“Well,” I said with a grin, “that looks dangerously good.”
She lifted an eyebrow, setting the tray down carefully on my lap. “The food or me?”
“Both,” I admitted, and she laughed, shaking her head before climbing back onto the bed beside me.
“You’re impossible,” she said, pouring a bit of syrup onto the pancakes.
“And yet you married me,” I teased.
“Because I’m clearly a very patient woman.”
She picked up a fork, cutting a piece of pancake and holding it out for me. I leaned forward, taking the bite—and when I did, she watched me like she was waiting for approval.
“Perfect,” I said after swallowing, smiling at her. “But I think the cook deserves a kiss.”
Lizzie rolled her eyes but leaned in anyway, her lips brushing mine softly. The kiss was brief, but her hand lingered against my neck afterward, thumb tracing along my jaw.
“You really do know how to get your way,” she murmured.
“Only with you,” I said, my voice lower than before.
She blushed a little, laughing under her breath as she reached for her coffee. “You’re going to turn breakfast into something else if you keep looking at me like that.”
I tilted my head, pretending to think. “That a promise or a warning?”
She gave me that look—the one that was equal parts affection and mischief. “Maybe both.”
We ate like that, between small bites and laughter, our knees touching under the sheets. Every so often, she’d feed me another piece, or I’d steal a berry from her plate just to make her smile. The morning sunlight spilled across the bed, catching the gold in her hair, and for a moment, everything felt simple. Just us, warmth, and the quiet kind of love that made the world fade away.
When the plates were nearly empty, she brushed her hand over mine. “I meant it, you know,” she said softly. “I have another surprise for you. But this one… you’ll have to get dressed for.”
I gave her a suspicious smile. “You’re not giving me any hints?”
She leaned closer, her lips barely grazing my ear. “Nope. And if you’re good, maybe I’ll give you one tonight instead.”
That earned her a quiet laugh from me—and a kiss she didn’t see coming.
Lizzie gathered the plates once we’d finished eating, but I caught her wrist before she could get off the bed. “You’re being very mysterious,” I said, eyeing her with mock suspicion. “What kind of surprise needs clothes and patience?”
She only smiled, that infuriatingly calm kind of smile that told me she was enjoying every second of my curiosity. “The good kind,” she said, slipping free and carrying the tray toward the kitchen.
When she came back, she had that unmistakable sparkle in her eyes—the one that usually meant trouble or something unforgettable. “All right,” she said, hands on her hips. “Get dressed. Something comfortable. We’re leaving in thirty minutes.”
“Leaving?” I echoed, my brows lifting. “Like… out of the house leaving?”
“Mmhmm.” She crossed her arms, fighting a grin. “I packed your bag last night while you were in the studio.”
I blinked at her. “You what?”
She laughed softly, walking over and sitting beside me again. “Relax. I know what you like. I even remembered the hoodie you can’t sleep without.”
That made me laugh, and I leaned in to kiss her cheek. “You’re something else, you know that?”
“Just making sure your birthday’s unforgettable,” she murmured, brushing a hand down my arm. “Now go—shower, get dressed. I’ll load the car.”
When she left the room, my curiosity was already running wild. I moved quickly, changing into a soft tee and jeans, slipping on my favorite sneakers. The excitement buzzing in my chest was ridiculous—I felt like a kid again.
By the time I made it downstairs, Lizzie was waiting at the door, sunglasses perched on her head, car keys in hand. She smiled when she saw me. “Perfect,” she said simply, then handed me a travel mug of coffee.
The drive started quietly—music playing low, sunlight spilling through the windows. Every few minutes, I’d glance at her, trying to read her expression, but she gave nothing away.
“Can I at least know the direction?” I asked finally.
“Nope.”
“The country?”
She smirked. “Still no.”
I groaned dramatically. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“Correction,” she said, eyes still on the road. “I’m lucky you think so.”
It wasn’t until the city faded into rolling hills and vineyards that I began to guess. The air smelled cleaner, the landscape turning golden under the sun. My heart started racing when I saw the wooden sign ahead, pointing toward a narrow path lined with olive trees.
“Lizzie…” I started.
She grinned. “Welcome to your birthday getaway.”
As we turned down the road, a small stone villa came into view—nestled between the vines, with a terrace overlooking the hills and a pool that glittered under the sun.
I stared in disbelief. “You didn’t.”
“Oh, I did,” she said, squeezing my hand as she parked. “You’ve been working nonstop. You deserve a break—and a little time that’s just ours.”
I looked at her, still stunned, still smiling. “You’re incredible.”
She leaned over and kissed me softly, whispering against my lips, “Happy birthday, my love.”
---
The gravel crunched beneath our shoes as we stepped out of the car, the soft hum of cicadas filling the air. The villa was even more beautiful up close — stone walls kissed by ivy, white shutters open to let the warm breeze in. It looked like something out of a dream, like the kind of place you see in postcards and swear can’t be real.
Lizzie watched my face as I took it all in. “Do you like it?”
“Like it?” I turned to her, still a little stunned. “Lizzie, it’s perfect.”
She smiled that quiet, proud smile of hers — the one that said she’d been waiting for that exact reaction. Then she took my hand, threading her fingers through mine. “Come on. Let’s see the inside before the sun sets.”
The villa opened into a wide, sunlit space — stone floors, wooden beams, and big windows that let in the view of the vineyards outside. There was a fireplace, an old record player, and fresh flowers on the dining table. Everything smelled faintly of lavender and citrus.
Lizzie set down our bags near the couch. “I wanted somewhere quiet,” she said softly. “Just us. No phone calls, no schedules.”
I wrapped my arms around her from behind, resting my chin on her shoulder. “You’re really spoiling me, you know that?”
She laughed lightly, leaning back against me. “You only turn one year older once.”
“Technically, that happens every year.”
She turned in my arms, mock glaring up at me. “Don’t ruin my moment, birthday girl.”
That made me laugh, and she softened again, her hands sliding up to my neck. “I just wanted to see you relax,” she said more quietly. “You give so much to everyone else. You deserve to breathe a little.”
I looked at her for a long moment — the way the sunlight caught in her hair, the sincerity in her eyes — and I couldn’t help but kiss her. Slow, grateful, with that kind of warmth that didn’t need words.
When we finally pulled apart, she smiled against my lips. “There’s a pool outside,” she whispered. “And a bottle of wine chilling in the kitchen. How do you feel about a swim before dinner?”
I brushed my thumb along her jaw. “Only if you join me.”
Her smile turned playful. “That was the plan.”
---
I unpacked the bag Lizzie had secretly prepared for me, still shaking my head with a smile. Inside was a swimsuit I hadn’t seen in months — the dark swim trunks that were just short enough to make her blush every time I wore them, and the matching black swim top she once called “dangerous.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course she packed these.”
They fit perfectly, hugging in all the right places. When I caught my reflection in the mirror, I smirked — maybe she had a point. The late-afternoon light from the window softened everything, painting the room in gold. For a second, I imagined her reaction and felt that familiar, warm anticipation build in my chest.
From down the hall, I could hear the faint sound of the bathroom door opening in the guest room. “You ready, babe?” Lizzie called out, her tone playful, light.
“Almost,” I replied, leaning casually against the bedpost, waiting.
A few seconds later, she appeared in the doorway — and my heart immediately forgot how to beat properly.
She was wearing a deep red two-piece swimsuit that left very little to the imagination. The color made her skin glow, her hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. She looked radiant — confident in that effortless way that made everything around her fade a little.
Lizzie caught the way I was looking at her and grinned, one hand on her hip. “You’re staring,” she teased.
“I am,” I admitted without shame. “And can you blame me?”
She laughed, walking closer, the sunlight catching the curve of her smile. “You like it?”
“‘Like’ isn’t the right word,” I said, my voice low, still half-dazed. “You’re… wow.”
Her cheeks flushed, but she was clearly enjoying my reaction. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she said, her gaze drifting down for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “I knew packing those trunks was a good idea.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “You really set me up.”
“Maybe,” she said softly, stepping close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off her skin. “But I think it worked.”
She leaned up, kissed me gently — a brush of lips that sent sparks all the way down my spine — and then pulled back with that mischievous smile.
“Come on,” she said. “Before the sun sets. I want to swim with you.”
And just like that, hand in hand, we stepped out toward the pool — the air warm, the hills glowing amber in the fading light, and my heart full to the brim with her.
---
The pool water shimmered under the fading light, tinted gold and rose by the sunset. When we slipped in, it was warm against my skin, just cool enough to make me shiver when Lizzie splashed me.
“Hey!” I laughed, wiping my face as she giggled and tried to swim away.
“You were staring too much,” she teased, floating backward, her hair fanning out on the surface like a halo.
“Can you blame me?” I said, swimming closer. “You planned this. You knew exactly what you were doing.”
She grinned. “Maybe I did.”
We moved lazily around each other, the kind of playful back-and-forth that felt like foreplay disguised as laughter. She flicked water at me again, and I retaliated, but she dodged, darting just out of reach. When I finally caught her, my arms circled her waist, and she squealed before melting against me.
“You’re impossible,” she said breathlessly, smiling up at me.
“Maybe,” I murmured, my voice low. “But you still came back.”
Her hands slid up to my shoulders, fingertips tracing the water droplets there. The teasing quieted, replaced by something heavier, more magnetic. The way her eyes softened, the way she looked at me like she was remembering a hundred moments just like this one — it all made the air between us feel charged.
I leaned down, and she met me halfway. The kiss was slow at first, then deeper, her fingers curling into my hair. The world blurred into warmth — her skin, her breath, the faint echo of water rippling around us.
When we broke apart, both of us were smiling, breathless but calm. She rested her forehead against mine, eyes half-lidded.
“I love when you look at me like that,” she whispered.
“How?” I asked softly.
“Like you still can’t believe I’m yours.”
I kissed her again, slower this time, just holding her there as the sun slipped behind the hills. The laughter, the teasing, even the rest of the world — all of it fell away until it was just her heartbeat against mine and the quiet rush of the water surrounding us.
Lizzie’s hands slid up from my shoulders to the back of my neck, pulling me closer again. The water rippled gently around us as our lips met once more — this time with a little more hunger behind it. Her fingers brushed through my hair, soft and slow, while I deepened the kiss, tasting the faint salt of the pool and the sweetness that was just her.
She sighed softly against my mouth, her body pressed close to mine, the warmth of her skin a striking contrast to the cool water. I could feel her heartbeat racing, matching the rhythm of my own.
When we finally paused for air, she rested her palms flat against my collarbones, eyes meeting mine with that familiar glint — affection laced with teasing heat. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?” she whispered.
“Not when you’re this close,” I murmured, brushing my nose against hers. “You make it impossible to think straight.”
Lizzie laughed quietly, though her breath still came uneven. Her thumbs traced small circles against my skin. “I was supposed to give you a relaxing evening…”
“This is relaxing,” I said, smiling against her lips. “Just… a different kind of it.”
She chuckled again, the sound low and warm, before kissing me once more — slower now, deeper, like she wanted to memorize the way I tasted. The world around us dimmed, the soft rustle of the evening breeze and the gentle splash of water the only sounds left.
Eventually, she pulled back just enough to whisper, “We should go inside before it gets cold.”
“Yeah,” I said softly, still tracing her waist under the water. “But maybe just… one more minute.”
She nodded, smiling faintly, and leaned in again. That last kiss was softer — no rush, no teasing — just the kind of closeness that said everything words couldn’t.
When we finally climbed out of the pool, the air hit cooler against our damp skin. Lizzie wrapped herself in a towel and handed me one, her eyes lingering on me for a heartbeat longer before she smiled again.
“Come on,” she said quietly. “Let’s dry off and warm up inside.”
And as we walked back toward the villa hand in hand, the last traces of sunlight faded behind us, leaving only the glow from the terrace lights — and the quiet warmth of knowing the night had only just begun.
Lizzie dropped her towel over a chair, hair damp and clinging to her shoulders, her cheeks still flushed from the swim.
“I want to shower with you,” I murmured, stepping closer, feeling bold from the heat of the pool and the way her eyes followed me.
Her lips curved into a teasing smile, and before I could say anything else, she leaned up and kissed me — soft, lingering, and just close enough to make my head spin. When she pulled back, her eyes sparkled, and she whispered, “Later, baby. Now… you go shower alone.”
I pouted, trying to protest, but she gave me a playful push toward the bathroom. “Seriously. Go. I’ll be waiting for you when you’re done. Don’t take forever.”
I laughed, shaking my head, still flushed from the kiss as I headed toward the bathroom. “You’re impossible,” I muttered.
“And I know you love it,” she called after me, already grinning.
---
When I came out a few minutes later, towel-drying my hair, I found a neatly folded outfit waiting on the bed — black slacks, a soft white shirt, and a tailored jacket I hadn’t seen in a while. I smiled to myself; she really had thought of everything.
After dressing, I ran a hand through my hair and stepped back into the main room. The sight that greeted me stopped me cold.
The lights were dimmed, soft music playing quietly from the old record player. The dining table near the window had been transformed — draped with a linen cloth, two candles flickering in the center, and plates already set with dinner that smelled divine.
And Lizzie.
She was standing by the table in a simple yet elegant dress, deep green that hugged her just right. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders, still a little wavy from the pool, and she looked up the moment she heard me.
Her smile softened. “You look so good babe,” she said.
I swallowed, momentarily lost for words. “You… wow. You look incredible.”
“Good,” she said with a shy smile, walking toward me. “That was the goal.”
She straightened my collar a little, fingertips brushing my neck. “Happy birthday, my love.”
The warmth in her eyes made everything else fade. I smiled, leaning down to kiss her softly before whispering, “You really outdid yourself.”
“I wanted tonight to be special,” she said, slipping her hand into mine and leading me to the table. “No press, no crowds, no noise. Just us.”
We sat down, the candlelight flickering between us. Outside, the last traces of sunset gave way to a sky full of stars. The food smelled amazing, but the truth was, I barely noticed. I couldn’t stop looking at her — at the way she glowed in that golden light, at the way she looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered.
And as she lifted her glass, her eyes never leaving mine, I realized that no gift could ever top this — this quiet, beautiful life we’d built together.
We settled into the dinner, the soft glow of the candles flickering across Lizzie’s face. The meal smelled divine, but I barely touched the food at first, too busy watching her. Every movement she made felt like it was meant just for me — the way her fingers brushed the rim of her glass, the slight tilt of her head when she laughed at something I said.
“You’re staring again,” she teased, lifting an eyebrow.
“I can’t help it,” I said, leaning back slightly. “You’re… stunning.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled, that warm, playful grin I could never resist. “Flattery will get you everywhere, birthday girl.”
“Good to know,” I murmured, reaching across the table to take her hand. Her skin was warm against mine, and the simple touch made my chest tighten in that familiar way.
We ate slowly, laughing over small stories, teasing each other about who had made the biggest mess in the pool earlier, and lingering on quiet, soft touches — her hand brushing mine under the table, my thumb tracing little circles over her knuckles.
After the plates were cleared, Lizzie reached into a small bag she’d placed beside her chair. “I have one more thing for you,” she said, eyes sparkling.
I raised an eyebrow. “Another surprise?”
“Maybe,” she said coyly, holding out a small, neatly wrapped box. “Open it.”
I took it carefully, feeling the weight of it in my hands. Slowly, I untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. Inside was a delicate necklace — a thin gold chain with a small charm shaped like a music note, encrusted with tiny emeralds. My breath caught.
“Lizzie…” I whispered, touched more than I expected. “It’s beautiful.”
“I wanted something that reminds you of your music… and of us,” she said softly, reaching across to clasp my hand over the box. “Every time you wear it, you’ll know I’m always here.”
I lifted my eyes to hers, and she was already watching me, her smile tender and filled with love. Without thinking, I leaned over and kissed her — slow, deep, and full of all the words I couldn’t say aloud.
When we pulled back, I whispered against her lips, “Thank you… for everything. For this, for you, for us.”
“You’re welcome,” she murmured, resting her forehead against mine. “Now… how about we finish celebrating your birthday properly?”
Her words came with a smile that was half teasing, half promise. I grinned back, knowing that whatever she had planned next, it would be exactly perfect — because it would be us, in our little world, wrapped in warmth, love, and laughter.
---
After dinner, Lizzie reached for my hand, tugging me gently to my feet. “Dance with me,” she said, that playful glint in her eyes that always made my knees a little weak.
I laughed, letting her guide me toward the small space by the window where the soft glow of the candles still lingered. The record player clicked to life again, spinning a slow, jazzy tune that seemed to wrap the entire villa in warmth.
We moved together, swaying in time to the music. Her arms slid around my neck, my hands resting lightly on her waist, and I felt that magnetic pull between us — the same one that had followed us from the pool.
“You feel amazing,” I murmured against her hair.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she whispered back, leaning in closer so our lips almost touched.
The teasing grew bolder as the song carried on. Our lips brushed together in soft, fleeting touches at first, testing, tasting, and exploring. My hands lingered a little longer on her back, her hands cupping my face. Every brush of her fingers, every soft sigh, sent a shiver down my spine.
When we finally pressed our lips together fully, it was slow, heated, and all-consuming — the kind of kiss that made the rest of the world disappear. My chest pressed against hers, my arms holding her close, and I felt the undeniable pull of desire, playful and urgent all at once.
Lizzie pulled back slightly, just enough to look me in the eyes, a mischievous smirk tugging at her lips. “You know,” she murmured, voice low and teasing, “we could take this somewhere… a little more private.”
I raised an eyebrow, heart racing. “Oh? And where might that be?”
“The bedroom,” she said softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “That way, you can open your… second gift.”
I swallowed hard, my pulse quickening at the suggestion. “Second gift?” I whispered, breath hitching just a little.
“Yes,” she said, her lips brushing mine again in a teasing, feather-light kiss. “I thought the first one was sweet… but the second one? Let’s just say it’s a little more… you and me.”
Her words sent a thrill straight through me, playful, electric, and full of promise. I laughed softly against her lips, tugging her closer, and she responded by deepening the kiss, her hands sliding along my back as we moved together toward the bedroom, hearts pounding and grins spreading across both our faces.
The bedroom was dimly lit, the air soft and warm from the candles Lizzie must’ve lit earlier. Their gentle glow cast golden ripples across the room, catching on her hair as she led me inside, our lips still brushing in between laughter and breathless kisses.
When we reached the bed, Lizzie turned in my arms, her smile a mix of mischief and affection. “Sit,” she whispered, giving me a gentle push until I sank down onto the edge of the mattress.
“Bossy tonight, huh?” I teased, my voice low and playful.
“Birthday rule,” she said, grinning as she stepped back just far enough for me to see her. “You listen to me for once.”
Her tone sent a shiver through me — lighthearted, but with that hint of promise that made my pulse skip. My eyes followed her every move as her hands went to the straps of her dress.
Lizzie’s gaze stayed locked on mine as she slowly slid the fabric from her shoulders. The green dress whispered down her body and pooled at her feet, revealing soft lace — deep crimson lingerie that hugged her curves perfectly. It was delicate and elegant, just like her, but with enough daring that I could barely breathe.
“Happy birthday,” she said softly, a shy smile tugging at her lips even as her eyes shimmered with confidence. “I told you your second gift was a little more… personal.”
I exhaled slowly, my throat tight with emotion and desire. “You’re… you’re unreal,” I murmured, my voice almost reverent.
She took a small step forward until she was standing between my knees, fingers brushing through my hair. “No,” she whispered back, leaning down to kiss me — slow, sweet, and deep. “Just yours.”
The kiss deepened, gentle at first and then hungry in the way that came from love — the kind that made my chest ache with how much I adored her. My hands rested on her waist, feeling her warmth beneath the lace, but she kept control, smiling against my lips.
“Patience,” she breathed, her nose brushing mine. “Tonight’s about you, remember?”
I smiled back, half dazed, half completely gone for her. “You make that very hard to remember.”
Lizzie laughed softly, her forehead resting against mine for a heartbeat before she kissed me again — slower, softer, lingering until the rest of the world faded to nothing but us, the sound of our quiet breaths, and the glow of candlelight dancing against the walls.
****
Lizzie continued to kiss me, a deep, intoxicating kiss that made my head spin. Her hands, warm and purposeful, slid up my chest. I felt my jacket being eased off my shoulders, the soft fabric dropping away. Her fingers moved deftly to the buttons of my shirt, working them loose one by one, her eyes meeting mine with every slow, deliberate movement.
The shirt fell open, and she brushed the soft fabric aside, her touch sending a rush of warmth over my skin. Her gaze lingered for a moment on the soft fabric of my bra before she leaned in, her lips tracing a path of fire down my neck, across my collarbone, and then lower. Each touch, each gentle kiss, felt like a silent declaration, a moment of pure, focused devotion that made my whole body hum.
A soft, shaky sigh escaped me as her lips brushed the skin just above my bra. She pulled back slightly, her eyes glittering with that blend of heat and tenderness.
She knelt then, the movement smooth and graceful, placing her hands on my thighs, her thumbs stroking my slacks. We were close, impossibly close, and I could feel the heat radiating off her, mixed with the warmth building between us.
Lizzie looked up at me, her expression tender, reverent. She reached out, her hand cupping the bulge in my pants. Her eyes, filled with love and desire, never left mine.
“I love you,” she murmured, her voice thick and low, a sound that felt more intimate than any touch.
“I love you too,” I breathed, utterly lost in her gaze.
She smiled then, a soft, genuine, and purely loving smile, before she leaned in, her lips meeting mine once more in a kiss that was a deep promise of the night ahead. Her hand caressing me over my pants making me groan into her mouth.
I love you,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion and desire. Her hand moved slowly over the fabric of my slacks, the pressure warm and tender, making me shiver beneath her touch.
I groaned softly into the kiss, heart pounding as her lips lingered on mine—deep, sweet, full of fire and something even more sacred. The room seemed to glow around both of us, candlelight dancing across her skin like it was trying to keep up with the intensity between us.
Lizzie broke the kiss, pulling back slightly, her breaths coming fast and heavy. The room seemed a little hotter, and I could see the flush in her cheeks, the way her lips looked a bit swollen from the kiss.
Her hands moved deftly now, undoing the zipper of my pants, the sound seeming louder in the quiet, soft room. The way her eyes stayed locked with mine was enough to make my stomach twist with anticipation.
I help her remove my pants and boxers. My member springing free in front of her face.
Lizzie's gaze dropped for a moment, her eyes widening just slightly before she looked back up at me, a sly, knowing smirk pulling at the corners of her lips.
"You're so beautiful," she murmured, her voice low and affectionate, and I felt her fingers brush gently against my cock.
"So impatient," I teased, my heart skipping at the sensation. And there was something about the way she smiled in response that made me shiver with want.
"Maybe, but not for everything," she said, leaning forward to press a tender, reverent kiss just below my navel.
She takes my length into her hands and start to stroke it slowly.
The room seems to shiver in anticipation, the sound of my shallow breaths and soft whispers filling the space between us. Lizzie's fingers dance along my length, her touch both tender and teasing. Her eyes, never leaving mine, show that same mix of affection and desire, with just a touch of playfulness.
"You feel good, don't you?" she whispers, her voice low and husky, and it sends a shiver through me.
“Liz” I groan.
She chuckles at me before leaning to kiss my tip. I feel my member twitch and the way her eyes look at it hungrily.
She doesn’t waste time anymore and take me into her mouth
"Liz—ah," I groaned, my head falling back as she took me into her mouth, warm and slow and so good. Her name spilled from my lips again like a prayer, shaky and full of need.
She hummed around me—soft, sweet—and the vibration sent sparks straight through my spine. Her hands still held gently at the base, guiding herself with slow confidence while her eyes flicked up to mine once more: that same smoldering look of love mixed with hunger.
I trembled under it—the tenderness in her touch, the devotion in her gaze—every sensation heightening not just pleasure but something deeper. Something that made my chest ache in the best way.
"Lizzie..." I breathed again, voice breaking slightly as I reached down to gently brush a strand of hair from her face. My fingers trembled where they touched her skin.
She didn’t rush. She savored—with soft suction and careful rhythm—but every movement told me one thing: she was loving this… loving me, completely and without fear or shame.
And God… did it make my heart soar even as everything else burned lower.
"Liz—ah," I saw Lizzie’s body tremble as if she couldn't help the flutter of pleasure that went through her after the sound of my moan. And the way her eyes darkened even more with desire—and love… Damn it!
Her hands moved to guide herself, their gentle touch on my hardness sending a current through my whole body. I groan her name and receive an "I love you," from her, the words soft and heartfelt against my skin.
“I love you too babe” I groan.
“Come here” I pull her up. “I can’t wait anymore…”
I kiss her while I lay her body on the bed.
"Babe," she whispered as I pulled her to myself, the word a low, warm breath against my lips.
She went willingly, letting me guide her back onto the bed—the sheets soft and cool against her bare skin. The kiss was passionate and impatient, a desperate need and love for each other burning through it.
"I want you," she murmured against my mouth, her fingers tangling in my hair as her body pressed closer against my own, seeking heat and friction. "So much. Please..."
“Fuck… this underwear is so freaking hot on you” I caress her body
Lizzie squirm as I caress her body, my touch leaving goosebumps vividly in its wake. "I picked it just for you," she teased, a sly smile playing at the corner of her lips.
My eyes never leaving her body, taking in every detail, the way the delicate fabric hugs her curves and the way her skin feels under my fingertips.
“Yeah? Then, let’s keep it on” I say as I lean down to lick her breasts over the bra.
Lizzie's breath hitches at my words, the teasing tone sending a shiver through her. "Oh, baby," she murmurs, her hand sliding into my hair, holding me close as my tongue teases along the lace of her bra.
"I thought you wanted me out of this," she purred, her voice breathy and edged with anticipation.
“Eventually” I nibble between her breasts. “But let’s keep it for now. It’s my gift right?” I smirk looking up at her.
"Right," she breathed, her fingers gently caressing through my hair. The fabric of her bra was a soft, delicate barrier between mine and her bare skin, but instead of making the moment less intimate, it only heightened the anticipation.
Her eyes glimmered with a mix of affection and desire, watching me intently. "Just one more gift for you to unwrap," she teased, her words a gentle challenge.
I lean up to kiss her again. My tongue dancing with hers while I slide my hand down her body.
Lizzie melted into the kiss, her body arching ever so slightly toward my touch as my hand trailed down. The lace of her panties was soft under my fingertips—so soft—but what made her gasp was the way I stroked over it, teasingly slow.
She broke the kiss just enough to murmur against my lips, "Mmh... teasing me now?" Her hips shifted under me as if in answer, chasing that contact again.
“No” I peck her lips “just checking” I slide her underwear to the side with one hand and with the other I guide my tip between her folds.
"Ah—oh," the words left her lips in a soft gasp, her body tensing slightly as she felt the heat of my cock against her, so close yet not quite connecting. It was like an electric current, sparking through her veins and lighting every nerve ending, making her shudder as a wave of heat crashed over her.
Her arms encircled my neck, holding me close, fingers threading gently through my hair. "Please... touch me more. All of me." There was a hint of pleading in her tone, a hint of need.
I looked up at her, your eyes dark with desire, and a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. "You’re so wet for me already," you murmured, voice low and rough. "All this lace... just making it hotter."
With slow, deliberate pressure, I slid just the tip through her folds—teasing, circling—before finally nudging inside. A sharp breath escaped her as she felt me stretch her gently.
"Lizzie," I breathed against her lips, rocking forward an inch more. "Tell me if I’m going too fast."
Her fingers clutched at my shoulders — nails digging in slightly — as she lifted her hips to meet me. "Don’t stop," she pleaded between gasps. "Please, I need… all of you…"
"You have me," I promise her, capturing her lips in another heated kiss. My words and the love behind them, echoed in the way I kiss her, in the careful way I take her — my touch both gentle and passionate, a careful balance of possession and tenderness.
I could feel her body trembling around me, the way she arched with need. "Relax, honey," I murmured against her lips. "Just relax and let me take care of you."
My movements remain slow and deliberate, a steady rhythm.
"But it's your birthday," Lizzie pouted, her voice soft and breathy as I pushed deeper, her hands fluttering against my back. "I wanted to... spoil you..."
I paused just enough to smile down at her, brushing a kiss across her lips—slow, sweet, full of love. "Exactly," I whispered between kisses. "You already gave me the first present... and then told me you were the second." A low chuckle rumbled in my chest as I rolled my hips slightly, drawing a gasp from her lips. "So right now… this is my time. This is you spoiling me.”
Her breath hitched—half protest, half surrender—as she melted beneath me. Her fingers curled into my shoulders again, not to push away but to hold on tight.
"God," she murmured with a shaky laugh, eyes glistening in the candlelight. "When you put it like that..." She lifted her hips slightly against mine again—"Happy birthday... take what's yours."
I kissed her again, slow and deep, as if sealing a promise — a vow of love and desire all wrapped into one. My body moved with hers now, steady and sure, every thrust drawing out soft gasps from her lips.
"Mine," I murmured against her mouth, the word both tender and possessive.
The room seemed to pulse around us both — the air thick with heat and emotion. Candles flickered in rhythm with our breaths. Every touch felt electric; every sound like music.
"You feel so good," she whispered between kisses. "So damn perfect."
And in that moment — surrounded by warmth, love, and unspoken devotion — it wasn't just about pleasure anymore.
It was her giving herself to me.
Me claiming what was already mine.
A birthday gift wrapped not in paper but in passion… heartbeats… skin on skin...
And God...
She wouldn't have it any other way.
I lift her body slightly so I can unclasp her bra.
As her breasts are free, I lean down to take her nipple into my mouth
A shudder went through her at my touch, like a current sparking beneath her skin.
"Your mouth," she whispered, her hands clenching into fists in the sheets, fighting to keep still. "God, it's always so perfect when it's on me."
Lizzie's breath catches sharply as the cool air hits her newly freed breasts, but it's my warm mouth on her nipple that makes her back arch off the bed.
She gasps, fingers flying to my hair — not guiding, just holding on like she might float away. "Yours," she breathes again, voice trembling. "All yours..."
"Yours," I echo, the word thick with promise as I look up at her.
Her body arches into my touch, a shiver running through her. My hands — tender yet possessive — make their way down her bare stomach, feeling the way her muscles quiver under my touch and making my heart thump harder for it.
The room seems smaller now, warmer, with just the two of us in this intimate bubble of heat and breath and touch.
I lean up again to press my mouth to hers in another deep, lingering kiss. The kind that says everything.
When my hand reach her underwear, I pull out of her. The sudden withdrawal made her gasp, hips lifting instinctively—wanting—but before she could even form a protest, I remove her underwear tossing it behind me and was right back inside her, deeper this time, filling her completely.
"Oh!" Her cry was sharp and sweet, fingers clawing at my back as pleasure surged through her. The loss of the lace, the heat of skin on skin—it overwhelmed her senses.
"You're cruel," she moaned against my neck, lips brushing my skin. "So damn cruel… and perfect."
But I didn’t answer with words.
I answered with a slow roll of my hips—deep, claiming—and the way my hand slid under her thigh to open her wider.
"Still think I’m not spoiling myself enough?" I teased between breaths.
She laughed—a shaky, breathless sound—as another wave crashed over her. "Fuck… yes, but less talking—" She arched beneath you. "—more this."
I kiss her. My hips speeding up, rocking against her.
The kiss deepened as my hips drove into her with growing urgency, each thrust drawing a soft, desperate sound from her throat. She clung to me—lips, hands, every part of her surrendering—as the rhythm between us built into something fierce and unrelenting.
"Lizzie..." I groaned against her mouth, my voice breaking with need.
"I'm right here," she whispered back, breathless and shining with sweat and desire. Her legs wrapped tighter around me, pulling me deeper. "Don't stop—please—I'm so close..."
The candles flickered.
The world fell away.
And all that remained was the heat of skin, the tangle of limbs, and the love pounding in time with every thrust.
The air was thick—almost heavy—with the scent of her skin, my scent on her, and the burning of the candles that flickered like stars in the night.
I was close now, teetering on the edge of a precipice. Her body was a map of sensations: the sound of her moans, the feeling of her fingers grasping at my shoulders, the sight of her eyes meeting mine in a desperate plea.
"With me?" she managed, voice ragged. "When you… I want..."
"With you."
The words were a promise—an echo of the vow I had made when this started, though the meaning was far more intense now in the heat in the space between us. My hands found hers, fingers threading and clenching in a silent promise.
The world outside might as well have vanished. All that mattered was the way her body moved beneath mine, the way her eyes darkened in pleasure, the way my heart beat for her.
"Together."
"Together," she breathed, the word like a sigh, an invocation. The candles seemed to burn brighter, their light dancing across her sweat-slicked skin, casting shadows like a veil over this moment that was just the two of us, the two of us together, on the precipice of something I couldn't hold anymore.
"Say my name," she whispered. "Please."
Her voice trembled. A plea, a prayer.
I knew what she needed.
"Lizzie," I murmured, my voice a soothing murmur amid the sharp heat. "My Lizzie."
My hands tightened around hers, my eyes locked with hers in a look that said more than words ever could. It said love, it said desire, it said forever.
The flames of the candles were a dance between me and her, making shadows of our writhing bodies in the heat.
Together.
The tension coiled tighter—deeper.
Her breath came in shallow gasps, her body trembling beneath mine. "Again," she whispered, voice breaking. "Say it again."
I didn’t hesitate.
"Lizzie," my breathed against her lips—soft, deep, reverent. "Mine."
As if those words were the final spark—
Her back arched off the bed with a cry—my name spilling from her lips like a prayer—as pleasure crashed over her in waves. The clench of her body around me, sent me hurtling after her, groaning into the curve of her neck as release tore through us both.
For a long moment there was nothing but breath and heartbeat.
Skin on skin.
Sweat-slicked limbs tangled together.
The faint scent of wax and sex hanging sweetly in the air.
I lift my face and I chuckle breathlessly before kissing her. “Best gift ever”
Her heart was still racing, her chest heaving with effort. But when I chuckled, her lips tugged into a soft, shaky smile, and she couldn't hold back a breathless laugh of her own.
"You're biased," she teased, voice still ragged. "So damn biased."
Her hand rose to brush a damp strand of hair from my forehead. The smile on her face was a mix of contentment, love, and something else that glimmered in her eyes.
"But I suppose I don't totally disagree."
I kiss her again, lazily.
Lizzie melted into the lazy kiss, lips parting under mine in contentment. Her body was warm and sated now, all the urgency of moments ago replaced with a sweet comfort.
As the kiss lingered, it morphed into a series of softer, slower pecks, punctuated by little laughs and hums when one of us bumped noses or pulled back too far.
Lizzie’s breath was still warm against my skin when she pulled back just enough to look at me. The faint flush on her cheeks, the way her lips curved into that soft, satisfied smile—it made my heart stumble a little.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she murmured, voice husky and fond.
“Like what?” I asked, feigning innocence as I brushed a strand of hair from her face.
“Like you’re already thinking of something,” she said, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion.
I grinned. “Maybe I am.”
Her laugh was quiet, that kind that always made me melt. She leaned in, kissed me again—slow, then deeper, her fingers tracing lazy circles on my shoulder. For a few long moments, it was just the rhythm of our breathing and the taste of her lips, soft and addictive.
When she finally pulled back, I caught her wrist and whispered against her mouth, “You know… it’s still technically my birthday.”
Lizzie’s eyebrow arched, amusement flickering through her tired but glowing expression. “Oh? And what are you suggesting?”
I let my grin widen. “Round two?”
Her laugh this time was brighter, full and unrestrained, and it filled the room like music. She shook her head, kissing me once more. “You don’t quit, do you?”
“Not when it comes to you,” I murmured.
She kissed me again anyway, softer now, her smile still pressed against my lips. “We’ll see,” she teased, her hips moving up, making me groan.
And then the world faded into the warmth of her body against mine, candlelight flickering low, our laughter and whispers tangled together in the dark.
****
---
The Next Morning
Sunlight streamed through the curtains, golden and gentle. I blinked awake to the sound of quiet breathing beside me and the faint smell of her perfume still clinging to the sheets. Lizzie was curled up close, hair tousled, one hand resting on the middle of my chest.
For a while, I didn’t move—just traced lazy circles on her back and smiled at how peaceful she looked.
Another year older. But somehow, with her like this, I felt weightless.
My birthday had started with her whispering good morning and ended with her whispering I love you. And honestly, I couldn’t imagine a better gift than that.
After an extened after Lacross Practice with the pack, you head to the locker room for a shower as you typically did, unaware that you were being closely followed by none other than Malia Tate, the very woman you'd been spending the entirety of practice showing off for.
So everyone is aware, this story has a g!p reader, for those who aren't comfortable with that, I would suggest skipping it since it contains smut, if you're still here, please enjoy.
This is my first time writing and posting for not only Teen Wolf, but Malia Tate as well, so please let me know what you think, but don't be too harsh, I'm sensitive. 😅😅😅😅😅
You stretch your arms high above your head as you make your way towards the locker room, intent on taking a shower after a rigorous Lacrosse practice, your head on a swivel as you make sure the coast is clear before entering the room.
Well, it hadn’t JUST been practice, it had also been what you and your pack mates would call, AFTER practice, meaning you Scott McCall, and Isaac Lahey had done your best to fire near impossible shots at goal, attempting to see who could stop what using the powers they had.
Considering Scott was the True Alpha, he typically came first, but you were a close second, using your own Alpha abilities to your advantage, an unfair advantage as Isaac had pointed out, considering he was a Beta.
Meanwhile, from the stands Stiles Stilinski, Allison Argent, Lydia Martin and Malia Tate watched closely, the werecoyote unwilling to participate, knowing the three of you would easily dominate the game considering you knew it better than she did.
You groan as you give the black hair tie holding your hair up a tug, grimacing when it unfortunately remains in your sweat covered hair, forcing you to extend one of your claws and slice it in half, the severed band falling to the locker room floor.
You’d be lying if you said you didn’t go out of your way to show off in front of Malia, doing anything you could to impress her.
In all honesty, you weren’t sure if it worked, only able to catch a slightly smile from the woman after you’d done a particularly move to score.
You shed your clothes, tossing them on a nearby bench before making your way into the showers.
The showers hot water nob squeaks loudly as you give it a twist, a growl rumbling in your throat as the hot water cascades down onto you.
Your eyes flutter shut as the water runs down your face, a content smile stretched across your face.
Your eyes flash open moments later when you hear the locker room door open and close, your throat bobbing.
Your brows arch when you catch a whiff of who is entering the locker room, Malia Tate's scent wafting in the air.
You move at lightning speed, grabbing your towel and wrapping it around you before peering out of the shower, your brows furrowed.
“Mal?” You call out in confusion.
You shake your head, thinking your mind must have been playing tricks on you, that is, until you turn around, coming face to face with the woman you were looking for.
“Jesus, what are you sneaking around for?”
Malia chuckles.
“I saw you come in here, wanted to see what you were doing.”
You shrug.
“It’s easier to shower here than at home.” You say, about to turn the faucet off, that is, until you see the look on her face.
“Are you okay?” You ask in confusion, the dirty blonde silently nodding.
Malia's tongue swipes at her lips, her eyes flickering between brown to blue as she moves towards you.
“What are you doing?” You ask, watching as she sheds her top, your eyes widening.
You turn away abruptly when she unhooks her bra; your cheeks stained crimson.
“Mal?” You say, breath catching when you feel her tug on your towel until it eventually falls to the shower floor.
You take a deep breath before slowly turning towards her, her eyes glowing bright blue, your eyes locked with hers.
Malia guides you back towards the still spraying water, your back resting against the tiled wall.
“You think I haven’t noticed?” She asks, your brows knitting in confusion.
Your breath catches roughly in your throat as she buries your face in your neck, teasingly kissing your pulse point.
“N-N-Noticed what?” You ask dumbly, the woman rolling her eyes.
“The way you show off at practice.” She says, your eyes fluttering shut as she takes your skin into your mouth and gives it a suck.
“The way you look at me.” She says, her hand splayed on your abdomen, her unsheathed nails dragging against your bare skin.
You whimper softly when her hand starts gliding downward, towards you’re somewhat flaccid cock.
Your hips cant forward when her fingertips drag along the underside of your cock.
It’s at that moment that you trade places with her, pinning her against the shower wall.
You surge in with no sense of hesitation, your lips meeting hers.
Malia wraps her arms around you as you kiss hungrily.
Your tongues eventually meet, the two of you moaning loudly when your tongues brush.
You pull back with a groan when Malia’s hand wraps around your length, her tongue trapped between her teeth as she pumps it slowly.
“Fuck.” You whine, the werecoyotee chuckling.
“How many times have you imagined this?” She purrs in your ear, your eyes fluttering open to reveal your red irises.
“How many?” She asks again, her thumb brushing against the head of you’d penis.
“More than I care to admit.” You say, your voice raspy.
You push your hands against the tile wall behind her as she pumps your now hard member, your heavy breathing turning into soft growls.
“Maybe I’ve imagined it too.” She confesses, eliciting a groan from you, the sound making her smirk.
“Maybe I’ve been trying to get the nerve to follow you into the locker room for a while now.” She whispers, her tongue swiping at your neck.
The feel of Malia’s tongue against your skin, accompanied by the feel of her hand wrapped around your cock is enough to push you over the edge, but surprisingly, it’s Malia’s confession is what does the trick.
Malia kisses your neck as you stiffen, your release running down her hand as she continues pumping your member, prolonging your orgasm.
You hiss, grabbing her wrist, the blonde ceasing all movement.
“Shit.” You pant, a smirk stretching across Malia’s face.
“God, I’ve been wanting to do that for so long.” She whispers, her breath hitching when you take her wrists and pin them against the wall on either side of her head.
“For how long…?” You ask, ducking down to kiss the blonde’s neck, her eyes fluttering shut.
You kiss her jawline, noting the rapid rising and falling of her chest, her pulse throbbing beneath your lips.
Malia gasps when you nudge her legs apart, slotting one of your own between them, your thigh flush with her core.
“Come, tell me how long.” You whisper, the blonde whimpering as her hips roll.
“Since you got here.” She moans; her palms splayed on your back.
“How many times have you touched yourself thinking about me?” You growl in her ear, earning a whimper.
“More than I care to admit.” She repeats your words from earlier and you smirk.
You duck down, dragging your sharp teeth against her neck as she rolls her hips wildly.
“Fuck.” She moans as you duck down, your lips wrapping around one of her hardened nipples, her fingers tangling in your hair, claws digging into your scalp.
You knew she was breaking the skin on your scalp, the sting making you shudder as you lavish her breast with kisses before turning to the opposite one.
“Y/N...” She moans, the sound making you moan against her breast, her hips stuttering slightly.
Malia gasps when without warning your leg slips from between hers before you grab her underwear and tear them from her lower half, leaving her entirely bare, your eyes shining bright red.
“Do you want to stop...?” You ask, your tongue swiping at your lips as your eyes drag down her front.
“You think after you just tore my panties off like that, that I’d want to stop?” She asks and you smirk, the blonde giggling as you lift her into the air, her legs wrapping around your middle.
She turns her head, nibbling gently on your ear, her nose brushing your temple.
“I can’t wait to finally feel what it’s like for you to be inside of me.” She whispers, throwing her head back as you run your member between her legs; her core latching onto you with each pass of her entrance.
“Are you sure you want this Mal...?” You ask, your throat bobbing as your red eyes lock with her blues.
She cups your cheeks, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your lips, her thumb running back and forth across your cheek.
“I’ve never been more sure about anything before in my life.” She whispers, resting her forehead against yours.
You turn your attention back to the apex of Malia’s thighs, the woman whimpering, her forehead still resting against yours as you rub her clit with the head of your penis.
“Fu-Fuck Y/N....” She whines loudly, her thighs starting to twitch.
Malia throws her head back as the head of your cock slips into her, her walls fluttering around her.
“Don’t stop.” She sighs, crying out when you slip the rest of the way into her, her walls pulsing around you.
“Fuck.” She growls, her bright blue orbs locking with your reds.
You press her bare back against the shower wall, slowly sliding out of her before thrusting back into her tight heat the woman moaning loudly.
Her arms wrap tightly around you as you thrust deeply into her, greatly heightening her pleasure.
“Ye-Yes!” She cries out, the feel of her walls fluttering around you spurring you on, your wet thighs slapping together as you pound into the woman, who’s unable to contain her cries.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop.” She chants, her claws digging into your back.
Suddenly and without warning you spin around, placing the werecoyotee on the tiled shower floor before sliding back into her, her legs wrapping around you as you thrust into her.
“Shit!” She moans, her back arching as you pound into her, the woman coming with a literal howl, her core clenching around you.
You howl in response, giving one final thrust before you to orgasm, jets of your seed shooting into her, causing her to growl as she pants heavily.
Her hands run gently down your back as you twitch and quake, panting heavily against her neck before you start gently kissing her pulse point.
Fingers tangling in the sweaty hairs at the base of your neck, the woman’s opposite hand cupping your cheek as she pulls you into a soft kiss.
Her forehead rests against yours as you lazily kiss, the woman’s lips splitting in a grin.
“Was it everything you imagined it would be?” She asks and you chuckle.
“My imagination could never do it justice.” You laugh and she giggles.
At an inhuman speed, you’re on your feet, pressing Malia’s back against the tiled wall again, avoiding the spray of cold water.
“Think you’ll be following me into the locker room more often...?” You ask, your lips splitting in a grin.
“Absolutely.” She laughs, bumping the tip of her nose against yours.
“You know, I have a car.” You suggest wiggling your eyebrows, her throat bobbing, her eyes flickering bright blue.
“Why don’t you get dressed and you can show me the backseat...?” She purrs and you smirk.
It’s mid-afternoon, that point where productivity takes a nosedive and the clock hands seem to wade through treacle. You push back from your desk, time to stretch the legs. And, coincidentally, time to see if Irene Bae actually finished inputting those quarterly projection figures. That’s the official reason, anyway. The one you’d type into a time-tracking app if this place were that anal.
Unofficially? You just want to talk to her.
Irene. She’s been with the company for three or four months now. Casual contract, data entry, the kind of gig that’s meant to be a revolving door. But she’s stuck around. And in that time, she’s cultivated an air of almost complete invisibility. She’s a whisper in the office cacophony, a muted color in a palette of forced corporate brightness. She does her work, meticulously, flawlessly. Never complains, never participates in the break-room bitching sessions or the awkward birthday cake celebrations. Most people probably don’t even know her real name.
But you do. Bae Joohyun. You’d seen it on her initial paperwork. Irene’s the name she goes by here.
She speaks to you. Not much, never initiating, but she responds. There's a politeness there, a guarded stillness that never tips into outright rudeness, which is more than some of the other office drones manage. Maybe it’s because you’re her supervisor, a rung or two up the ladder. Maybe it’s because you’ve made a point of being… well, not a dick. Friendly, even. You try to be, anyway. God knows this place needs a bit less soul-crushing bureaucracy and a bit more basic human decency.
You weave through the maze of cubicles, a landscape of grey fabric and flickering screens. The usual suspects are in their pens: Wendy from accounts scrolling through what definitely isn’t work-related, Seulgi from marketing on yet another clearly personal call, her explanations pitched low and urgent. You offer a vague nod if anyone catches your eye, but your trajectory is set. Irene’s little nook is at the far end, slightly more isolated than the others, a small mercy in this open-plan purgatory.
As you round the last partition, you see her. And fuck, she looks… good. Really good. It’s nothing outrageous, nothing that would breach the unwritten dress code. She’s wearing a simple black top, some kind of soft, clinging material, with three-quarter sleeves. It’s understated, like everything about her, but it hugs the lean lines of her petite frame in a way that makes you notice the toned strength beneath. Her black hair, usually just neatly tied back or falling straight, has a slight wave today, like she maybe didn’t have time to fully straighten it, and it catches the shitty office light, making it gleam. Her head is bent, focused on her screen, one slender hand guiding a mouse, the other resting near the keyboard. Even the line of her neck, exposed where her hair parts, seems delicate, smooth.
You pause for a beat, a couple of feet from her desk, just taking her in. It’s not a leering thing, not really. More like… appreciation. Like noticing a rare, quiet bird in a flock of pigeons. There's a subtle tension around her, even in repose, like a coiled spring. You’ve always sensed it.
You clear your throat, just a little, not wanting to startle her. "Hey, Irene."
She looks up, and for a split second, before the usual mask of polite reserve slides perfectly into place, you see something else. A flicker of… surprise? No, not quite. Vulnerability, maybe? It’s gone before you can properly catalog it. Her dark eyes meet yours, large and surprisingly intense in her small face. No smile, not usually, but the tightening around her eyes isn't hostile.
"Oh. Hi," she replies. Her speaking manner is soft, not quite a whisper, but definitely low, like she’s conserving energy, or maybe just doesn’t want her syllables to travel too far.
"Just doing the rounds," you say, leaning a casual shoulder against the fabric wall of her cubicle. Trying for breezy. "Making sure everyone’s still alive after that marathon budget meeting this morning." You didn’t actually ask her to be in that meeting; her role doesn't require it. Just making conversation.
A tiny, almost imperceptible dip of her chin. "It sounded… long."
"You have no idea. I think a part of my soul shriveled up and died in there." You give a mock shudder. "Anyway, I was wondering how you were getting on with those quarterly figures. The ones for the Anderson account?"
She swivels slightly in her chair, her movements economical and precise. Her gaze drops to her monitor, then back to you. "I finished them about an hour ago. They should be in the shared drive, under 'Q3 Projections - Final'."
Of course, she did. Meticulous. You knew she would be. "Ah, brilliant. Knew I could count on you." You make a mental note to actually check them later, just for form's sake. "No problems with the source data? Sometimes marketing sends it through looking like a dog’s breakfast."
"There were a few inconsistencies in the initial dataset from last Tuesday, but I cross-referenced them with the updated figures from yesterday morning. It should be accurate now."
See? Smart. Doesn’t just blindly input. She actually thinks. Most of the temps just plough through, garbage in, garbage out. You find yourself smiling, a genuine one. "That’s great, Irene. Seriously. Saves me a headache later."
Her eyes flick down, then back up. Is that a hint of… satisfaction? Hard to tell with her. She’s a masterclass in neutral. "I just try to make sure it’s done correctly."
"And you do," you affirm, pushing off the wall slightly, taking a half-step closer, more into her personal space than you usually would, but keeping it open. "So, uh, besides saving the company from numerical chaos, what else is on the agenda for you today? Any exciting plans for… data collation?"
She considers the question, or at least appears to. Her fingers tap once, very lightly, on her desk. The nails are bare, neatly trimmed. No polish. "I have the backlog from the Henderson merger to sort through. It’s… substantial."
"Sounds thrilling," you say, and this time, you think you see the corner of her mouth twitch. A ghost of a smile. Progress. "Well, don't let it swallow you whole. If you hit any major roadblocks, or if the sheer tedium becomes a threat to your sanity, you know where I am."
"Thank you," she says, and her gaze lingers on yours for a fraction of a second longer than usual. There’s an odd sort of directness in her eyes when she properly meets your look, like she’s assessing something deep inside you. It’s unnerving and intriguing as hell. "I appreciate that."
"No worries." You linger for another moment, searching for something else to say, some way to keep this fragile thread of interaction going. You notice a small, potted succulent on the corner of her otherwise bare desk. It’s a tiny, unassuming thing, but it’s green and alive. "New plant?"
She glances at it. "Oh. Um. Yes. My… neighbor was moving and couldn’t take it."
"It’s… resilient looking," you offer, which is a stupid thing to say about a plant, but it’s out there now.
A tiny, almost inaudible huff of air escapes her. It might have been a laugh. It really might have been. "It’s supposed to be hard to kill. That’s what she said."
"Always a good quality in an office plant," you agree. "Or an office worker, for that matter. Well, I’ll let you get back to the thrilling Henderson merger files. Thanks again."
"You’re welcome," she says, her attention already starting to drift back towards her screen, the brief opening in her defenses slowly closing up. But it was there. A little crack.
You find yourself reluctant to leave, to let the usual office drone silence settle back over her. The way that black top clings just so to the curve of her back as she turns slightly, the faint, clean scent that you can only catch when you’re this close (something like fresh laundry and maybe a hint of a very subtle, floral soap). It’s doing things to your concentration that have absolutely nothing to do with quarterly projections. You know you should probably just go, get back to your own mountain of work, but there's a pull, a quiet magnetism she exudes that makes you want to just… stay. See if another tiny piece of the real Irene Bae might surface if you wait long enough, patiently enough.
That faint, almost-laugh, the tiny, fleeting opening… it’s enough. It’s more than enough. Now or never, idiot. Before the professional shell hardens completely again, before she retreats back into that fortress of polite distance.
"So," you begin, trying to make it sound like the most casual afterthought in the world, even as a different, less casual thought hammers in your head, don't fuck this up. "Seeing as it's Monday, and Mondays officially suck by universal decree… I was thinking of grabbing a drink after work. You know, just to sort of… defiantly kickstart the week. Would you, uh, be interested in joining? In case you don't have any other more interesting plan. No big deal if you have, totally get it."
There, it’s out. You hold your breath without meaning to.
Irene’s gaze, which had started to drift back to her monitor, snaps back to you. For a moment, her face is perfectly, utterly blank. Not surprised, not annoyed, just… still. Like a photograph. Then, a slow blink. She looks down at her neatly folded hands in her lap, then back up at you.
"That’s… very kind of you," she says. "But I think I’ll have to pass. I have a few things I need to finish up here."
A polite decline. Of course. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, managing a smile that you hope looks understanding and not like you just got gently punched in the gut. "Hey, no problem at all. Totally understand. Rain check for another lifetime, maybe?" you add, trying to keep it light, to show her it’s genuinely okay.
A tiny, almost imperceptible softening around her eyes. "Maybe." She offers that. "I’ll send through that Henderson merger summary report by end of day."
"Sounds good," you nod, already backing away, giving her space. "Don’t let it bury you alive. And, uh, thanks again for the Anderson stuff."
"You’re welcome."
And just like that, she turns back to her screen, the brief window of interaction decisively closed. You walk away, a familiar mix of mild disappointment and a strange sort of respect for her unbreachable composure settling in. Well, you tried. Can’t say you didn’t try.
The rest of the afternoon crawls by. You actually do your work, or at least a passable imitation of it. Around five-thirty, an email pings into your inbox. Subject: Henderson Merger Summary - Irene Bae. You click it open. The report is attached, and even a cursory glance tells you it’s immaculate. Clear, concise, all the key data points highlighted, potential issues flagged with brief, intelligent notes. Fucking hell, she’s good. Way too good for a casual data entry gig. You fire off a quick reply: "This is perfect, Irene. Seriously, amazing work. Thanks!"
No reply to that. You didn’t expect one.
By six, the office is starting to empty out. The symphony of keyboards has dwindled to a few sporadic taps. You grab your bag, sling your jacket over your shoulder, and head for the elevators. As one slides open with a soft hydraulic sigh, you step in, pressing the button for the ground floor. Just as the doors are about to close, a hand darts out, stopping them.
Irene.
She slips inside, her movements quick and economical as always. She’s got a small, plain handbag over her shoulder, and she looks… tired. There are faint shadows under her eyes that weren’t as noticeable in the brighter office lights. The doors close, encasing you both in the small, brushed-steel box. An awkward silence immediately descends. This is always the worst part of accidental shared elevator rides.
"Hey," you manage, because the silence is starting to feel like a physical weight. "That report you sent? Seriously, top-notch. You made my evening a lot easier."
She looks up at you, a brief flicker in her dark eyes. "I’m glad it was helpful."
Her reply is soft, barely disturbing the canned muzak seeping from a hidden speaker. The silence stretches again, punctuated only by the quiet hum of the elevator descending. One floor. Two. You can feel the seconds ticking by. You want to say something else, anything, but the words just don’t come. Don’t be that guy, you tell yourself. Don’t be the slightly-too-eager supervisor cornering the quiet girl in an elevator.
She probably just wants to get home. Respect that.
The doors slide open onto the ground floor lobby. Freedom.
"Well, have a good night, Irene," you say, stepping out, already turning towards the exit. "See you tomorrow."
You’re halfway to the main glass doors when you hear it.
"You asked… if I had plans."
Her words are so quiet you almost miss them, almost think you imagined them against the backdrop of distant traffic noise and the lobby’s echoing emptiness. You stop. Turn around slowly. Irene is standing just outside the elevator, her bag clutched in front of her, looking at you with an expression you can’t quite decipher.
"Yeah," you say, walking back towards her. "I did."
"I don’t," she states. Just like that. No preamble, no explanation for the earlier refusal. Just: "I don’t have plans."
Holy shit. Your brain seems to short-circuit for a second. Okay. Okay, asshole, she just threw you a goddamn lifeline. Don't drown. You swallow, trying to regain some semblance of composure, to make your next words sound casual and not like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin.
"Oh. Well, in that case," you begin, a slow smile spreading across your face, "the offer for that drink still stands. To, you know, combat the general Monday-ness of things. I know this great little bar not too far from here, actually. Good music, not too loud, and they make a mean old-fashioned, if you’re into that sort of thing." You pause, holding her gaze. "What do you say?"
She looks at you, properly looks, for what feels like a full minute. Her dark eyes search yours, and for a terrifying second, you think she’s going to say no again. Then, the tiniest, almost imperceptible nod. "Okay."
"Okay?" you echo, a grin breaking free. "Yeah, okay. Brilliant. My car’s just in the parkade across the street."
The walk to your car is filled with a slightly giddy, slightly surreal silence. You keep stealing glances at her. Irene Bae, willingly accompanying you somewhere. It feels… momentous. You unlock the car, a slightly battered but reliable sedan, and open the passenger door for her. She murmurs a "thank you" and slides in.
Once you’re both in and you’ve navigated out of the dimly lit parkade into the early evening traffic, the atmosphere in the car feels charged, but not uncomfortably so. It’s the buzz of something new, unexpected.
"So," she says, breaking the silence first, her gaze on the passing cityscape, a blur of office lights and neon signs. "This job. Is it… what you always wanted to do?"
You laugh, a short, surprised sound. "Managing quarterly reports and navigating inter-departmental squabbles? Not exactly the dream I had when I was, like, ten." You glance at her. "It’s alright, though. Pays the bills. I’ve kind of gotten used to it, you know? Found a rhythm. Got a decent team, for the most part. People I actually don’t mind seeing every day. That’s something, right?"
"It is," she agrees, turning her head slightly to look at you. "You’re good at it."
That surprises you. "You think so?"
"Yes," she says, with a quiet certainty that makes you sit up a little straighter. "You don’t… take advantage. Of your position." Her eyes flick to the road, then back to you. "You treat everyone like they matter. Even the casuals." There's a faint emphasis on the last word, a shadow in her tone that makes you wonder.
"Well, that’s just… basic decency, isn’t it?" you say, a little embarrassed by the praise. "Nothing to write home about. Everyone’s just trying to get through their day."
"Not everyone sees it that way," Irene counters, her words flat, devoid of inflection, but carrying a weight nonetheless. "I’ve worked in places… with terrible superiors."
"Ah, the petty tyrants of middle management," you sigh, shaking your head. "People with miserable, unhappy lives who get a tiny sliver of power and suddenly think they’re Genghis Khan in a polyester suit. They try to feel better by making everyone else feel smaller. It’s pitiful, really. Because at the end of the day, they’re still just employees. Same as anyone else. One major screw-up, one too many complaints, and they’re out on their ass just like the next person." You glance at her. "Hope you didn’t have to deal with too many of those."
She doesn’t answer directly, just looks out her window again. "It happens."
A beat of silence. You change the subject, not wanting to dwell on whatever bad experiences she’s clearly had. "So, do you live around here? Or am I kidnapping you to the other side of the city for this drink?"
"No, I live pretty close by, actually. Just a few blocks from the office."
"Oh, good," you say. "Well, after we’ve thoroughly deflated Monday’s ego with a beverage or two, I can drop you off, if you like. Save you the walk."
She turns to you again, and this time, the smile is a little more definite, reaching her eyes. "Thank you. I’d like that."
The bar is that classic thing: dimly lit, exposed brick, a long mahogany counter gleaming under strategically placed spotlights and indie rock plays at a conversational level. It’s busy enough to have a buzz, but not so packed you can’t find a quiet corner. You spot a small, empty table tucked away near a bookshelf filled with mismatched paperbacks. Perfect.
You lead her over, pulling out one of the sturdy wooden chairs for her. "Best seat in the house," you announce with a mock flourish.
She slides into the chair, her handbag placed neatly on her lap. "It’s nice," she says, looking around, taking it all in. "I like it."
"Glad it meets with your approval," you grin. "Now, the crucial question: what are you drinking?"
Her eyes scan the chalkboards behind the bar listing craft beers and cocktails. "Um. Maybe a… gin and tonic? If they have a good gin."
"Consider it done." You head to the counter, weaving through a few small groups. You order her G&T, specifying a decent small-batch gin you know they carry, and an old-fashioned for yourself. Waiting for the bartender to work his magic, you glance back at Irene. She’s watching the other patrons, her expression unreadable but not, you think, uncomfortable. She looks small and almost delicate in the low light, yet there’s that core of resilience you always sense in her.
Drinks secured, you carry them carefully back to the table. You set her tall, clinking glass in front of her and place your own squat tumbler down. Sliding into the chair opposite, you make sure you’re facing her directly. This feels good. Really good.
You pick up your glass. "Well," you say, raising it slightly.
Irene mirrors your action, her dark eyes questioning yours over the rim of her glass. "What are we toasting to?" she asks
A grin spreads across your face. "To new beginnings," you start, then amend it. "No, scratch that. To Monday nights that don’t suck. And, more importantly," you meet her gaze directly, "to the best goddamn casual worker this company has ever had the dumb luck to hire."
A beat of silence. Then, something remarkable happens. Irene laughs. It’s not a loud laugh, not a boisterous one. It’s a soft, breathy sound, genuine and utterly unexpected, crinkling the corners of her eyes and making her whole face light up for a precious, unguarded moment. "Oh my god," she says, still chuckling, shaking her head slightly. "Thank you." She clinks her glass against yours. "I’ll drink to that.”
That shared laugh, her unexpected, genuine amusement: it’s like a key turning in a rusty lock. The air between you shifts, losing some of its earlier, fragile tension, replaced by something warmer, more… possible. You take a slow sip of your old-fashioned, the sharp bite of whiskey and bitters a pleasant counterpoint to the sweetness of the moment. Her gin and tonic is already a little lower in its tall glass, the ice clinking softly as she sets it down.
"So," you begin, leaning back a fraction, trying to project casual interest rather than the full-blown interrogation your curiosity is screaming for. "Aside from being a spreadsheet wizard and a savior of Monday nights, what else does Irene Bae get up to?”
"Nothing too extraordinary. I like to read. And I walk a lot. Explore the city."
"Reading, huh? Anything good lately?" You try to keep your follow-up equally light. You’re intensely aware that every question is a potential landmine. Too personal, too probing, and she might just vanish back into that shell.
"I just finished a collection of short stories," she offers, her words measured. "Modern gothic. Quite dark."
"Sounds… cheerful," you remark, raising an eyebrow. "Matches the general Monday vibe, I guess." Your internal monologue is whirring: Modern gothic. Dark. Okay, that’s… interesting. Not exactly chick-lit. Adds another layer to the enigma.
She gives a tiny shrug, a graceful, minimal movement. "I find it interesting." She takes a delicate sip of her drink, her eyes watching you over the rim. Then, before you can formulate another carefully casual question, she flips it. "What about you? When you’re not cracking the whip at the office or rescuing Mondays, what’s your grand passion?"
The question, coming from her, feels like a small gift. You lean forward, genuinely pleased to share, to keep the conversational ball rolling. "Ha, 'cracking the whip.' If only. Mostly I just try to keep the ship from hitting the nearest iceberg." You grin. "Passions? Let’s see. I’m a bit of a film nerd. Old movies, foreign films, anything that isn’t a superhero sequel, basically. And I attempt to play guitar – emphasis on 'attempt.' My neighbors probably hate me."
"A film nerd?" A flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. "Any particular director or era you favor?"
"Oh, man, where to start?" You launch into a slightly-too-enthusiastic explanation of your love for classic film noir, the French New Wave, the oddball genius of Kurosawa. You talk about the satisfaction of finally tracking down a rare print, the joy of watching a masterpiece on a big screen, even if it’s just at the local art-house cinema. You’re aware you’re probably rambling a bit, but she’s listening. Or at least, she appears to be. She’s still, her gaze fixed on you, not interrupting, just… absorbing. It’s more attention than she’s ever given you in the office.
You eventually wind down, a little breathless, feeling slightly foolish for your impromptu lecture. "Sorry," you say, laughing a bit. "Probably more than you ever wanted to know about black and white cinematography."
"No, it’s… interesting," she says, and you think she actually means it. Or maybe she’s just incredibly polite. "You’re passionate about it. It’s clear."
"Yeah, I guess I am." You take another swallow of your drink. The warmth of the whiskey spreads through your chest, mingling with the unexpected warmth of this conversation. "So, you said you walk a lot. Any favorite spots in the city? Hidden gems I should know about?"
"I haven't found any particularly interesting places yet. But, uh, I went to a historic library this month and the place is really pretty. I think that's a start."
"Sounds interesting. The city’s definitely got a lot to offer if you just wander. I keep meaning to do more of that myself, but, you know, life. Work."
"It can be hard to find the time," she agrees, her gaze returning to yours. Her expression is neutral, but her eyes are observant, constantly gauging. You have the distinct feeling you’re being carefully evaluated. "Do you… enjoy living here? In this city?"
"Yeah, I do, actually," you reply honestly. "It’s not where I grew up, but I’ve been here long enough that it feels like home. There’s always something going on, good food, decent music scene. And it’s big enough that you can disappear if you want to, but small enough that you still run into people you know. What about you? Are you originally from here?"
Another brief hesitation. "No. Not originally." She offers no more than that. Another door, gently closed. You’re learning the rhythm of it: she’ll answer the direct question, but volunteer nothing extra about herself.
"Well, no need to thank me for revealing the best gin in the city," you joke, gesturing to her glass.
A tiny smile again. "This place is cool. And the gin is really good."
"Well, I know you are a reserved person, but I’m honored you made an exception for my 'kickstart the week' initiative."
"It was…" she pauses, as if searching for the right word, "...a good suggestion."
The conversation flows like that for a while longer, a gentle ebb and flow of questions and answers. You learn that she prefers tea to coffee, that she finds crowded places overwhelming, that she once had a cat but doesn’t currently. Each piece of information is tiny, almost inconsequential on its own, but you hoard them like precious gems. In return, you tell her about your disastrous attempts at cooking, a funny story about your college roommate that happened years ago, your undying loyalty to a consistently terrible local sports team. You’re careful to keep it light, to match her level of disclosure, but inside, you’re buzzing. You’re actually talking to Irene Bae, and she’s… talking back. It feels like a minor miracle.
Her drink is nearly empty, and yours isn't far behind. The initial energy of the bar has mellowed into a comfortable, late-evening hum. You catch the bartender’s eye, you lift two fingers, then tap your chest and mouth "non-alcoholic beer for me this time." He nods, already reaching for a specific bottle from the cooler. Driving Irene home safely is suddenly a very high priority.
When he brings the drinks, a fresh, fragrant G&T for her, and a dark, malty-looking non-alcoholic brew for you, Irene is watching you, that quiet, considering look in her eyes again.
"So, about the work,” you start, “are you actually, you know, enjoying your time at the company? Aside from my brilliant supervisory skills, of course."
"It’s… okay," she says, which from Irene is practically a glowing endorsement. "I know it probably doesn’t seem like it, since I’m usually… quiet."
"Hey, quiet is fine," you interject quickly. "You’re always polite, you do incredible work, and you haven’t tried to set fire to the servers yet. Honestly, that puts you in the top percentile of casuals we’ve had." You mean it. "Seriously though, as long as you’re not miserable, that’s what matters."
"I’m not miserable," she confirms. "It’s… structured. Predictable. I appreciate that."
"Good." You nod, relieved. "So, what’s the plan then? Your current contract is up in, what, another month or so? Any thoughts on what you’ll do next? Back to the exciting world of job hunting?" You try to keep it light, but there’s an underlying purpose to your question now.
She looks down into her drink, swirling the ice with a long, slender finger. The small gesture somehow seems incredibly thoughtful. "I haven’t really thought that far ahead," she admits. "Find another job, I suppose. That’s usually how it goes."
This is it. Your opening. Your heart gives a little thump. "Well," you begin, trying to sound casual, like this is just a random thought that popped into your head. "About that. There’s actually been some talk… about your role."
Her head comes up, eyes narrowed slightly in question.
"The thing is, Irene," you lean forward a fraction, "you’re kind of indispensable. And some of us, higher up the food chain, have noticed that." You take a breath. "So, I was wondering… how would you feel about making your position full-time? Permanent contract, benefits, the whole shebang."
She stares at you, her expression unreadable. Surprise, definitely. Maybe a hint of suspicion? "You… can do that?"
"Not me, personally," you clarify quickly. "This isn't me pulling strings as your dashingly handsome supervisor." You shoot her a quick grin, which she doesn’t return, her focus entirely on your words. "The decision actually came from the big boss, old Henderson himself, after seeing the quarterly summaries and the work you did on that merger data. He was… impressed. He asked me to sound you out, see if you’d be interested. I was planning on talking to you about it sometime this week, but, well, now seems as good a time as any, right?"
Irene is silent for a long moment, her gaze fixed on some distant point over your shoulder. You can almost see the gears turning in her head. Finally, she looks back at you. "I… I’d have to think about it."
"Of course," you say immediately. "No pressure at all. Seriously. Take your time. But," you can't help adding, "it would be really great to have you on board properly. As a, you know, full-fledged contract worker."
She cocks her head, a tiny, bird-like movement. "Why?"
The question is so direct, so simple, it throws you for a second. "Why?" you echo. You hesitate, searching for the right words. The real reasons are a tangled mess of professional admiration and a rapidly growing personal affection that feels way too soon, too intense to articulate. "Well, because… because you’re an excellent professional, Irene," you land on, hoping it sounds convincing. "You’re efficient, you’re meticulous, your attention to detail is incredible. You make my job easier, and you make the whole team look good."
She shakes her head slowly, a faint frown touching her lips. "What I do… it’s no big deal. Data entry, report summaries. There are plenty of people out there who can do the same thing."
You lean forward, a mock-serious expression on your face. "Actually, Irene, I don't like you just doing your job," you say, letting the pause hang for a split second before a grin breaks through. "Because what you do isn't just 'your job.' It's exceptional. And no, not 'several out there' can do it like you." You soften your expression, meeting her gaze earnestly. "Besides, everyone at the company genuinely appreciates you, and your work."
A beat of silence. Then, Irene laughs again, that soft, breathy sound that does ridiculous things to your insides. Her eyes, though, are sparkling with a teasing light you’ve never seen before. "Oh really?" she says, a playful lilt in her quiet words. "Is it everyone? Or is it… just you?"
Heat floods your face. You can feel the blush creeping up your neck. You look away, flustered, trying to come up with a clever retort, but your brain has apparently short-circuited. Shit. You’re usually better at this.
Seeing your reaction, her expression softens. "Hey," she says, her words a soft balm. "I’m just joking." She reaches out, just for a second, and her cool fingertips brush the back of your hand where it rests on the table. "Don’t look so terrified."
You manage a shaky laugh, looking back at her. Her eyes are kind. More than kind.
"And for the record," she continues, her gaze holding yours. "I appreciate that you like my work. You're very kind.”
Irene’s gaze is steady on yours, a hint of that earlier blush still dusting her cheekbones, but her expression is open, almost serene. That tiny, brave nod she gives is more articulate than a thousand words.
"Alright," you manage, letting out a shaky laugh. "Okay. That’s… that’s really good to hear, Irene. So," you venture, your smile softening, "does this mean you’re going to accept my incredibly generous, Henderson-approved proposal to become a permanent fixture of corporate excellence?"
She chuckles. It’s amazing how quickly she seems to be shedding layers of that formidable reserve, at least with you, in this moment. "I said I’d think about it," she reminds you, a playful glint back in her eyes. "No need to rush such a life-altering decision, right?"
"Right, right, of course," you concede, still grinning like an idiot. "Strategic deliberation. I respect that."
And just like that, the initial fear peak passes, settling into a comfortable, warm plateau. You talk. For hours, it seems. The second round of drinks arrives, your non-alcoholic beer surprisingly satisfying, her gin and tonic still her companion. The conversation meanders easily now, a stark contrast to the careful, step-by-step navigation of your earlier interactions. You touch on office matters: the ridiculousness of certain company policies, the upcoming (and dreaded) office move to a new floor, the latest gossip about which department head is feuding with another (which Irene, surprisingly, seems to have a few wry, understated observations about).
Then you drift to side things. You talk more about films you both like, discovering a shared appreciation for a particular cult sci-fi series from the 90s that you’re both shocked the other has even heard of. She mentions, very briefly, a passion for minimalist photography, focusing on urban decay and overlooked details, and you make a mental note to ask her more about it another time, when it feels right. You tell her about your disastrous attempt to learn coding during lockdown, which ended with you accidentally wiping your own hard drive. She doesn’t laugh uproariously, but her shoulders shake a little, and her eyes crinkle at the corners in a way that makes you smile unconsciously.
Time seems to dissolve. The bar gradually empties. You’re both leaning in slightly over the small table, the rest of the world faded into a pleasant, out-of-focus backdrop. It’s only when you catch a glimpse of the clock behind the bar, nudging past midnight, that you realize how long you’ve been here.
"Whoa," you say, genuinely surprised. "Look at the time." You glance at Irene. She does look a little tired now, the earlier animation softened by a gentle weariness around her eyes, though her expression is still content. "I should probably get you home. You must be exhausted."
She stifles a small yawn, then nods. "Probably a good idea. Mondays, even good ones, take their toll."
When the bartender brings the bill, Irene immediately reaches for her handbag. "Let me get my share," she says, her tone matter-of-fact.
You wave your hand dismissively. "Nope. Not a chance. My treat. I did invite you to defiantly kickstart the week, remember?"
"But we had four or five rounds," she protests mildly. "And you offered me a job. The least I can do is pay for my own gin."
"Consider it a pre-emptive signing bonus discussion fee," you counter, already pulling out your card. "Seriously, Irene. It’s on me. Please."
She hesitates for a moment, then a small, appreciative smile touches her lips. "Okay. Thank you. That’s… very chivalrous."
"I have my moments," you say, winking, as you settle the bill.
In the car, the city lights painting fleeting stripes across the dashboard, Irene gives you her address; a street in a quiet, older residential area not far from the office, just as she’d said.
"So," you ask, as you navigate the familiar streets, "you live alone?" It’s a casual question, but your heart beats a little faster waiting for the answer.
"Yes," she replies, looking out at the passing buildings. "For a few years now." She turns her head. "You?"
"Same here," you say. "Just me and my old movie collection. The second part probably justifies the first."
She gives a soft chuckle at that.
You pull up outside a well-maintained older apartment building, with a small, neat garden out front. It looks… peaceful. Like her.
"Well, here we are," you say, putting the car in park.
Irene turns in her seat to face you more fully. "Thank you," she says, her gaze direct and sincere. "For the invitation, for the drinks. It was… a really nice chat. I enjoyed it."
"Me too, Irene," you reply, your own sincerity matching hers. "Thanks for your company. It was a lot of fun. Definitely the best Monday I’ve had in a long time."
"Good night, then," she says softly. Her hand hovers near the door handle. For a wild second, you wonder if you should lean in, if this is the moment for a goodbye kiss, but something in her stillness, a lingering hint of that old reserve, tells you not yet. Don’t push it. Not now.
"Good night, Irene," you echo. "Get some rest."
She nods, gives you one last small smile, and then she’s out of the car, a fleeting figure disappearing into the building’s warmly lit entryway. You wait until you see the lobby door close behind her before pulling away, a wide, goofy grin plastered on your face that doesn’t fade the entire drive home.
—
From that night on, something undeniably shifts. Your bond with Irene, forged in the dim light of that quiet bar, begins to progress in subtle but significant ways. In the office, she still maintains her discreet presence, never drawing undue attention to herself. But with you, things are different. She seeks out your gaze more often across the expanse of cubicles, a small, almost imperceptible smile usually accompanying it. When you approach her desk, she looks up immediately, the guardedness you were so used to now noticeably lessened, replaced by a welcoming warmth in her dark eyes.
She talks to you more, too. Not just about work, though she’s still impeccably professional. She’ll share a wry observation about a particularly mind-numbing office memo, or ask your opinion on a new software rollout. Sometimes, she even initiates the conversation, a quiet "Got a minute?" when she has a genuine query or, increasingly, just something she wants to share. And jokes (Irene actually makes jokes). They’re subtle, dry, delivered with that understated wit you’re quickly coming to adore, but they’re there, little sparks of humor that light up your interactions.
It makes you ridiculously happy, this gradual unfolding. Every shared glance, every quiet conversation, every fleeting smile feels like a victory, a testament to the connection you’re building. You find yourself looking forward to seeing her each day with an eagerness that’s entirely new. There’s no denying it, not anymore. You’re liking Irene Bae more and more, and the thought of where this all might be heading fills you with a buoyant, thrilling anticipation.
The week has been a blur of spreadsheets that all look the same and meetings that could have been emails. Standard. You do your usual wander through the office tundra, a flimsy excuse to stretch your legs and make sure the drones haven't revolted. You offer the requisite nods, the "how’s it goings," the feigned interest in weekend plans that involve either mind-numbing DIY or equally mind-numbing children's soccer games. But really, your internal compass is pointing one way: Irene’s desk.
She’s there, a small, still point in the surrounding office chaos. Head down, focused. God, she’s beautiful. It’s not even a conscious thought anymore, just an accepted fact, like gravity or the office coffee being terrible. Today she’s wearing a cream-colored sweater, soft and slightly oversized, that makes her look even more delicate. Her dark hair is clipped back loosely, a few stray strands feathering her cheek. As you approach, she senses you, looking up. And this time, there’s no hesitation, no fractional delay before her polite mask clicks into place. This time, a small, subtle smile touches her lips almost instantly. It’s a tiny thing, barely a curve, but on Irene, it’s like a goddamn sunrise. Your chest does that stupid warm lurch it’s been doing a lot lately.
"Morning, Irene," you say, leaning against the partition of her cubicle, trying to match her quiet energy. "Or, well, almost afternoon, I guess."
"Good morning," she replies, her words soft, but the smile lingers in her eyes. That’s new. And definitely not unwelcome.
"Just checking in. How’s that… uh… creative asset compilation for the new campaign coming along? The one I dumped on you yesterday with zero notice?" You’d asked her to pull together a bunch of visual elements and a draft for some new ad copy. A bit outside her usual data-entry scope, but you had a hunch she’d be good at it.
"Almost done," she confirms, gesturing vaguely at her screen. "Just finalizing the font choices for the header. It should be ready by three."
"No rush at all, you’re a miracle worker as it is." You glance at her screen, trying to seem interested in fonts, but your attention snags on the small, almost hidden detail on her desk – a tiny, exquisitely wrapped parcel, no bigger than a matchbox, tied with a simple silver ribbon. It wasn't there yesterday. "So," you continue, keeping your tone light, "anything exciting happen since I last graced your cubicle with my overwhelming presence?"
Her gaze flickers to the small parcel, then back to you, and the subtle smile widens just a fraction. "Actually," she says, her fingers brushing the ribbon lightly, "I received what you sent."
Ah. So she got it. This week was her birthday. You’d thought about organizing something, a small surprise with a few of the nicer people on the team. But then you’d pictured Irene, the center of attention, forced smiles, awkward small talk… and you’d nixed the idea. She wasn’t the surprise party type. So, you’d sent a small, carefully chosen gift to her apartment instead (you still had her address from that night at the bar). A collection of short stories by an author she mentioned being a fan of and, apparently, she didn't have this book yet, which is a new release.
"Oh yeah?" you ask, feigning mild surprise. "Well, I hope I didn't choose something boring. Choosing gifts isn't really something I'm very talented at."
A soft chuckle escapes her. "No, it was… lovely. Thank you. You really didn't need to bother, though."
"Hey, what are supervisors for if not to occasionally bother their best employees with unsolicited tokens of appreciation?" you say, grinning. "Glad you liked it." You pause, then decide to take the plunge. "So, listen. Friday today. End of a massively busy week. Any chance I could tempt you with another round of drinks? All on me, of course.”
She looks up, and for a moment, you see that familiar flicker of hesitation, the slight tensing around her eyes. She bites her lip, her gaze dropping to the desk. "I don't know…" she begins, her words very quiet. "Don't you think… people in the office might find it a bit strange? Just you and me, going out for drinks together again?"
Her concern is valid. You’re her supervisor. And while this office isn't exactly a hotbed of malicious gossip, people notice things. But the thought of not seeing her outside these four grey walls, especially after the progress you’ve made, feels… deflating.
You shrug. "Let them think whatever they want. Honestly, Irene, who cares? It's just a couple of colleagues grabbing a drink after a long week. Besides," you add, leaning in a fraction, lowering your tone slightly, "no one here is interesting enough to be a dedicated gossip columnist. They’re too busy worrying about their own TPS reports. You don't need to worry about it."
She looks at you for a long moment. You can see the internal debate warring in her eyes. Then, slowly, a small, almost shy smile. "Okay," she says. "Okay, I’d like that."
—
Lunchtime. You’re at your desk, staring blankly at a spreadsheet that’s threatening to induce a coma, when a small shadow falls over your keyboard. You look up, surprised.
It’s Irene. She’s holding a small, clear plastic container, tied with a simple piece of kitchen twine. Inside, you can see a neat stack of perfectly round, golden-brown cookies. Homemade. No doubt about it.
"Hi," she says, a little shyly, holding out the container. "I, uh… I made these last night. For you. As a thank you. For the… for the other day. And the gift."
You’re genuinely speechless for a second. Irene Bae baked you cookies. You take the container, your fingers brushing hers. "Irene, wow. You… you really didn’t have to do this."
"I wanted to," she says, that faint blush back on her cheeks. "They’re just chocolate chip. Nothing fancy." She pauses, then adds, with a tiny, playful smirk, "Don’t get spoiled."
"Too late," you say, already prying the lid off. The smell of warm butter and melted chocolate hits you. "These look incredible. Seriously." You take one, biting into it. It’s perfect: soft and chewy in the middle, slightly crisp around the edges. "Holy shit, Irene, these are… you’re a wizard."
"They’re just cookies."
"No, these are not 'just cookies'," you insist, taking another enthusiastic bite. "These are edible drops of pure happiness. You’re wasted on data entry, you know that? You should open a bakery."
"One business is enough for now," she says, but she looks genuinely pleased by your reaction. She lingers by your desk for a moment, not quite meeting your eye, but not leaving either. "How’s… how’s your day going? You look a little tired."
It’s true. The past few days have been a relentless onslaught of urgent requests, looming deadlines, and a particularly tedious software integration project that’s been fighting you every step of the way. You probably look like you’ve been wrestling a badger.
"Yeah, it’s been a bit of a beast," you admit, rubbing your eyes. "Lots of fires to put out. Trying to get the specs finalized for the Q4 roll-out, plus Henderson is breathing down my neck about those new compliance protocols. Standard corporate fun and games." You try for a light tone. "But I’m fine. Just need about seventeen more cups of coffee."
Her expression softens with something that looks a lot like genuine concern. "Don’t try to do too much," she says. "You’ll burn yourself out."
"Words of wisdom from the cookie queen," you say, smiling at her. "I’ll try to take it easy. Especially since," you add, your grin widening, "I’m really looking forward to those drinks later."
You expect her to just nod, to give one of her polite, non-committal responses. But instead, her eyes meet yours, and there’s a surprising warmth, a definite spark in their depths. "Me too," she says, her words clear and, to your utter astonishment, tinged with what sounds like genuine anticipation.
—
The end-of-day exodus is in full swing, the usual shuffle of tired bodies and the clatter of keyboards being powered down. You catch Irene’s eye as she’s gathering her things, and that subtle smile, the one that’s becoming less of a rarity when you’re around, touches her lips. She does look tired, a faint weariness around her dark eyes, but it doesn’t diminish the quiet prettiness that always seems to cling to her. If anything, the slight vulnerability makes her even more striking.
You meet her by the elevators, a silent agreement passing between you. No need for forced office goodbyes today.
"Ready to officially declare war on the work week?" you ask as you both step out into the cool evening air. The city is already starting to glitter, streetlights blinking on against the fading daylight.
She glances up at you, noticing you're not heading towards the parkade. "No car today?"
"Nope," you say, hands in your pockets as you start walking. "Figured if we're going for drinks, actual drinks, then driving is counterproductive to the whole 'getting drunk and forgetting responsibilities' vibe. Thought we’d walk."
Irene falls into step beside you, her pace surprisingly brisk for someone who looked so weary moments ago. "Didn't you come to work by car today? But… I could have said no to the invitation. You would have walked for nothing."
You shoot her a sideways grin. "Nah. I had a pretty good feeling you’d say yes."
"Very presumptuous of you," she murmurs, but there’s no bite to it, only amusement.
The walk to the bar is easy, the conversation flowing more naturally than it ever has in the sterile confines of the office. You talk like coworkers, at first. The new coffee machine in the breakroom, which everyone agrees is a downgrade despite its fancy chrome exterior. The inexplicable disappearance of all the good pens from the supply closet.
"Seriously," you say, shaking your head as you navigate a cracked paving stone, "it’s like there’s a pen gremlin. I bought a pack of twelve on Monday. By Wednesday, they were all gone."
Irene actually chuckles at that. "It’s Henderson. I saw him pocket one of mine yesterday when he thought I wasn’t looking."
"No way!" you exclaim, genuinely shocked. "The CEO? Stealing pens? That’s… actually kind of hilarious."
"He has very specific preferences for blue ink," she says, her tone dry, and you both laugh.
It’s like this, small talk, office anecdotes. Nothing too deep, nothing too personal, but it’s comfortable. You notice the way she walks, with a quiet grace, her gaze often drifting to the small details of the cityscape around you; an interesting piece of graffiti, an old, weathered doorway, the way the light hits a particular window. She doesn’t say much about what she sees, but you get the feeling she’s absorbing it all.
The bar is the same familiar spot, a haven of dim lights and good music. You find your preferred corner table, and Irene slides into the chair you pull out for her with a small, appreciative nod.
"Same again?" you ask, already knowing her answer.
"Gin and tonic, please," she confirms.
You head to the bar, ordering her drink and another of those surprisingly decent dark ales for yourself.
When you return, she’s watching the crowd, a faint smile on her lips. You set the drinks down, the tall glass of her G&T clinking softly against your bottle. You slide into the chair opposite her, the small table creating a sense of comfortable intimacy.
"Alright," you say, picking up your bottle and raising it slightly. "First round."
She lifts her glass, her dark eyes meeting yours. "To what, exactly, are we dedicating this particular round of defiance against the universe?"
You grin. "To surviving another week of corporate warfare. To Fridays. And," you pause, your gaze softening, "to the fact that the mystery of the stolen pens was finally solved, thanks to your important intel."
"You’re welcome. Happy to assist in the fight against executive kleptomania." She clinks her glass against your bottle. "Cheers."
You both take a sip, a comfortable silence settling between you for a moment. The bar’s atmosphere wraps around you, the low murmur of other conversations, the distant clatter from the kitchen, the bluesy track oozing from the speakers. It feels… right.
"So," you begin, after a while, setting your bottle down. "That whole full-time contract thing. Still mulling it over?"
Irene takes a slow sip of her G&T, her eyes thoughtful. "I am," she admits. "It’s… a big decision. More responsibility. More… permanence."
"No pressure," you reiterate. "The offer stands. But Henderson was genuinely impressed. You’ve made a good mark."
"It’s just… data," she says, looking down into her glass. "It’s not like I’m revolutionizing the industry."
"Hey," you say, leaning forward slightly. "Don’t sell yourself short. You have a knack for seeing patterns, for making sense of chaos. That’s a rare skill. And honestly, the way you transformed that Henderson merger data from an absolute clusterfuck into something coherent? That was art, Irene. Pure, unadulterated, spreadsheet art."
She looks up, and there’s a faint blush on her cheeks, but also a flicker of something else (pride, maybe?) "You really think so?"
"I know so." You pause, then decide to just go for it. "Look, I’m not going to bullshit you. The main reason Henderson wants you on full-time is because you’re damn good at what you do. But for me?" You meet her gaze, holding it. "I just… I really like having you around the office, Irene. You make the place better."
Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly, her lips parting slightly. The blush deepens. She looks away, down at her glass, then back at you, a complex mix of emotions playing across her usually composed features. She opens her mouth as if to say something, then closes it, takes another sip of her drink.
She finally sets her glass down with a soft click, her fingers tracing the condensation. "That’s… a really nice thing to say," she says.
Your smile widens at her quiet admission, the sincerity in her dark eyes hitting you with a pleasant warmth. "Well, 'nice' is a good start," you say, your own words softer now. "I was aiming for at least 'not actively terrible,' so I’m calling this a win."
She gives a small, almost shy laugh, her gaze dropping to the G&T she’s cradling. The ice cubes shift and clink as she swirls the glass. "You set a low bar for yourself."
"Hey, gotta manage expectations," you retort, grinning. "Especially on a Friday when the main goal is to de-stress, not to impress." You take another sip of your non-alcoholic beer. It’s not bad, actually. Almost makes you feel like a responsible adult.
The conversation flows easily after that, the topics meandering from the absurdities of office life to more general things. She listens with an unreadable but attentive expression as you recount a particularly disastrous client presentation you had to salvage earlier in the year, even managing a small, sympathetic grimace when you get to the part about the projector dying mid-PowerPoint. Hours seem to melt away, marked only by the gradual lowering of the liquid in your glasses and the comfortable rhythm of your shared talk.
It’s Irene who eventually steers the conversation into more personal territory, and it’s so unexpected it almost makes you choke on your beer. She’s been quieter for a few moments, tracing the rim of her glass with a fingertip, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. Then, she looks up, her dark eyes meeting yours with a new sort of intensity.
"So," she begins, her words careful, measured, "you mentioned your friends at the office. The ones you started with."
"Yeah?" you prompt, curious where this is going.
"Is it… just friendships? Or is there anyone… more specific?" Her gaze is direct, unwavering, and you realize she’s not just making small talk. This is deliberate. She’s plucking up the courage, right here, right now.
You try to keep your expression neutral, but you can feel a faint heat rising in your own cheeks. "More specific how?"
"You know," she says, a tiny, almost imperceptible shrug. "A girlfriend? Someone you’re seeing?" Then, her eyes flick to a point just past your shoulder, a subtle shift. "Like… Seulgi? You two seem… very close."
Ah. Seulgi. You should have seen that coming. Seulgi is vibrant, outgoing, and yes, you two are close. You share a lot of inside jokes, grab lunch together sometimes, and there’s an easy camaraderie between you that probably looks like more than it is to an outside observer. Especially an observant one like Irene.
You lean back in your chair, considering how to answer. Honesty seems like the best policy here, especially with the way Irene is watching you. "Seulgi and I…" you begin, then pause, choosing your words. "Yeah, we’re close. But it’s not… like that. Not anymore, anyway."
Irene’s eyebrows lift slightly. "Anymore?"
You sigh, running a hand through your hair. Might as well just lay it out. "Look, years ago, when we both first started at Henderson Corp, fresh out of uni, barely knew which way was up… yeah, Seulgi and I had a thing. An affair, I guess you’d call it. It was intense, for a while. But it was a long time ago. We were young, stupid, figuring things out." You meet her gaze. "It burned out pretty quick. Honestly, we realized we were much better as friends. And that’s what we are now. Good friends. Nothing more, I promise."
She absorbs this, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, "Aren’t… relationships between employees frowned upon? At the company?"
"Officially?" you shrug. "There’s no explicit rule against it, as long as it doesn't involve a direct reporting line, which ours didn’t, even back then. Henderson’s surprisingly old-school about some things, but pretty laissez-faire about others. Unofficially, the policy is basically: keep it professional at work, don’t let it affect your performance, and for God’s sake, no dramatic breakups in the middle of the quarterly budget cycle." You take a sip of your beer. "What you do on your own time, outside the office walls, is generally considered your own business. As long as you’re not an idiot about it and it doesn’t spill into work, they tend to look the other way."
"Yeah, mostly. Just gotta be smart, maintain professionalism when you're on the clock. Everything’s fine. Honestly, there are probably more office romances brewing in that place than anyone realizes." You grin. "Henderson Corp: Where Careers and Questionable Life Choices Collide."
She gives a small, hesitant smile at that. The conversation drifts a little after that, back to safer, more general topics. You order another round, she sticks to her G&T, you get another non-alcoholic ale. The bar is thinning out now, the Friday night energy mellowing into a late-evening calm. Irene seems more relaxed than you’ve ever seen her. She’s leaning back in her chair, one arm resting on the table, her earlier tension almost entirely gone. She even initiates a couple of topics, asking about a book you mentioned earlier, a small, thoughtful question about one of the characters.
It’s as you’re describing a particularly ridiculous plot twist that she starts to chuckle. Not a full laugh, but a series of soft, breathy huffs of amusement, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
"What?" you ask, grinning. "Too unbelievable?"
"No, it’s not the book," she says, shaking her head, her smile widening. "It’s you."
"Me?"
"Yes, you," she confirms, and there’s a definite warmth in her gaze now. "You’re… you’re actually quite funny." She pauses, as if surprised by her own admission. "It’s… rare. For me to find men funny."
You blink, then let out a surprised laugh yourself. "Is that a compliment, Bae Joohyun?" you tease, using her full name for the first time, enjoying the way a slight blush rises on her cheeks.
She rolls her eyes, but the smile doesn’t fade. "Don’t let it go to your head."
"Too late," you say, your grin spreading wider. "I’m officially adding 'surprisingly humorous to discerning women' to my resume." You lean forward, your elbows on the table, the atmosphere between you feeling lighter, more charged than ever. The drinks, the late hour, her unexpected praise… it’s all coalescing into something…
promising.
"So, Irene Bae, now that we’ve established this mutual… "liking"," you drawl the word out, enjoying the faint blush that returns to her cheeks, "does this improve the odds of you accepting Henderson’s most gracious offer of permanent employment?"
She picks up her G&T, takes a thoughtful sip. "Still thinking," she says, her eyes sparkling over the rim of the glass. "Wouldn't want to seem too eager, would I?"
"Heaven forbid," you agree, playing along. "Strategic ambiguity. Very professional."
The conversation continues, hours evaporate. The bar staff are starting to wipe down distant tables, the music has shifted to something even more mellow, and the crowd has thinned to a few lingering couples and solitary drinkers. Irene glances at the small, elegant watch on her slender wrist.
"Wow, it’s… getting pretty late," she says, her words carrying a hint of surprise, as if she hadn't realized how quickly the time had passed.
You nod, a reluctant sigh escaping you. The beer has settled into a comfortable warmth in your system, your limbs loose, your head pleasantly fuzzy. "Yeah, you’re right." You pause, looking at her, at the soft way the low light catches her dark hair, the way her eyes seem even deeper, more expressive in the intimate gloom. "Damn shame. I wish this night wouldn't end."
She meets your gaze, her smile soft, questioning. "Oh yeah? Why’s that?"
The alcohol has definitely loosened your tongue, stripped away a few layers of your usual caution. "Because I like being around you, Irene," you confess, the words coming out easily, honestly. "Your presence… I don’t know. It’s kind of hypnotic." You give a small, self-deprecating laugh. "And now I’m going to go home and just… keep thinking about you."
"You… think about me?" she asks.
"Yeah," you admit, feeling your own cheeks warm a little. "A lot, actually."
She’s silent for a moment, then, very slowly, her hand reaches across the small table, her cool fingertips brushing against yours. It’s a feather-light touch, barely there, but it sends a jolt straight up your arm. "What… what do you think about?"
"Everything," you say, your gaze locked on hers, feeling a bit drunk on more than just the beer now. "The way you concentrate when you’re working. The way you have that tiny little frown when you’re figuring something out. The way your hair falls across your cheek when you’re not looking." You shake your head, a small, dazed smile on your face. "Lately, Irene, you’re pretty much the only thing on my mind."
Her fingers intertwine with yours, a soft, hesitant pressure. Her dark eyes are searching yours, and you can see a storm of emotions in their depths. "Lately," she confesses, "I’ve… I’ve been thinking about you too."
"Yeah? What do you think about me, Irene Bae?"
She takes a shaky breath, her gaze dropping to your joined hands, then lifting back to your eyes, bold and vulnerable all at once. "I think about… what it would be like… if you kissed me."
The world around you just… stops. Your brain stutters, reboots. You lose focus on the bar, the music, everything but her face, her eyes, the feel of her hand in yours. She thinks about you kissing her. That’s it. That’s all the fucking permission you need.
Before you can second-guess it, before the moment can break, you’re moving. You lean across the small table, your other hand coming up to cup her cheek, your thumb stroking her soft skin. And then you kiss her.
It’s insane, the moment your lips meet. Her lips are soft, yielding, tasting faintly of gin and lime. She gasps softly into your mouth, then kisses you back, her initial hesitation melting away into a surprising, eager passion. Her tongue, tentative at first, then bolder, meets yours. It’s not a polite, end-of-the-date kiss. It’s hungry, searching, like you’ve both been starving for this without even knowing it. Your fingers tighten in her hair, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss until you’re both breathless.
When you finally break apart, gasping for air, your foreheads are resting against each other. Her eyes are closed, her lips swollen and glistening.
"Don’t let the night end here, Irene," you whisper. "Please."
She opens her eyes, her gaze dark, hazy with desire. "Okay," she breathes. "My apartment."
You’re on your feet in a second, fumbling for your wallet, the earlier weariness completely gone, replaced by a thrumming, urgent energy. Irene is already sliding out of the booth, her movements a little unsteady but graceful nonetheless. You throw some cash on the table (way more than enough to cover the bill) and then you’re out, into the cool night air.
You’re definitely tipsy, the world having a pleasant, fuzzy edge. Irene stumbles slightly as you step onto the uneven sidewalk, and you instinctively reach out, your arm going around her shoulders, pulling her close. She leans into you, her body warm against yours, her head resting against your arm. She’s giggling, a light, infectious sound that makes you laugh too, a stupid, happy, drunken sound. You walk like that, a tangled, giggling mess, your steps uneven but your direction certain.
Her apartment.
—
The elevator ride up to her floor is a blur of stolen kisses and breathless laughter. You’re pressed against the cool metal wall, her hands in your hair, your mouths searching, hungry. Every time the elevator dings at a floor, you pull apart, slightly dazed, only to crash back together the moment the doors close.
She fumbles with her keys at her apartment door, still kissing you, her body pressed flush against yours in the narrow hallway. Finally, the lock clicks. She pushes the door open, stumbling inside, pulling you with her. Her bag hits the floor with a soft thud. And then, before you can even register your surroundings, she jumps, her legs wrapping around your waist, her mouth finding yours again in a bruising, desperate kiss. You catch her instinctively, your hands splaying across her ass, lifting her, holding her tight against you as you kick the door shut.
She pulls back for a moment, her chest heaving, and a wide, triumphant smile spreads across her face when she sees yours. "You’ve got my lipstick all over you," she says, her words a delighted slur, as she reaches up to smudge a pink streak on your cheek with her thumb.
You glance around then, taking in her apartment for the first time. It’s small, neat, surprisingly minimalist but with touches of warmth: a stack of books on a low shelf, a soft throw draped over a simple armchair, a couple of framed black and white photographs on the wall. "Nice place," you manage.
Her eyes sparkle. "Did you come here to look at my apartment, or do something else?" she teases, her hips giving a suggestive little squirm against yours.
"Definitely something else," you growl, taking your "revenge" by burying your face in her neck, your lips finding the soft skin just below her ear, nibbling gently.
She yelps, a surprised, delighted sound, then dissolves into giggles, her body squirming in your arms. "Hey! That tickles!"
"Bedroom," you murmur against her skin. "Show me the way."
She points vaguely down a short hallway, still giggling, and you carry her, your mouths finding each other again, kissing deeply as you navigate the unfamiliar space. You find the door, push it open, and then you’re gently depositing her onto the bed, following her down, never breaking the kiss.
The world narrows to the feel of her beneath you, the taste of her, the soft sounds she’s making. After a moment, you pull away, reluctantly. "Clothes," you manage, your breath ragged. "Need these off."
You roll off her and stand, your fingers already working at the buttons of your shirt. Irene watches you, her eyes dark and hungry, as she sits up and reaches for the hem of her own sweater. It comes off in one smooth motion, revealing the delicate black lace of her bra, her pale skin almost luminous in the dim light filtering in from the hallway. Her petite body is, as you’ve always known, perfectly toned, every line and curve an invitation. She doesn’t hesitate, her fingers going to the clasp of her bra next.
The cotton of your shirt feels like a restriction, a barrier. Your fingers, clumsy with a mixture of alcohol and adrenaline, work at the buttons, fumbling them free one by one. It hits the floor. Shoes next, kicked off with impatient shoves of your heels, then the belt buckle clinks as you undo it, the leather sliding free. Your pants join the shirt in a heap on the floorboards. You’re standing there in just your boxers, the air of her bedroom suddenly cooler on your skin, or maybe that’s just the fever pitch of your own blood.
Then it’s her turn. Her hands go to the delicate clasp of her black lace bra. It gives way easily, and she shrugs the straps down her pale arms, letting the flimsy garment fall. Her breasts are revealed, small, yes, but perfectly shaped, round and perky, with pale pink nipples already pebble-hard in the cool air, or perhaps from anticipation. They’re exquisite. You’ve imagined them, of course, in fleeting, guilty moments, but the reality is so much fucking better. Then, she reaches for her shoes. She kicks them off one by one, the soft thud against the wooden floor loud in the charged silence. Finally, her hands go to the waistband of her pants, a simple black one that clung to her hips. It slides down her legs with a soft rustle, pooling around her ankles, leaving her standing before you in nothing but a pair of sheer black panties. They’re scandalously tiny, doing very little to hide the curve of her ass.
You feel like you can’t breathe.
You’re on her in a second, moving without conscious thought, your body acting on pure, undeniable instinct. You climb onto the bed, settling over her, your weight pressing her into the soft mattress. Your mouth finds hers again, but this kiss is different from the one at the bar. It’s rougher, needier, your tongue plunging, seeking, demanding. She meets your intensity, her own hunger flaring.
Your kisses trail down her jaw, her neck, your lips and teeth mapping the sensitive skin there. She arches into you, a soft whimper escaping her. You reach her breasts, your mouth closing over one hard nipple. She moans instantly, her fingers tangling in your hair, gripping tight. You suck, hard, your tongue laving the peak, then flicking, teasing. Her whole body shudders.
"Fuck… yes…" she gasps, her hips starting to buck beneath you. "They’re… so sensitive…"
You grin against her skin, moving to the other breast, giving it the same relentless attention. You squeeze and suck, feeling the delicate flesh swell in your mouth, the nipple hard against your tongue. The skin around it is already turning a delicious shade of pink, flushed and slightly raw from your attention. Her moans are getting louder, less inhibited, open-mouthed gasps of pure pleasure.
Her hands, which were gripping your hair, slide down your back, then lower, her fingers finding the thick, insistent ridge of your cock straining against your underwear. She squeezes, a playful, testing pressure, and a low growl rumbles in your chest. She feels you, hard and ready, and a wicked little smile dances on her lips, visible even as she throws her head back, lost in the sensations you’re creating.
Then, just as you’re about to lose yourself completely in the taste and feel of her breasts, she moves. With surprising strength, her hands are on your shoulders, pushing, guiding.
"My turn," she breathes
She pulls you, making you lie back against the pillows. You watch, dazed, as she straddles your hips, her gaze fixed on your groin. Her movements are slow, deliberate, almost torturous. Her fingers hook into the waistband of your boxers.
"Been waiting for this," she murmurs.
She pulls your underwear down, agonizingly slowly, inch by inch, her knuckles brushing against your straining erection with every downward tug. The fabric slides past your hips, down your thighs, until your cock springs free, thick, veined, and brutally hard, slick with pre-cum.
She just stares at it for a long moment, her dark eyes wide, her lips slightly parted. A genuine, almost awestruck smile spreads across her face. It’s the smile of someone who has just been presented with their favorite fucking meal.
She reaches out, her small hand surprisingly confident as it wraps around your shaft. It’s a perfect fit, her fingers cool against your heated skin. "Jesus," she breathes, her thumb stroking the thick, prominent vein that runs along the length. "It really has been a while since I’ve had sex." Her gaze lifts to yours, burning with an intensity that steals your breath. "You have no idea," she says, "how much this cock, your cock, is everything I want right now."
Before you can even process the raw honesty of her words, she leans down. Her tongue, pink and wet, flicks out, lapping delicately at the bead of pre-cum glistening on the slit of your tip. Then, she takes a mouthful of her own saliva (you see her gather it) and lets it dribble slowly onto your shaft, her fingers working quickly to spread the slickness all the way down, coating you, preparing you.
And finally, her mouth descends.
The moment her lips close around the head of your cock, you fucking groan, your hips bucking involuntarily. Her mouth is hot, wet, impossibly soft. She starts working you immediately, no hesitation, no awkwardness. Her lips create a perfect seal, her tongue swirling, lapping, teasing, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks with a practiced, almost reverent skill. This isn't the tentative exploration of a novice. This is the confident, devastating expertise of a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing.
Holy shit. Irene Bae is a fucking professional.
You can feel the muscles in her throat working, a gentle, rhythmic pulse that’s already threatening to undo you. And her eyes. Fuck, her eyes. They’re locked on yours, wide, dark, and glittering with a deadly combination of intense focus and raw, unadulterated lust. There’s a challenge in them, a silent dare. Think you can handle this? they seem to say. Think you can last?
"Fuck, Irene…" you groan, your hips giving an involuntary jerk. "That’s… holy shit…"
A low hum vibrates from her throat against your shaft, a sound of pure, animalistic satisfaction. She pulls back just enough for the head of your cock to pop free with a wet, obscene sound, her tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop of your slickness.
"You like that, baby?" she murmurs. "Like the way my mouth feels wrapped around your big, thick dick?"
"Yes… God, yes…" you pant, your hands fisting in the sheets beside you. "It’s… you’re amazing, Irene. Fuck, you’re so good at this."
Her smile is a predatory flash against your skin before she takes you in again, deeper this time. Her tongue is a relentless engine of pleasure, lapping, swirling, flicking against every sensitive nerve. She knows exactly where to press, where to tease, how to vary the pressure and speed to keep you right on that knife-edge of unbearable pleasure. It’s not just her mouth, either. Her hands are working you too, one wrapped firmly around the base of your shaft, pumping in rhythm with her sucking, the other gently cupping your balls, her fingers tracing lazy, teasing circles.
"Mmmm, you taste so fucking good," she says, her words slightly muffled but no less potent. She breaks suction for a moment, her hot breath ghosting over your hypersensitive skin. "I love the way you get so hard for me, the way your cock just throbs in my mouth." She punctuates the statement by taking just the swollen head between her lips and sucking, hard, focusing all her attention there, her tongue doing that insane swirling thing that makes your vision blur.
"Shit, Irene… don’t stop…" you gasp out, your voice rough, pleading. "Please, don’t stop…"
Her head bobs faster, a satisfied, almost guttural sound coming from her throat. "Oh, I’m not stopping, baby," she promises, her eyes blazing into yours. "I want to hear you moan for me. I want to hear you fucking beg." She sucks harder, her lips pulling, teasing. "Moan for me, supervisor. Let me hear how much you love your little casual worker sucking your dick."
The sheer audacity of her words, the way she so effortlessly flips the script, calling you out, it’s fucking electrifying. A raw, broken groan tears from your throat. "Fuck… yes… Irene… please… feels so good…"
"That’s it, baby," she purrs, her mouth still working you relentlessly. "Louder. I want to hear every filthy sound you make when I’m sucking you like this. I want to know I’m driving you absolutely fucking insane."
And you are. You’re losing it. Her mouth is a goddamn weapon, and she’s wielding it with devastating precision. She shifts her attention, her lips sliding down your shaft, her tongue laving a hot, wet path until she reaches your balls. You tense, anticipating, and then her mouth closes over one, warm and wet, and you fucking cry out.
"Oh my god… Irene… fuck…"
She sucks, gently at first, then with increasing hunger, her tongue rolling, massaging. Your balls are heavy, aching, and her mouth on them is an entirely new level of torture and bliss. She leaves them absolutely soaked, glistening with her spit when she finally moves back up your shaft.
"You like that, huh?" she breathes, her lips brushing against the underside of your cock, right where the skin is thinnest, most sensitive. "Your balls taste just as good as your cock. So salty… so fucking you."
Her tongue flicks out, targeting your frenulum with an accuracy that makes your entire body jolt. She plays with it, licking, teasing, nipping ever so gently with her teeth before sucking that sensitive ridge into her mouth. You’re bucking against her now, completely lost, your own moans a constant, ragged soundtrack to her ministrations.
"Fuck… Irene… please… I can’t… I’m so close…" you plead, your voice a shredded mess.
Her only answer is to work faster, harder. Her hand is a blur on your shaft, slick with spit and your own pre-cum, while her mouth continues its relentless assault. She takes you as deep as her little mouth can manage, her throat working, a series of soft, choked gagging sounds escaping her that are, perversely, driving you even wilder. She’s not just sucking your cock; she’s fucking devouring it, worshipping it.
"You gonna cum for me, baby?" she asks, pulling back for a split second, her eyes wide and dark, pupils blown. Saliva strings from her lips to the head of your cock. "I want it. I want your hot load all over my tongue. I want to swallow every last drop. Please, baby, give it to me. Begging you."
That’s it. Her words, the sight of her, so beautiful, so depraved, kneeling before you, mouth open, waiting for your release…it shatters your last shred of control.
"Irene!" Your shout as your orgasm rips through you. Your hips slam upwards, your back arching off the bed. Hot, thick ropes of cum shoot from your cock, hitting the back of her throat. She doesn't flinch. She takes it all, her throat working, swallowing, her eyes locked on yours, a triumphant, ecstatic glint in their depths. You keep pumping, jet after jet, emptying yourself into her waiting mouth. The sensation is blinding, overwhelming. You’re vaguely aware of your eyes rolling back in your head, your body trembling uncontrollably. It feels like you’re cumming for an eternity, each pulse a fresh wave of unbearable pleasure.
When the last viscous glob finally spurts out, you collapse back against the pillows, panting, drenched in sweat, utterly fucking spent. You’re in heaven. Or hell. Or some glorious, filthy place in between.
Irene stays there for a moment, gently sucking the last drops from your now twitching, softened cock. Then, slowly, reverently, she pulls away, her lips making a wet sound. She licks her own lips, savoring the taste, a small, incredibly satisfied smile playing on her features.
"Holy… fucking… shit, Irene." You shake your head, still trying to process the sheer intensity of what just happened. "That was… That was, without a fucking doubt, the best blowjob of my entire life."
Her smile widens, a genuine, radiant thing that makes her eyes sparkle. The exhaustion is there, but beneath it, there's a deep, purring satisfaction. She leans forward, pressing a soft, sticky kiss to the now-sensitive head of your cock.
"Good," she murmurs. "That’s what I like to hear." Then she looks up at you. "I aim to please, supervisor. Especially when the benefits are… this rewarding.”
You manage to prop yourself up on your elbows, looking down at her. She’s still kneeling between your legs, that pleased, cat-who-got-the-cream smirk playing on her lips, now glistening with your cum.
"Irene," you rasp. "Where in the ever-loving fuck did you learn to do that?”
She lets out a low, throaty chuckle, the sound vibrating deep in her chest. She reaches up, wiping a stray smudge of your load from the corner of her mouth with a delicate finger, then slowly, deliberately, licks it clean, her eyes never leaving yours. The gesture alone is enough to make your semi-flaccid cock give a hopeful twitch.
"Every woman has her secrets, supervisor," she purrs. "Maybe one day I'll tell you some of them." Then, before you can even process that delicious, infuriating coyness, she’s moving. climbing onto you with a fluid grace. Her petite, pale body straddles your chest, her knees bracketing your shoulders. She leans down, her dark hair curtaining your face. "Besides," she whispers, her lips brushing against yours, "who said anything about being done?"
Her mouth finds yours, a slow, deep kiss that tastes of you, of her, of pure, unadulterated lust. While her lips work their magic, her body begins a slow, deliberate crawl down yours. Kisses are pressed against your jaw, your throat, lingering on the pulse point there until you can feel your heart hammering in response. She moves lower, her tongue flicking out to trace the line of your collarbone, then lower still, across your pecs.
When she reaches your right nipple, she pauses. Her gaze, hot and knowing, flicks up to meet yours for a fraction of a second before her mouth closes over it. Your breath hitches. You weren't expecting that. Her tongue swirls around the already sensitive peak, rough and wet, then she starts to suck, gently at first, then with increasing pressure, pulling the nub into her mouth, her teeth grazing it ever so lightly.
"Nghh… Irene…" A surprised, helpless moan escapes you. Fuck, that feels good. Way better than it has any right to.
"Sensitive here, are we?" she murmurs against your skin. "I thought so."
She continues her assault, licking, sucking, her lips working your nipple like it’s the head of another cock. And all the while, one of her small, deceptively strong hands snakes down your torso, past your navel, her fingers tracing teasing patterns on your lower abdomen. You feel the heat of her palm as it hovers, then finally settles, over the base of your now rapidly re-hardening cock.
"Oh, look at that," she says. "Not so spent after all, are you, big boy?"
Her hand closes around you. Even through the haze of pleasure radiating from your nipple, you can feel the change. Your cock, which had been softening, content in its post-orgasmic haze, now surges back to life, thickening, lengthening, pressing urgently against her grip. She starts to stroke you, slow, deliberate movements, her fingers slick with the remnants of your earlier release and her own gathering wetness.
"The night is far from over, supervisor," she whispers, her mouth leaving your nipple to trail a line of wet, open-mouthed kisses towards the other one. "I know you can give me more. Much more." She punctuates the last word by taking your other nipple into her mouth, sucking on it with a greedy, demanding pressure that mirrors the rhythmic pull of her hand on your shaft. "And you will give it to me."
And she’s right. Fuck, she’s absolutely, undeniably right. Your cock is already granite-hard again, throbbing in her skilled grip, every nerve ending in your body screaming for more of her, more of this. The lingering exhaustion is a distant memory, burned away by this fresh, potent wave of desire she’s so effortlessly conjured. The slight ache in your balls is back, but it’s a good ache now, a heavy, needy throb that promises another explosive release if she keeps this up.
Her hand on your reawakened cock is a brand, her touch electric. The soft, rhythmic stroking, combined with the devastating assault on your nipple, is a one-two punch of pure, unadulterated sensation. Your breath hitches, your hips giving a small, involuntary buck.
"That’s it, baby," Irene purrs against your chest, her lips still teasing your other nipple, her words a hot, damp caress. "Feel that? Already getting hard for me again. You just can’t get enough, can you?"
"Fuck… no…" you manage to groan out, your eyes fluttering. "Not… not when you do that…"
"Mmmm, I know," she hums, a smug, satisfied sound. "The night is far from over, supervisor.” Your cock is already iron-hard again, throbbing with a renewed, almost painful urgency against her skilled fingers.
With a lithe movement that takes your breath away, Irene shifts, disentangling herself from your chest and sliding down your body. She straddles your hips, her petite frame settling over you, and the sight of her poised above you: dark hair tousled, lips swollen from your kisses, her small, perky breasts bare and flushed, nipples still pebble-hard; is enough to make your vision swim. She reaches down, her fingers hooking into the waistband of her sheer black panties.
"You like these, baby?" she teases. "Thought you might."
She doesn't wait for an answer. With a slow, deliberate tug, she pulls them aside, hooking the flimsy fabric around one hip, exposing her pussy to you. It’s perfect. Pink, glistening, the inner lips slightly swollen and already dewy with her arousal. The dark thatch of hair above is neatly trimmed.
"Ready to feel me again?" she whispers, her gaze locked on yours.
Before you can form a coherent word, she’s lowering herself onto you.
The way she takes your cock is a revelation. There’s no hesitation, no tentative exploration. She knows her body, she knows yours, and she sinks down with a practiced, almost arrogant ease, her hips rolling, her inner muscles clenching around you, milking you from the first fucking inch. A guttural groan rips from your throat as she takes you deeper, her tight, wet heat a scalding brand.
"Fuck, Irene… so tight…"
"Mmmm, you love how tight my little pussy is, don't you?" she moans, her head falling back, her hands gripping your shoulders for balance as she starts to bounce. "Love the way it squeezes your big, thick cock?"
"Yes… God, yes…"
Her rhythm is insane. She starts riding you with a skill that leaves you breathless, her hips a blur of motion, bouncing, grinding, rotating in ways that hit every goddamn nerve. She’s not just fucking you; she’s performing, a symphony of sensual movement designed to drive you absolutely wild. Her small breasts jiggle with every thrust, the pink nipples bouncing hypnotically. You can see the way her pussy lips stretch, glistening, around the base of your shaft as she lifts herself up, only to slam back down, taking you to the hilt.
"Look at me, baby," she pants, her eyes finding yours again. "I want you to watch me ride your cock. I want you to see how much I fucking love it."
You can’t look away if you tried. The sight of her, so beautiful, so utterly consumed by pleasure, her body moving on yours with such raw, uninhibited abandon, is seared into your brain.
"You’re… incredible…" you gasp out.
"I know," she says, a smug, breathless laugh escaping her. Then her expression shifts, darkens. "But you’re getting distracted." Her free hand snakes out, unbelievably fast, her fingers wrapping around your throat, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to demand your absolute attention. "You close your eyes on me again, supervisor, and I’ll make you regret it. Got it?"
The sudden pressure, her fingers cool against your heated skin, the sheer dominance in her gaze... Your cock gives a hard, convulsive throb inside her. "Fuck… yes… Irene…"
"Good boy." Her grip loosens slightly, but her hand stays there, a possessive brand. "Now, look at me. I want to see that pretty face of yours when I make you feel good. I want to see every fucking expression." She punctuates the command by grinding down, hard, her hips rotating in a slow, torturous circle that makes you cry out.
You reach up, your hands finding her breasts, squeezing them, needing to touch her, to feel her. They’re soft, full in your palms, the nipples like hard little pebbles against your skin. "Fuck, your tits are perfect, Irene…"
She moans, leaning forward, pressing them against your chest as she kisses you, a deep, filthy, open-mouthed kiss, her tongue tangling with yours. "Mmmm, you like them, baby?" she whispers against your lips, her hips still moving, still squeezing. "You can play with them all you want… as long as you keep fucking me with that big, thick cock of yours—God, it’s so good—It fills me up so perfectly!”
You can see it then, when she leans back slightly, her stomach tight, the unmistakable bulge of your cock pressing against her lower abdomen, a clear testament to just how deeply you’re buried inside her, how perfectly her petite frame is taking every inch of you. It’s a brutally hot visual, a stark reminder of your size against her smallness, and the sight alone nearly pushes you over the edge.
"Jesus, Irene… I can see it… You’re so fucking tight…"
"I know," she pants. "Now make me cum, supervisor. Fuck me until I can’t see straight. I want your load. Give it to me."
This isn't the Irene from the office, the quiet, mysterious woman who barely met your eye. This is someone else entirely: a wild, insatiable creature of pure, unadulterated lust. And fuck, you love this Irene. You love every goddamn demanding, filthy, beautiful inch of her.
She rides you harder now, faster, her moans turning into raw, broken cries. Her body is slick with sweat, her muscles trembling with the effort, but she doesn’t slow down. She’s chasing it, that shattering release, and she’s dragging you right along with her. Her pussy pulses around your cock, squeezing, milking, each contraction an exquisite torture.
"I’m… I’m gonna cum…" she screams, her voice cracking, her back arching as her orgasm hits her like a tidal wave.
Her body seizes, her walls clenching around your shaft in a series of violent, unbearable spasms. She’s crying out your name, her head thrown back, her entire being consumed by the pleasure. It’s beautiful, watching her shatter like this, so completely undone, so utterly yours.
But she doesn’t stop. Even as the aftershocks of her orgasm ripple through her, her hips keep moving, a desperate, frantic grinding, her pussy still milking your aching cock.
"Fuck, Irene… I’m close…" you gasp out, your own release clawing at you. "I’m gonna cum…"
The moment the words leave your mouth, she’s moving. With a surprising agility, she pulls off your cock with a wet, sucking sound, her own body still trembling. Before you can even register what’s happening, she’s scrambling off the bed, dropping to her knees in front of you, her flushed face upturned, her dark eyes blazing with a renewed, almost manic hunger.
"Give it to me, baby," she pants. "I want it all over my face. Drench me. Make me your fucking whore."
Your brain short-circuits. Her words, the sight of her kneeling there, so eager, so fucking filthy, it’s too much. You get out of bed, standing in front of her. You grab your cock, your hand slick and shaking, and start stroking, hard and fast.
"Look at me, Irene," you growl. "Open that pretty little mouth for me."
She does, her tongue flicking out in anticipation. You stroke faster, your balls tight, your vision blurring. One more stroke… two…
"FUCK!"
With a guttural roar, you explode. Thick, heavy ropes of your cum shoot from your cock, spurt after spurt, splattering across her face. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t turn away. She takes it all, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment as the hot, sticky load coats her cheeks, her forehead, her chin. A thick glob lands on her lips, and her tongue darts out, instinctively licking it away, a soft, pleased moan escaping her. You keep cumming, more than you thought possible, drenching her, covering her, marking her as yours.
When the last pulse finally subsides, you’re left panting, your body trembling, your cock still twitching in your hand. Irene stays there, kneeling, your cum dripping from her face, her hair stuck to her slick skin. She looks utterly debauched. Utterly fucking beautiful.
She opens her eyes, her dark gaze meeting yours. There’s no shame there, no disgust. Only a wild, exhilarated pleasure. She slowly brings a hand up to her cheek, her fingers tracing through the thick, creamy mess, then brings them to her lips, sucking your cum from her skin with a delighted, almost reverent expression. Receiving your load like this, being painted with it, clearly turns her on as much as it does you. It feels fucking amazing, this raw, shared depravity.
You can't resist. You lean forward, your own body still thrumming with the aftershocks of release, and dip your thumb into the thickest patch of your load still clinging to her cheek. You bring your slick finger to her lips.
"Taste good, Irene?" you murmur.
Without a word, her eyes still locked on yours, she parts her lips and takes your thumb into her mouth. Her tongue swirls around it, hot and wet, sucking sensually, cleaning every last trace of you from your skin.
You let out a long, slow sigh, your whole body going lax. "That was… Jesus, Irene. That was fucking amazing."
She releases your thumb with a soft, wet sound, a tiny, almost smug smile playing on her lips. "It was, wasn't it?" she agrees, her usual quietness now laced with a husky, satisfied confidence. "Best Friday night I’ve had in… well, a very long time." She pushes herself up, her movements fluid and graceful despite the intensity of what just happened. "I should probably… shower now."
"Yeah," you manage, watching her. "Good idea."
She disappears into the en-suite, and you hear the distant hiss of the shower starting. You lie there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, your mind a blissful, empty buzz. Eventually, you push yourself up. You should probably leave, give her space. It’s the decent thing to do, right? Even if every fiber of your being wants to crawl back into that bed and wait for her.
By the time she pads back into the bedroom, you’re mostly dressed – pants on, shirt half-buttoned. She’s wrapped in a fluffy white towel that looks ridiculously large on her petite frame, her dark hair damp and clinging to her neck, her face scrubbed clean and glowing. She stops when she sees you, her brow furrowing slightly.
"You’re… leaving?" Her words are soft, a hint of something unreadable in them.
"Yeah," you say, trying for casual, even though your limbs feel heavy, your head still pleasantly swimming from the beer and everything else. "Figured I shouldn’t bother you. It’s late."
She walks closer, her bare feet silent on the carpet. She stops in front of you, close enough that you can smell the fresh, clean scent of soap and her skin. "You’re still a little drunk, aren’t you?" she observes, her gaze steady.
You shrug, a sheepish grin touching your lips. "Maybe a little. The beer was good. The company was… distracting."
"You can stay," she says. "It’s no problem. You shouldn't be walking around like that.”
You look at her, surprised. "You sure? I don’t want to impose."
"I’m sure," she replies. "The bed’s big enough."
And just like that, the decision is made. You reverse the process, now unbuttoning your shirt and taking off your pants. Irene takes off her towel, drys her hair, and puts on comfortable pajamas. You both slide into her bed, the sheets cool against your skin. She keeps a respectable distance at first, lying on her side facing away from you. You lie on your back, staring up into the darkness, your mind replaying the night’s events.
"That was…" you begin, "quite a night."
She shifts slightly, turning her head on the pillow to look towards you, though you can barely make out her features in the dark. "It was," she agrees, her reply just as soft. "It’s been a long time since I… since I had a night that good."
"Me too," you admit. The silence stretches for a moment, comfortable, intimate. "So, this whole 'not going out much' thing," you venture, remembering her earlier comment at the bar. "Are you, like, super strict with your routine? Or is it just a general aversion to humanity?"
"A bit of both, maybe." She pauses. "But it’s also… more than that." Her words are hesitant now. "I just… I ended up depriving myself of some things. For a long time. For my own good, I thought."
"Things like… fun? Or just human contact in general?" you ask gently, trying to understand.
"Things like… letting go," she says, her meaning still veiled. "Being… open."
You process that for a moment. "Well," you say, trying to inject some lightness, "I hope, as your newly appointed (and incredibly charming) supervisor, I can attempt to bring a little more… spice? Unpredictability? Into your carefully curated life. Supervisors can be cool too, you know. It’s not all spreadsheets and passive-aggressive emails."
She gives a weak, tired chuckle. "You’re cool," she concedes.
Silence again. This one’s heavier, but it’s not uncomfortable. It wraps around you both like the comforter you’re only half under. Her presence is warm and grounding, even with the distance she’s keeping between your bodies.
And just when your mind starts fuzzing at the edges, drifting toward sleep, you hear it.
“…hey.”
Your eyes flutter, but you don’t answer immediately.
She tries again. “Hey. You awake?”
You manage a half-conscious “Hmm?”
“I… I need to tell you something,” she says, her tone suddenly different. Strained. Fragile. “And I don’t think I’ll get another chance like this.”
You roll your head a little, but you’re already falling. You’re trying to stay up, your body fighting it, but there’s alcohol in your blood and pillows under your skull and her voice sounds like a lullaby even when it’s trembling.
“It’s kind of awful,” she says. “I mean: I think it is. Most people would think it is. I don’t even know why I’m bringing it up. I guess… it’s easier when I can’t see your face.” Her voice catches. She swallows. “And I’m drunk,” she adds bitterly. “That helps. Brave little idiot version of me that only comes out after gin and zero lighting.”
You want to say something, your brain claws for words, but you’re slipping. The room is tilting, your breath slowing, mouth too heavy to open.
“I don’t want this to blow up,” she goes on, like she’s already sure it will. “But you’re… nice. Too nice. And I think it’s going to matter eventually. So maybe it’s better you know now.”
She turns, the sheets rustling. Her breath’s close. She's watching you.
“I used to do porn,” she says into the dark. “I know it’s horrible. But, God, I liked it. Not just the attention, not just the money. I liked the sex. I was… addicted. Like, actually. Probably still am. I think I’m a… I don’t know. A nympho? That sounds dramatic. But it’s true. And I’m terrified you’re gonna look at me differently if you ever find out. Like it’ll be all you see. Like I’m… stained.”
A sharp breath.
“You probably will look at me differently. If not now, then later. And that’ll kill me. Because I think I actually like you. And you’re the first person in forever who makes me feel like I don’t have to hide.”
Her hand reaches out under the blankets, not to touch you, just to rest nearby.
“I’m still not sure if I’m ashamed because I regret it… or because I liked some of it too much. Isn’t that worse?” She exhales. “I tried to cut it all off. Cold turkey. Quit the industry. Quit everything. No sex. No relationships. No late nights. No bars. No letting anyone get close. I started hiding from everything I wanted. Because I had to. My last relationship was a disaster. Everything fell apart. I wanted to be invisible again. Safe. And I thought if I worked a boring job, wore boring clothes, kept my mouth shut, nobody would see me. Nobody would want me.” She pauses. The next words are like admitting a sin:
“And then you saw me.”
“You were kind to me. Just… kind. That’s all it took. And I started feeling again. I tried to fight it. I told myself you were just being nice. That it wasn’t anything. But every time you smiled, or made some dumb joke, or talked to me like I mattered… I couldn’t stop it.” She sounds exhausted. Hollow. “You’re the first person I’ve wanted to kiss in years. The first one I’ve wanted to touch. The first one I’ve let into my bed. And I hate that I like you. I hate that it scares me. Because I’m not… good.”
Her voice breaks, just a little.
“I’m not someone who deserves soft things. Or quiet moments. Or this stupid, beautiful night.” Another deep breath, followed by a silent bitter laugh. “And you’re asleep. Of course you’re asleep.”
She waits. Hopes, irrationally, for some murmur of understanding, some unconscious twitch of your hand to say you’re still with her. But there’s nothing. Nothing. Your chest rises, falls. Silent. Peaceful. Asleep.
Another rustle of sheets as she rolls back onto her side, facing away again.
“Maybe that’s better,” she whispers. “Maybe if you knew, you’d leave. Or worse… maybe you’d stay for the wrong reasons. I just wanted you to know. Even if you never hear it.”
She tugs the comforter up to her shoulders, folds in on herself, and presses her forehead to the pillow, eyes closed, breath warm against the sheet. And then she whispers one last thing. So quiet it almost doesn’t exist:
“Please... don’t hate me.”
—
The days that follow are not what you expected. Not at all. After that night, after the intensity, the confessions, the shared intimacy, you thought you’d climbed a new step with Irene, reached a new layer. You imagined easier smiles in the office, maybe even her initiating a coffee break, a casual lunchtime chat. You pictured the comfortable progression from Friday night drinks to something… more.
Instead, it’s like you’re back at square one. Worse, even.
Irene is a ghost again, but this time, her politeness is tinged with an almost painful discomfort. She still does her work, still impeccably, but she avoids your gaze. Your attempts at casual conversation are met with short, clipped answers. The easy banter, the shared laughter from that night at the bar; it’s all gone, replaced by a strained, awkward formality.
You try, of course you try. You invite her to your apartment to watch that terrible sci-fi series you’d bonded over. "Sorry, I have plans," she’d murmured, not looking at you. You suggest grabbing a quick drink after work, just like before. "I can’t, I’m busy." Even a casual, "Hey, fancy grabbing lunch in the park? Sun’s actually out for once," is met with a polite, "Thank you, but I brought my own."
Each refusal is a small, sharp sting. Always polite. Always with a hint of something that looks like regret, or discomfort, in her eyes. But always a refusal.
You know what this means, or at least, you think you do. She regretted that night. Of course she did. She was drunk. You were too. Maybe she was feeling lonely, vulnerable, and just got carried away by the alcohol and the moment. You probably came on too strong, misread the signals, pushed too hard, too fast. And now you’ve messed it up, scared her off, ruined whatever fragile connection you were starting to build. The thought settles in your gut like a cold, heavy stone. You fucking idiot.
Weeks bleed into each other. The distance between you and Irene solidifies, an invisible wall of her polite deflections and your own frustrated, confused silence. You stop trying so hard. What’s the point?
Then, the email from HR lands in your inbox. A reminder: Irene Bae’s casual contract is due to expire at the end of next week. Department heads need to submit any recommendations for extension or permanent placement by close of business Friday.
Your office feels colder than usual when you call her in. You keep your expression neutral, professional, as she walks in and sits in the chair opposite your desk. She doesn’t meet your eye, her gaze fixed on a point somewhere over your left shoulder.
"Irene," you begin, your own words sounding unduly formal. "Thanks for coming in. As you know, your current contract is… coming to an end." You pause, waiting for some reaction, any reaction. Nothing. She just sits there, perfectly still, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "HR needs a final decision regarding the full-time offer we discussed. This is… well, this is pretty much your last chance to decide." You try to keep the disappointment, the faint, stupid hope, out of your delivery. "So, I need to ask. What conclusion have you reached?"
She takes a slow, deliberate breath. Her gaze is still averted, focused on the framed print of some abstract cityscape hanging on your wall. When she finally speaks, her reply is short and cold.
"I… I’m going to have to decline the offer.”
You look at her. She’s still not meeting your eye, her gaze resolutely fixed on that abstract cityscape print on your wall as if it holds the answers to the universe. Her hands are clasped so tightly in her lap, her knuckles are white. You know. Of course, you fucking know. It’s not about the job, not really. It’s about that night. It’s about you.
"Irene," you begin, your carefully constructed professional composure starting to fray at the edges. You try to keep your delivery even, reasonable. "That… that doesn’t make a lot of sense, professionally speaking. This isn't just a casual offer. It’s a permanent position. Full benefits package, paid time off, a significant salary increase from your current rate. Henderson genuinely likes your work; he specifically mentioned your efficiency with the merger data. This office… it’s a good environment. People respect you here. There's clear potential for promotion down the line, further salary increases. Turning this down… frankly, it’s not a rational career move for someone with your skills."
You’re laying it on a bit thick, the corporate spiel, but you need her to see, to understand that you’re trying to offer her something good, something stable. Something she deserves.
Still, she doesn’t look at you. "I understand the terms, and I appreciate the opportunity." Her words are precise, almost robotic.
"Then what is it?" you press, a note of frustration creeping in despite your best efforts. "Because it sounds like you’re about to walk away from a genuinely great opportunity for no good reason." You lean forward, resting your elbows on your desk. "Irene… I know why you want to turn this down."
Her head snaps up at that, her dark eyes finally, belatedly, meeting yours. "No," she says, her reply sharper than usual, cutting through her quiet demeanor. "You don’t know."
"I think I do," you insist, your gaze holding hers. "It’s because of what happened between us, isn’t it? That night. After the bar."
Her expression shutters again, becoming unreadable, guarded.
"Look," you continue, softening your approach, trying to sound reassuring, "if that’s what this is about… if you’re sorry it happened, or if you felt pressured, or if you’re just uncomfortable now… it’s okay. I get it. I swear, I won’t pressure you, I won’t bother you at work. We can just… go back to how things were. Professional. I respect you, Irene. Your decision, whatever it is." You’re laying your cards on the table, trying to give her an out, trying to make this easier for her, even if it twists something in your own heart.
"It’s not because of you."
Not because of you? Then what the hell is it? "Then what?" you ask, genuinely bewildered now. "What’s the reason, Irene? Because I’m not seeing it."
She sighs, a tiny, almost inaudible sound. "It’s… complicated." She pushes her chair back slightly, her hands gripping the armrests. "I should probably just… go." She starts to get up, a clear intention to flee in her movements.
"No." The word is out before you can stop it, sharper, more commanding than you intended. You’re on your feet too, moving around your desk, stopping her before she can reach the door, positioning yourself between her and her escape route.
She freezes, her eyes wide, trapped.
"Irene, wait," you start, “okay, look. I’m sorry. For… for what I did. For that night. We were both drunk, I know that. And if you’re uncomfortable now because of it, if I made you feel… pressured, or weirded you out, then I am truly sorry. That was never my intention. I just… I thought you liked me too. I guess I misinterpreted things." God, you sound like a desperate idiot.
"I do like you," she says. "I told you that. At the bar."
"Yeah, but…" you trail off, running a hand through your hair in frustration. "I thought you were just… drunk. Saying things. I didn’t think…"
"That’s the problem," she cuts in. "Liking you. That’s the problem." She finally looks up at you. "If I stay here… in this job… in the same environment as you… things will… they’ll develop." Her gaze is pleading, desperate. "And I know how it will end."
You stare at her, completely lost. "Develop? End? I… I’m confused, Irene. Is it so bad? Liking me?"
A sad, hollow little laugh escapes her, a sound that tears at something inside you. It’s devoid of any humor, filled only with a deep, weary pain. "Oh, you have no idea. It’s not about whether liking you is bad." She looks up, her dark eyes swimming with unshed tears. "It’s that I’m afraid. I’m afraid of liking you."
"But… it’s mutual, Irene," you say, stepping closer, wanting to reach out, to comfort her, but holding back, unsure. "I like you. A lot. I… I thought that was obvious. The way I act around you, the way I talk to you…"
"I know," she whispers, a single tear finally escaping, tracing a path down her cheek. She doesn’t wipe it away. "I know you do. You… you treat me so well. Better than I deserve."
"Don’t say that."
"But it’s true!" Her words gain a desperate edge. "And that’s why I’m afraid! I’m afraid you’ll… you’ll be disappointed in me. Like any other guy would be. Eventually."
"That won’t happen, Irene," you assure her, your conviction absolute, even if you don’t fully understand the depths of her fear. "Not with me."
Her gaze searches yours, desperate for reassurance, for a guarantee you can’t possibly give, not without knowing what demons she’s fighting. "How?" she breathes. "How can you be so sure?"
"You just… you have to trust me.”
She sighs then, a long, shuddering exhalation that seems to carry the weight of years. Her shoulders slump, her head lowers. "I… I have a past," she says. "A past that I’m… I’m not proud of."
"It’s okay," you say gently. "Everyone has things in their past they’re not proud of, Irene. That doesn’t define who you are now."
She shakes her head, still not looking at you. "No, this is… this is different." She takes another shaky breath. "When I was younger… much younger… I… I was a porn star." The words come out in a rushed, choked whisper, as if saying them aloud might shatter her. "For three years."
Porn star. Irene? Your quiet, meticulous, reserved Irene? Your brain struggles to reconcile the image with the woman standing before you, so vulnerable, so afraid.
"I… I almost told you," she continues, her words tumbling out now, as if a dam has broken. "That night, at my apartment… when we were in bed. When I was drunk and feeling… brave. But you were already asleep. And I just… I gave up. Maybe, I thought, maybe it was better that way. Better for you not to know."
She finally lifts her head, her eyes raw, pleading. "My last relationship… it was four years. And it ended the moment he found out about it. He didn’t just leave. He… he leaked it. To my work, to everyone I knew. As revenge. Because he felt… betrayed, I guess." Her words are choked with remembered pain. "I had to leave. My job, my apartment, everything. I was… traumatized. Completely exposed." She shudders. "That’s why I only work as a casual worker now. I’m terrified of staying in one place too long. Terrified that eventually… someone will find out. That it will all happen again."
She looks at you then, her face pale, her eyes wide with a terrible, naked fear. "So now you know… Do you… do you think I’m disgusting now? Do you think I’m a whore?"
You listen, your own expression carefully neutral, though inside, a storm of emotions is raging: shock, yes, but overwhelmingly, a deep, aching empathy for what she must have endured. Disgusting? Whore? The words feel alien, obscene when applied to the woman in front of you.
You step closer, very slowly, and gently, calmly, you reach out and take her trembling hands in yours. Her skin is cold.
"No, Irene," you say, your gaze holding hers, willing her to believe you. "No, I don't think you're disgusting. And I sure as hell don't think you're a whore." You give her hands a gentle squeeze. "I am no one to judge you. No one. And what you went through… at your old work, with your ex… Jesus, Irene, I am so incredibly sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine the trauma of feeling exposed like that, of having your life and your privacy violated so brutally."
She stares at you, her lips parted, her dark eyes wide with a dawning, incredulous surprise. It’s as if she was braced for a blow, and instead, you offered her… understanding.
"The job offer," you continue, your tone unwavering, "it still stands, Irene. Henderson wants you because you’re brilliant. I want you here because this team, this office, is better with you in it. That hasn’t changed. Nothing has changed that."
"You’re… you’re serious?"
"Deadly serious," you affirm. "The contract is yours if you want it. No questions asked, no judgments made." You pause, then take another step closer, your grip on her hands tightening just a fraction. "And more importantly, Irene…" Your words are softer now, laced with all the unspoken emotion that’s been building between you for weeks. "I still want to keep… seeing you. Dating you. Whatever this is that we’re starting." You search her eyes. "If… if you still want to, of course. After all this."
For a long, breathless moment, she just looks at you, her expression a maelstrom of shock, relief, and a fragile, burgeoning hope. Then, slowly, wordlessly, she steps forward, closing the small distance between you. Her hands leave yours, sliding up your arms, to your shoulders, and then she’s rising on her tiptoes, her face lifting to yours.
Her lips meet yours, soft, hesitant at first, then deepening with a desperate, grateful intensity. It’s not like the hungry, alcohol-fueled kisses from before. This is something else entirely. It’s a kiss of acceptance, of relief, of a future that suddenly feels possible again. When she finally pulls back, her eyes are shining, her cheeks wet, but she’s smiling. A real smile. Radiant.
"Yes," she whispers, but the words come out clear as day. "Yes to both.”
—
Two months have passed since the night Irene told you her secret. You hadn’t pressured her for details after that. You figured she’d share more when she was ready. And maybe you’re dying to know, because there’s a whole life behind those eyes you’re only just beginning to uncover, but you’ve kept quiet. The important thing is simple: Irene’s here, now, with you. Not a passing contract worker anymore, but a full-time part of the company, of your team, of your life. She’s taken root, quietly but firmly, in your space.
And the sex? If anything, it’s only gotten wilder, like with the weight of her secret off her chest, she’s finally able to let go in ways you hadn’t seen before. The shy smiles, the slow, calculated movements…still there, sure, but now layered with something hungrier, less reserved, like she’s reclaiming something with every time you push her over the edge. You love it. Love her.
Which brings you to today. Your birthday. You didn’t tell anyone at work, not even Seulgi, who usually insists on dragging your ass out for overpriced cocktails every year. No thank you. You didn’t want a party. All you wanted was your day off, the luxury of doing absolutely nothing with Irene. You arranged to meet her at 6:00 PM at your apartment, which left your afternoon free. You went for a run in the park, as you usually do, and for some reason, the day feels brighter; maybe because it’s your birthday, or maybe because you know you’ll be seeing Irene in just a few hours. The air was cool, but the city was beautiful, glinting in that late afternoon gold.
By the time you got home, you were sticky with sweat, a faint sheen from the walk making your shirt cling to your back. You opened the door expecting the familiar sprawl of your apartment (the faintly messy pile of laundry on the chair, the open laptop on the coffee table), but instead, you stopped dead.
She was standing there, barefoot on your rug, a modest little cake perched on the kitchen counter, a couple of small, wrapped boxes beside it, the faint scent of chocolate and flour in the air.
“Irene… what the fuck…” You blink, stunned, taking it in: the simple but unmistakable gesture. She’s dressed so casually it almost undoes you: black tank top, thin and loose enough that you can see the faint outline of her nipples beneath, and tiny gray cotton shorts that barely cover the tops of her thighs. Her hair’s pulled back, but messier than usual, strands framing her face. She looks so effortlessly gorgeous it pisses you off a little, how she always does this without even trying.
“You… you didn’t have to,” you say, still standing in the doorway, key half out of your hand. “Seriously.”
She shrugs, but her lips curl up, pleased. “It was a pleasure,” she says, walking toward you, her bare feet making no sound against the floor. “You deserve it.”
You exhale, feeling something tight release in your chest. She’s already so close now, tilting her head up to kiss you. You bend down automatically, catching her mouth in yours, slow and grateful. She tastes like the chocolate she must’ve sampled from the cake.
You pull back, brushing your thumb over her cheek. “I’m just gonna take a quick shower. I’m disgusting after that walk.”
She smirks, and her hand snakes out, giving your ass a firm squeeze. “But you look hot like that.”
You laugh, rolling your eyes. “It’ll be quick.”
She lets you go with a small, satisfied hum, and you head to the bathroom, stripping as you go. Under the hot spray, you let your muscles relax, your mind drifting. This week’s been a nightmare: training a bunch of new hires who couldn’t give a shit about what you say, their apathy bleeding into your own work, your inbox piling up, everything a fucking mess. You rinse your hair, scrubbing shampoo out, and call out loud enough for her to hear in the other room.
“I swear to god, babe, this week’s been brutal. I’ve been babysitting these useless newbies, none of them care, none of them listen—” You towel off roughly, stepping out, water still dripping down your chest. “—and I still have to keep up with all my own shit. It’s like I’m doing two jobs.”
You walk into the bedroom, still talking as you rub the towel over your head. “I should’ve just told Henderson to shove it and let them sink.”
And then you stop mid-sentence.
She’s standing there.
Naked.
Not a single stitch of clothing, just her flawless, toned petite frame, the faintest sheen of lotion on her smooth skin, her black hair loose now, falling around her shoulders. And her nipples (your breath catches) her nipples are each dabbed with a smear of dark, glossy chocolate, the scent of cocoa rich and unmistakable from where you stand.
She tilts her head, eyes glinting with wicked amusement. “Do you really want to talk about work? And by the way, I don’t think you’ll be needing clothes right now.”
You’re frozen, towel hanging loose around your hips, your cock already stirring in response to the sight of her.
She steps closer, one slow, deliberate stride at a time, her bare feet silent against the hardwood. Her fingers ghost over the edge of your towel, teasing, tugging, and with a practiced flick, she pulls it free. Your cock springs up, hard and ready, and she smiles like she expected nothing less.
“You didn’t really think cake and presents were your only gifts, did you?” she murmurs, eyes dropping to your length appreciatively.
Before you can answer, she pushes you gently but firmly backward, making you sit on the bed. You fall back onto the mattress, legs spread, leaning on your elbows, watching her climb up, her knees on either side of your thighs.
“It’s time for your second gift,” she says.
She shifts forward, and her small, perfect breasts are suddenly right there in front of you, chocolate gleaming on her tight little nipples.
You groan, sitting up and catching one of her nipples in your mouth without hesitation. You suck hard, your tongue circling the hard peak to clean away the bittersweet smear of chocolate. She lets out a soft, sharp gasp, her fingers immediately threading through your damp hair, gripping the strands, holding your head firmly in place. You take that as an invitation.
You drag your tongue over every last trace of the chocolate, lapping at her skin, feeling the delicate flesh swell and tighten even more under your attention. The taste is insane; dark, rich chocolate melting into the salty, warm taste of her skin. Once the first nipple is clean, glistening, and pink from the friction of your tongue, you move to the other. This time you start with your teeth, grazing them ever so gently over the hardened bud.
She shivers violently, a full-body tremor, her hips giving a small, involuntary buck against the mattress. "Fuck… yes…" she pants. "Right there… don't stop."
"You like that?" you murmur against her breast, your hot breath making her shiver again. "Like it when I bite?"
"I… fuck, yes," she admits, her hands tightening their grip in your hair, almost pulling. "Bite it harder."
You do, clamping your teeth down just enough to make her gasp again, a sharp, pained-pleasured sound that makes your cock throb. Then you soothe the faint mark with your tongue, lapping at her, sucking her deep into your mouth until her moans become a steady, breathless rhythm.
"Fuck," you breathe, finally pulling back to look at her, your lips wet and dark with chocolate. "You taste so fucking good."
She smirks. "I know," she purrs. "I was hoping you'd think so." She leans forward, her clean, hard nipples brushing against your lips. "They're all yours tonight, supervisor. A birthday present. You can do whatever you want to them."
"Anything?" you ask.
"Anything," she confirms, her eyes glinting. "Suck them, bite them, cover them in your cum… Just make them feel good. Make them feel used."
That's all the permission you need. You dive back in, taking her left nipple into your mouth again, but this time your assault is rougher, needier. You suck hard, creating a powerful suction, pulling at the flesh, your tongue a relentless engine against the peak. She cries out, a raw, open-mouthed sound, her body instinctively pressing closer against yours.
"God, you're so fucking sensitive," you mutter against her skin, loving the way her body reacts to your every touch. "I love how your nipples get so hard for me, how they just stand at attention, begging for my mouth."
"They are," she gasps, her hips starting to writhe. "They've been aching for you… for weeks… every time you look at me in the office…"
You pull away from her breast just enough to trail a line of wet, open-mouthed kisses up her chest, over her collarbone, until you reach her mouth. You capture her lips in a deep, filthy kiss. Your tongue, slick with her taste and melted chocolate, plunges past her teeth, and she meets it eagerly, her own tongue wrestling with yours. You let her taste herself on you, the sweetness of the chocolate mingling with the salt of her skin.
When you finally break the kiss, you're both panting, a string of saliva connecting your mouths. "See?" you breathe. "I told you you taste good."
Irene licks her swollen lips, a dazed, utterly debauched look in her eyes. "Fuck," she whispers. "You're right." Her gaze drops from your eyes to your mouth, then back up again. "You know what else tastes good?” she asks, cupping the back of your head and guiding you down, down until your shoulders hit the mattress again. Then she moves, her thighs sliding up, one smooth motion as she positions herself right over your face, her pussy bare and slick, already dripping for you.
You barely manage a breath before she lowers herself onto you, her inner thighs framing your face, her weight pressing you down in the best possible way.
“This will be more delicious than the cake,” you say, voice muffled against her.
Irene smiles down at you lazily, like a queen about to settle onto her throne. Her hands find the headboard above your head, bracing herself, and then, finally, she lowers herself onto your mouth, her warmth enveloping you, her thighs tightening around the sides of your head.
The first contact is enough to make your cock twitch against your stomach. You slide your hands up the backs of her thighs, fingertips tracing the toned, soft muscle there, and then up further to her ass, gripping it firmly as you pull her closer, burying your face in her cunt. She’s soaked already, the slickness smearing across your lips and chin as you flatten your tongue and drag it slowly from the very base of her slit all the way up to her clit, savoring every second.
She lets out a sharp gasp, her hips twitching forward instinctively.
“Shit…” she breathes, looking down at you, her expression already beginning to shift from teasing control to raw need.
But for now, she’s still in charge. She rocks her hips forward just a little, her pussy sliding wetly over your mouth and nose, smearing you with her arousal. You keep your tongue out, letting her use your face however she wants, just occasionally giving her little flicks against her clit to remind her how eager you are.
“You love this, don’t you?” she says, her tone soft but with that dangerous little edge that always drives you crazy. Her fingers tangle in your damp hair, holding your head still as she starts to move her hips in slow, deliberate circles against your mouth. “Love being under me… letting me use you…”
You can’t answer (she’s not giving you space to) but your moan is deep and guttural, vibrating against her slick folds as you slide your tongue back up to her clit and start circling it in slow, agonizingly steady motions.
“Mmm, fuck…” she exhales, head falling back slightly, her chest rising and falling with quickening breaths.
She’s setting the pace. You know better than to rush her. Your hands stay planted firmly on her ass, kneading the flesh as she rides your face, her hips rolling smoothly, confidently. The heat of her grows with every pass of her pussy over your tongue, her slick spreading across your cheeks and chin, and every time you flick the tip of your tongue against her clit just a little harder, she gasps and rocks her hips more forcefully.
“You always… eat me so fucking good…” she mutters, her voice breaking into a breathy moan as you latch your lips around her clit and start sucking gently, your tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive bud.
Her thighs tense around your head, the muscles flexing beautifully as she grinds down harder, chasing more friction. The more you give, the more she takes, rolling her hips with more intensity, dragging her soaked slit all over your face, smearing herself on you like she owns you (and she does).
Right now, she does.
“Don’t stop,” she hisses through gritted teeth, her fingers gripping your hair tighter, anchoring herself as she starts to lose some of that controlled rhythm, her movements becoming more desperate, more erratic.
You moan into her, the sound vibrating directly against her clit, and she cries out, a sharp, needy sound that makes your cock throb with how much you want her. But this is her moment. You flatten your tongue again, letting her grind against it, letting her slide herself up and down at her own pace, her pussy getting wetter, creamier, with every second.
“Fuck… fuck, you’re making me so wet…” she gasps, looking down at you, her dark hair sticking to her temples now as her body starts to glisten with sweat.
She lifts herself slightly, just to reposition, then slams her hips down against your mouth again, harder this time, her pussy mashing against your tongue and nose. You slide one hand from her ass to her lower back, steadying her, encouraging her to keep going, to use you just like this.
You can feel the shift now. The subtle change in her moans, from teasing and playful to raw, involuntary noises she can’t hold back. Her thighs begin to shake slightly on either side of your head as she rides your face, her slick coating your lips and chin, the taste of her getting thicker, sweeter, more intoxicating.
“I’m so fucking close…” she whimpers, her voice cracking with how hard she’s working herself against your mouth.
You respond by tightening your grip on her ass, pulling her down harder, guiding her against your tongue as you focus all your energy on relentless, steady strokes against her clit. She gasps, her whole body shuddering above you, her head dropping forward so her hair hangs in her face.
“God… yes… just like that… don’t you fucking dare stop…” she growls, grinding her pussy against your face with wild, desperate circles now, her control all but gone.
The wet sounds of her pussy dragging over your lips fill the room, slick and obscene, her arousal practically dripping onto your chest now as she rides you, using your face like her own personal toy. You keep your tongue out, letting her smear herself all over you, letting her control everything, loving how small but powerful she is, how easily she can overwhelm you with just her hips and her need.
“Shit… shit…” she pants, her thighs clamping tighter around your head, her fingers gripping the headboard so hard her knuckles go white.
You feel it, the way her pussy clenches, her body going rigid above you as she slams her hips down one final time and cries out, a long, shuddering moan that echoes off the walls. Her whole body quakes as she cums, her pussy gushing over your mouth, slick and creamy, her arousal spilling down your chin and onto your chest as she grinds out every last wave of her orgasm against your face.
You don’t stop. You keep your tongue moving gently, lapping up everything she gives you, licking around her swollen clit and savoring the taste of her cum as she rides out the aftershocks.
Finally, after what feels like forever, she collapses forward, her body draping over yours, her chest heaving, her skin flushed and slick with sweat. Her thighs tremble as she slowly lifts herself off your face, and you look up at her, lips and chin gleaming with her wetness, your eyes glazed with pure, feral hunger.
She smiles weakly, her breathing still ragged. “Happy birthday…” she whispers, voice hoarse but full of smug satisfaction.
You grin, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Best fucking birthday ever.”
She laughs softly, leaning down to kiss you, tasting herself on your lips, her tongue slipping into your mouth with a slow, deliberate slide.
And then she pulls back, biting your lower lip gently, her eyes still dark with want.
“But we’re not done,” she says as her hand trails down your chest and wraps around your cock, already throbbing and slick with precum. “That was just your first gift…”
You groan, tilting your head back, already ready for whatever she has planned next as she shifts her weight and starts to slide down your body.
You laugh breathlessly, wiping the last traces of her slick from your chin with the back of your hand, still riding that high from having her grind out her orgasm on your face. “Jesus,” you exhale, your chest heaving. “That’s already the best fucking birthday I’ve had in years.”
She chuckles, low and throaty, still catching her breath. Then she leans in, presses a lazy kiss to the corner of your mouth, and whispers, “You haven’t even seen the best part yet.”
That pulls a grin out of you immediately. You squeeze her ass, your fingers digging into the soft but firm flesh, pulling her closer as you smirk. “Yeah? And what’s that?”
She pulls back just far enough to give you that look: mischievous, calculated, playful. Her lips tilt up in a smirk, then she bites the inside of her cheek and says, almost sing-song, “Wait here.”
Then she’s sliding off you, her bare feet hitting the floor with that soft, soundless grace that only she seems to have. You watch her as she pads out of the room, completely naked, that tight little body moving with unhurried confidence, her hips swaying just enough to make your already rock-hard cock give another desperate throb.
From the bedroom, you hear the faint sound of a zipper, metal teeth rasping open. A pause. Then some soft rustling. Your heart picks up, your curiosity burning, trying to piece together what the hell she’s planning. And then, her footsteps again, crossing the hall, getting closer.
She comes back into the room, eyes glinting, and tosses something at you. You catch it on instinct.
It’s a small bottle.
You turn it over in your hand, read the label.
Lube.
Your brows shoot up and you look at her, grinning in disbelief. “What the hell do you plan on doing with this?”
She climbs back onto the bed, crawling up slowly, deliberately, like a predator stalking prey, her eyes locked on yours, her knees spreading on either side of your hips until she’s hovering right above you.
“You’re the one who’s gonna do it.”
You blink, your brain still processing, the words sticking in your throat for a second. “Wait… what?”
She leans down, her lips grazing yours as she whispers, “Because it’s your birthday…” she kisses you, slow and soft, then pulls back, “…and because you’re such a great supervisor…” another kiss, deeper this time, “…you get the privilege of fucking my ass today.”
Your whole body tightens instantly, your cock jerking so hard it practically aches. You stare at her, eyes wide, like she’s just handed you the keys to some secret vault you didn’t even know existed. “Are you… are you serious?”
She sits back on her heels, all casual, like she didn’t just offer you the dirtiest birthday present imaginable. “Of course I’m serious.”
Then she reaches behind her, drags her fingers slowly down the curve of her own ass, giving one cheek a light slap, making it jiggle just enough to send your pulse into overdrive.
“It’s been a long time since I took it in the ass…” she says, almost absentmindedly, her voice that same casual, almost shy tone she uses when discussing quarterly reports, like this is just another item on her to-do list. Then she looks right at you, her eyes dark and steady, “…and I kind of love anal.”
Your jaw slackens a bit, your mind racing with images, with questions, with raw, hungry need.
She grins at your reaction, shrugging one bare shoulder. “Makes sense, right?” she adds, almost teasing. “Former porn star. Guessing I’ve done it… more times than I can count. It's part of the job.” Then her voice drops just a little more, breathier, more vulnerable. “But… it’s been years since I’ve had a real dick back there. Just… toys. Dildos.”
Your cock twitches violently at that, thick and hard, standing straight up against your stomach. You groan, dragging your palm slowly along your length, almost needing to ground yourself with the sensation. “Fuck, Irene…” you mutter, shaking your head. “I wasn’t expecting this.”
“But you like it… don’t you?”
“Like?” you laugh quietly, breathless. “This is… this is the best fucking gift.”
She smiles, pleased with herself, then crawls forward a little more, turns, and gets onto all fours right in front of you. That perfect little ass of hers tilted up, back arched so her cheeks spread just slightly, giving you the clearest possible view of her tight, pink little asshole. Your throat goes dry.
She glances back over her shoulder at you, smirking. “Well… supervisor… you gonna get started?”
Your heart is hammering out of your chest. “Damn right.”
You pop open the bottle of lube, the faint plastic crack of the cap clicking free, and squeeze out a generous amount into your palm. It’s cool and slick, coating your fingers easily as you rub them together, warming it up a little.
Without wasting any more time, you slide closer to her, one hand gripping her hip, the other bringing the lube to her ass. You let the first cold drop fall right onto her tight little hole, watching as she shivers at the sudden temperature shock.
“Ohhh… fuck,” she breathes out, her back arching deeper as her hands grip the sheets.
You smear the lube over her asshole with slow, steady circles, massaging it in, spreading it across the perfect crease of her ass, making sure it’s slick and glistening all over. Her cheeks are shining now, slippery under your fingers, and that tight little star is all slicked up, glistening and ready.
The more you work the lube in, the more she relaxes, her breaths coming deeper, slower.
“You’re loving this,” you murmur, running your thumb gently along the rim of her hole, teasing her.
She looks back at you, biting her lower lip, her eyes half-lidded with arousal. “You have no idea…”
You apply a little more pressure with your thumb, testing her, and she pushes back slightly, welcoming it, her body already opening up for you.
“Mmm… that’s it,” you say under your breath, gripping one cheek and spreading her wider, admiring the way her asshole puckers and flexes, slick and inviting.
The contrast between the shy, composed Irene everyone knows at the office, and the filthy, unashamed woman kneeling naked in front of you now, offering you her ass like it’s the most natural thing in the world… it’s fucking intoxicating. You love this about her. That duality. That quiet power.
You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the small of her back, your hand still massaging circles around her entrance, feeling her pulse there, steady and hot. She shivers again, but it’s not from the cold now; it’s pure anticipation.
“You sure about this?” you ask.
She laughs, breathless. “Don’t make me beg…”
You grin, sliding your lubed fingers lower, brushing her slick pussy briefly, just enough to make her moan softly, before bringing your hand back up to her ass. You add a little more lube to your fingers, making sure it’s dripping, then slowly, carefully, you press the tip of your index finger against her tight, pink hole.
Her breath hitches. Her whole body tenses as you apply steady pressure. The tiny muscle fights you for a second, a stubborn little ring, before it finally gives way with a soft squelch. You slide your finger in, just to the first knuckle. She groans, a low, guttural sound that’s half pain, half pure bliss.
"Fuck…" she breathes out, her hips twitching. "Okay… okay, that’s… mmm."
You wait, letting her adjust to the feeling of being filled, your finger still and warm inside her. Then, you start to move it, a slow, gentle circling motion. Her asshole clenches around you, tight and hot.
"Easy, baby," you murmur. "Just relax for me. Let me open you up."
She exhales, a long, shuddering breath, and you feel her body soften, her tight muscle relaxing just a fraction around your finger. You push in a little deeper, hooking your finger slightly, massaging her from the inside.
"Oh, god… that feels…" she trails off. She pushes back against your hand, wanting more. You continue the slow, steady rhythm, and she lets out a soft, contented sigh. "It's… it's so nice," she whispers. "To be able to do this again."
You keep moving your finger, feeling her pulse against the tip. "Do what, baby? Take a finger up your ass?" you tease gently.
She lets out a wet little laugh. "That too. But… just this. All of it. The sex… being filthy…" Her voice drops, becoming more serious. "But feeling… safe. Feeling protected while I do it. Knowing you’re not going to… hurt me at the end. Or judge me." Her hips rock back, pressing her ass more firmly onto your hand. "God, I’m so happy you didn’t give up on me. That you insisted on staying."
You slide your finger out slowly, coat it with more lube, then add a second finger to the first. You press them both against her entrance. She gasps as you work them in together, stretching her, filling her more completely.
"I would never lose a woman like you, Irene," you say. "You're the most beautiful, intelligent, fucking amazing woman I've ever met. Past, present, all of it. You're perfect."
She shudders as your fingers begin to move inside her again, a slow scissoring motion that makes her moan, a high, keening sound this time. She looks back over her shoulder, her face flushed, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
"Fuck… that’s…" she bites her lip, a shy blush creeping up her neck despite the raw vulgarity of the situation. "That’s… really nice of you to say, but… maybe we can leave the love talk for later?" she gasps out between moans. "Talking about these things while you have your fingers in my ass isn't exactly… the best time."
You bark out a laugh, the tension breaking. "You're right. My bad." You lean in and bite her ass cheek playfully. "Sorry for trying to be romantic while I finger-fuck you."
"It's okay, baby," she giggles, her whole body relaxing into your touch now. "Just… focus on the finger-fucking part for now."
"Whatever you want, boss," you say, grinning. You add a third finger, and she cries out, her ass clenching hard around you, starting a slow, relentless rhythm, pumping in and out of her tight little hole. The lube makes a wet, slapping sound with every thrust of your hand, a filthy soundtrack to her ragged moans. Her ass cheeks are spread wide, giving you a perfect, obscene view of her pink, stretched muscle gripping your fingers. You watch, fascinated, as she completely melts under your touch, her body surrendering to the pleasure.
"Fuck, Irene… look at you," you growl. You rotate your fingers inside her, feeling her stretch wider around them. She cries out, a sharp, high-pitched sound. "You're taking my whole hand like a champ. Just imagine how good this is gonna feel when it's my thick cock stretching you out instead."
"Mmmm… don't… don't stop," she pleads, her words broken by gasps as she pushes her ass back onto your violating fingers, meeting the pressure.
"Oh, I'm not stopping," you promise, your pace quickening slightly. You lean down, your lips brushing against her ear. "I think I'm gonna get addicted to this. To your perfect ass. I'm going to want to fuck it every single day." You thrust your fingers deeper, imitating a hard fuck. "How's that sound, baby? Waking up every morning with my cock already buried deep inside your ass, filling you up before you've even had your coffee."
Her response is a raw, guttural moan that vibrates through her entire body. Her hips begin to grind against your hand in wild, needy circles. "Yes… fuck… keep talking," she pants. "Tell me more… tell me what you're gonna do to my ass…"
You glance down between her thighs and your own cock gives a hard throb. A glistening, clear trail of her arousal is dripping from her soaking wet pussy, running down the inside of her thigh and pooling on the sheets. She's not even touching herself, but the thought of you fucking her ass is making her cunt gush.
"Look at that," you murmur, your free hand reaching down to trace the slick path of her juices. "You're so fucking wet for this, aren't you? So horny just thinking about my cock in your ass that your pussy is weeping for it." You dip your thumb into her slickness and bring it back up to her asshole, smearing her own cunt juice around the rim of her hole, mixing it with the lube. "Let's make it even messier."
"Please…" she whimpers, completely gone. "Please, just… fuck me… I need it…"
You pull your fingers out of her with a loud, wet sound. Her asshole, stretched and glistening, puckers greedily, empty for only a second. You can see how ready she is, how open you've made her.
You draw your hand back.
The sound of your palm connecting with her ass cheek is sharp and loud, echoing in the quiet room. A perfect, red handprint blossoms on her pale skin. She yelps, a shocked, ecstatic sound, her whole body jolting. She looks back at you over her shoulder, her eyes wide, dazed, and full of pure, unadulterated need. Her chest is heaving, her lips are parted, and her ass is red, abused, and beautifully, perfectly ready for you.
The lube glistens like syrup under the low light, a sheen coating the delicate wrinkle of her pink asshole, smeared slick between the cleft of her cheeks and dripping slowly toward the tight seal of her pussy. She keeps herself open for you, kneeling deep into the mattress, arms stretched forward, arching her back like a fucking exhibit. She’s panting, her head down, black hair spilled over her shoulder blades in wild, careless strands.
You trace the tip of your cock along the seam of her hole, barely nudging the outer ring, and she makes a noise: sharp, needy, almost angry.
“Don’t tease me,” Irene growls, hips pushing back against you, practically punching your cock with the weight of her ass. “Put it in. Now.”
You obey. You press forward slowly, resisting the urge to just bury yourself to the hilt and fuck like an animal. Her hole yields just a little, then grips you, impossibly snug, sucking you in with a hot, slick resistance that makes your whole body twitch.
“Oh fuck,” you mutter under your breath, biting down on a curse as the ring of muscle clamps around your head, slow and greedy, dragging every millimeter into her. “Jesus, you’re… tight.”
“I know,” she smirks into the pillow, biting down on her bottom lip as she breathes through the stretch. Her tone is breathless but taunting. “I haven’t been used in a while. Not properly. Not like this.”
You ease in another inch. Then another. Her asshole flutters and clamps, adjusting around your girth like it’s testing you.
“That’s it,” Irene whispers, then harder: “Keep going. All the way. Don’t you dare stop until your balls are fucking pressed against me.”
You grit your teeth, rocking your hips gently forward, both hands gripping her sides to keep steady. Inch by inch you sink into her, the resistance melting into slick pressure. She moans, a raw, throaty sound full of pain twisted with hunger. Her whole body shudders as the last inch disappears into her heat.
When your pelvis finally nestles flush against the swell of her ass, your balls brushing her dripping cunt, she exhales hard; like she’s just been filled with something holy.
“Goddamn,” you breathe, locked inside her, unmoving for a second, overwhelmed by the feel of it. “You’re gonna break me.”
“No,” she says, lifting her head just enough to look back at you. “You’re gonna break me. Keep moving, or I’ll sit on your face until you pass out.”
You pull back slow, dragging yourself out until just the thick head is left buried inside, then push back in with a slow, deliberate thrust that makes her whine low in her throat.
“That’s it,” Irene murmurs. “Nice and deep. I want to feel every inch. I want to feel it in my fucking stomach.”
You start to move, slow and steady, your cock plunging deep into the hot grip of her ass and pulling out again, over and over, building a rhythm. Her moans rise in pitch, sharp and cut with whimpers, but her ass keeps pushing back onto you, meeting every thrust with a greedy snap of her hips.
“Faster,” she snarls. “Don’t be gentle. I don’t want gentle.”
You pound into her harder, the slap of your skin against her ass echoing in the room, obscene and constant. Her back arches deeper, the curve of her spine a perfect invitation, and you drive in deeper still, your hands spreading her cheeks to watch your cock disappear again and again into that slick, stretched hole.
“Fuck yes,” she gasps. “That’s it. That’s your hole. Say it.”
Your brain is on fire, body wound tight, but you nod, fucking her faster, harder. “My hole. All mine. Fuck—so good, Irene.”
“Tell me what I am,” she spits, grinding her ass against you mid-thrust. “Tell me what you’re fucking.”
You groan, barely coherent. “My whore. My nympho slut. My fucking anal-obsessed goddess.”
“That’s right,” she laughs, low and mean, pleasure twisting her words. “I’m your filthy bitch. Keep filling me. I want you so deep I can’t walk tomorrow.”
You grip her hips and slam into her, cock buried to the base every time, her ass stretched wide around you. Her pussy is a mess now, slick and twitching, untouched and throbbing with every shockwave of your rhythm.
“Harder,” she snarls. “I want to feel your cock rearranging my guts.”
"Alright, ma'am," you growl.
You give her exactly what she's begging for. Your hips become pistons, slamming into her with a brutal, relentless force. All your strength is channeled into your cock, driving it into her ass again and again, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. The wet, slapping sound of your bodies colliding echoes in the room, obscene and glorious. You grip her hips so hard you know you'll leave bruises, using them as handles to anchor her as you pound into her without mercy.
Her moans shatter, turning into raw, animal cries of pain and ecstasy. She pushes back against you with every brutal thrust, her body a taut bow of pure sensation. You watch your cock disappear into her tight, glistening hole, the muscles of her ass clenching desperately around you. Her untouched pussy is a mess below, dripping her slick onto the bed with every jarring impact. She's so fucking hot, so insatiable.
"Tell me again what a filthy whore I am!" she snarls, voice cracking. "Tell me how much you love fucking my tight ass!"
"You're my perfect little anal slut," you pant, the words ripped from your throat as you continue your assault. "You take this cock so fucking good. Your ass was made for this. Made to be stretched, used, and filled by me."
"It was," she sobs, the words half-lost in a scream of pleasure. "It's yours! My ass is your fucking property! Now wreck it! Wreck me!"
Her body starts to tremble, fine tremors at first that grow into violent, uncontrollable shudders. Her asshole, which was already impossibly tight, clenches down on your cock like a vise, spasming, milking you with an intensity that almost makes you lose control. She's close. So fucking close.
"That's it, baby," you groan, feeling her body start to come apart around you. "You feel that? You're going to cum for me. You're going to cum all over my cock from your ass."
"I am… fuck… I'm… oh god…"
Her head whips back, a choked, guttural scream tearing from her lips as her orgasm hits her like a lightning strike. Her entire body locks up, her back arching so high her knees lift off the bed. Her asshole spasms violently around your shaft, a series of deep, rhythmic pulses that feel like she's trying to suck your cock clean out of your body. She’s coming, harder than you’ve ever seen anyone come, purely from the brutal, relentless fucking you’re giving her ass.
"FUUUUCK!" she screams as she shatters. Her body convulses around you, wave after wave of pleasure ripping through her. She's sobbing, drool trailing from the corner of her open mouth, completely lost in the overwhelming sensation. You don't stop, slamming into her through it, dragging her along the edge of that climax until she’s twitching, sobbing, her thighs soaked, everything between her legs shaking from overstimulation. Her asshole clenches over and over, like it’s trying to keep your cock inside her permanently. The sound of your name on her lips turns into a whimper, a plea.
And then she collapses.
She goes limp under you, body gone soft, her face buried into the mattress, hair plastered to her neck with sweat. You slow just enough not to hurt her more, but you're still buried in her, and she’s still trembling like something in her got snapped and rearranged.
You reach down, cup one hot, twitching cheek in your palm, fingers sinking into the softness, then you slap her ass. She jerks violently, crying out again, a fresh gush of wetness from her untouched cunt.
Irene’s panting like a dog, but she lifts her head slowly, pushing herself up on shaky elbows. Her asshole is raw and red, clenching around nothing now that you’ve pulled out, and your cock stands slick and flushed, aching to go again.
You run a hand down her back, smearing sweat, and watch her shiver under your touch, still catching her breath. She looks over her shoulder, eyes dark and dazed, lips parted.
“What now?” she asks, still high on it, a smirk tugging at the edge of her fucked-out expression.
You crawl over the mattress, slow and deliberate, the mattress dipping under your weight until you’re hovering above her. You reach out, brush her damp hair away from her cheek, and tilt her face toward you. Her eyes meet yours; you lean in and kiss her.
It’s not rushed. Not forceful. Just the soft press of your lips on hers, a quiet connection that feels startlingly out of place after how violently you’d just been inside her. But it fits. Her lips part easily, kissing you back, slow and sweet, her moan caught between you like breath being passed from one lung to another.
When you pull back, your thumb stroking gently over her cheekbone, you speak low and close.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
She blinks once, then laughs; a little stunned, a little disbelieving, the sound raspy and full of heat. She shifts onto her side, hair falling in her face, her lips tugged up into a crooked grin. “Jesus,” she murmurs. “That’s a hell of a romantic thing to say after you fucked my ass like it owed you rent.”
You laugh too, forehead pressed to hers, eyes shut for a second. “I mean it.”
“Yeah?” she whispers, her palm sliding up your chest, nails dragging faintly across skin. “You always get all poetic when I let you wreck my holes?”
“I’m discovering new talents,” you say, and kiss her again, deeper this time, longer, your tongue meeting hers slow and deliberate, savoring her like she’s the only thing that’s ever mattered. Her fingers find your hair, tangling in it, keeping you there until she finally pulls back, panting softly, her lips swollen and wet.
You straighten, letting your hand glide down her bare side, palm trailing over the curve of her hip. “Come on,” you murmur, fingers nudging at her.
She doesn’t move.
Instead, she stretches lazily, catlike, then rolls onto her back, arms above her head, bare chest rising and falling. “Make me,” she says, grinning like a brat, teeth flashing beneath the curtain of black hair stuck to her cheek. “If you want me up so bad, you better earn it.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“Oh, you’re in that mood again?” you mutter, and before she can blink, you lunge, grabbing her under the thighs, flipping her off the bed in one fluid motion. She shrieks, half-laughing, half-startled as your arms lock around her, her bare ass landing square in your hands.
“Hey!” she gasps, but she’s laughing, eyes bright. “Assault!”
“You asked for it,” you growl against her throat, kissing her hard, biting the skin there just enough to make her squirm.
Still holding her up, you reposition your grip—one hand under her ass, the other around her back. Her legs wrap around your waist like it’s instinct. She clings to your shoulders, breath hitching as your cock brushes against her inner thigh, then her slick, drenched cunt.
You drag the tip along her folds, once, twice.
She gasps. “Fuck, fuck, I’m—” she starts, but your head nudges inside, the slickness between her legs so intense it practically sucks you in.
“Sensitive,” she finishes, her whole body jolting.
You groan as you push deeper, her pussy hot and swollen and soaked from everything that came before. She’s not just wet—she’s drenched, her folds clinging to your cock like velvet, the entrance spasming as you ease in inch by slow inch. Her breath stutters out of her mouth in broken moans, arms tightening around your neck, her nails biting into your skin.
“Irene—fuck—you’re soaking,” you hiss, your lips brushing her ear.
“I know,” she moans, her words thick with need. “It’s from before…I came so hard… ahh, god, don’t stop, don’t—”
You don’t.
You fuck her slowly in the air, each thrust smooth and deep, her weight light in your arms but heavy on your cock. Her pussy clenches with every movement, already overstimulated and begging for more. Her head falls back, exposing the line of her throat, mouth open in helpless pleasure as you move inside her.
Her moans get louder, warmer, wetter, her body rocking with every motion, the slap of skin against skin muted by the softness of her thighs wrapped tight around you.
“You like that?” you whisper, kissing her collarbone, trailing your tongue between the swell of her breasts. “You like getting fucked right after I ruined your ass?”
She nods frantically, face flushed, lips parted. “Y-yes, I—fuck, yes, I need this, don’t stop, I’m so close already.”
You kiss her, swallowing her cries, letting her whimper into your mouth as you keep thrusting up into her, slow and deep, filling her again and again until her cunt spasms, her whole body clinging to yours like she’s afraid to fall. Her moans melt into kisses, breathy, broken, desperate, like she’s trying to stay anchored through her own bliss.
And you just keep holding her, hips rolling, fucking her deeper… slower… not letting her come down yet.
Your arms are burning with the effort, but you don't care. The feeling of her wrapped around you, your cock buried deep inside her slick, hot cunt, is worth everything. Her body is a dead weight of pure pleasure, clinging to you, her head thrown back as you continue the slow, relentless rhythm. Each thrust is deliberate, deep, a lazy roll of your hips that slides you all the way in until your pelvis presses against her, then draws you almost all the way out before sinking back down.
She whimpers into your mouth every time you pull back, a desperate, needy sound. "Please..." she breathes against your lips, her own hips trying to buck, to rush the pace, to find the friction she so clearly craves.
"Shhh," you murmur, capturing her mouth in another long, slow kiss. "Just feel this, baby. Let me love you." You fuck her with an infuriating gentleness, your movements tender, almost reverent. It's the exact opposite of what her body is screaming for, and you both know it.
That’s the fucking point.
"You're... torturing me," she pants, her nails digging into the muscles of your shoulders. Her pussy is so wet it's practically frictionless, dripping down onto your thighs, but it clenches around your cock with a desperate, pulsing grip.
"Am I?" you whisper, your lips tracing a path down her throat to her collarbone. You continue the slow, deep strokes, ignoring her plea. "I'm just loving you, Irene. Showing you how much you mean to me. How perfect you feel." You thrust upwards, slowly, filling her completely, and hold yourself there for a moment, letting her feel every thick inch. She moans, a long, frustrated wail.
"No... please... I need it harder," she begs, voice cracking. She starts to writhe in your arms, trying to grind her hips against you, to create her own rhythm. "Fuck me... please, just fuck me properly."
You chuckle softly against her skin, a low, dark sound. "But I like this," you say, resuming the agonizingly slow pace. "I like feeling you squeeze me. I like hearing you beg." You kiss her again, a deep, possessive kiss that smothers her protests. You can feel the frantic, thrumming energy building in her, the pleasure coiling into a tight, unbearable knot of pure need.
Her body is trembling now, her skin slick with a fine sheen of sweat. "You're an asshole," she gasps, her voice a mix of fury and arousal. "You know what I want... you know what I need, and you're just... playing with me."
"I am," you agree easily, your hips still rolling in that same, maddeningly slow rhythm. "And you love it. Look at you. You're soaked. Shaking. Completely coming apart just from me being inside you."
"Then make me come!" she cries out, her control finally snapping. "For fuck's sake, stop making love to me and just FUCK ME! Fuck me hard! Use me like I'm a toy, like I'm just a fucking fleshlight you own! I need it! Please, I need you to ruin me!”
You kiss her neck gently, your lips brushing her skin in a gesture of pure affection that completely contradicts the filthy words she just screamed.
"A fleshlight?" you murmur against her ear, your voice a soft, teasing caress. "Is that all you think you are to me, Irene? Just a set of holes to use?" You slide almost all the way out of her, making her gasp and instinctively clench her pussy around the thick head of your cock, trying to keep you inside. Then you push back in, slowly, deeply, until you bottom out against her cervix. "That doesn't sound very romantic."
"I don't want romantic right now!" she cries. Her body writhes in your arms. "I want to be used! I'm just a cunt for you! A tight, wet hole for your big dick! Please, I'm begging you, just pound me! Pound my cunt until I'm stupid! Forget my name! Forget everything but how good it feels to fuck me!"
"Are you sure?" you ask, your voice still infuriatingly calm and gentle. You continue the slow, deep fucking, each stroke a deliberate act of torture. "Because I love making love to you, Irene. I love holding you like this. Feeling your heart beat against mine."
"Fuck my heart!" she sobs. "Fuck my heart and fuck my brain! Just fuck my pussy! Please! I'll do anything! I'll be your good little whore, I promise! Just stop teasing me! I can't take it anymore! I'm going to come just from this, and I'll fucking hate you for it!"
You stop moving.
For one torturous second, you are completely still inside her. She whimpers, her body frozen in anticipation. "Alright," you growl. "If you're going to beg for it like a good little whore, then I guess I have to give you what you want."
"Yes..." she breathes.
Your grip tightens, fingers digging into the meat of her ass as you slam her down onto your cock harder, rougher, the sound of her soaked cunt getting louder, wetter. The wet smack of flesh on flesh fills the room, and she yelps, then laughs through it, her eyes wild, her smile twisted with too much pleasure.
“God, yes—fuck me, use me—don’t stop—don’t you dare—”
You do exactly what she demands.
You use her.
You fuck her like she’s a doll made just to take cock, just to squeeze and stretch and be filled until her mind breaks and drips out of her pussy. You slam into her over and over, brutal rhythm, zero mercy. Her nails are digging into your shoulders, her forehead pressed to yours, moaning every breath into your mouth as her body takes the full force of your thrusts.
“Fucking hell,” you growl, gritting your teeth as her pussy tightens and pulses around your cock, “you’re taking it like a fucking slut, Irene.”
“I am,” she pants, the words shuddering out of her, “I’m your fucking slut—I’m your toy—make me fucking cum, I want it, I want it, please!”
You feel the change before you see it. The muscles inside her pussy, already clenched tight around you, suddenly begin to flutter, then seize, locking down on your shaft like a superheated vise. Her eyes, which were squeezed shut, fly open wide, not with pleasure, but with pure, unadulterated shock.
"Oh... oh my god... I'm..."
A sharp, strangled cry rips out of her as the first gush erupts from her cunt. It’s not just wetness; it's a hot, violent spray that shoots out, soaking your stomach and thighs, splashing on the floor below you. It’s a shocking, uncontrollable release, and her entire body locks up, trembling in your arms as she comes so hard she can’t breathe, can’t think.
You don't stop. You don't even slow down.
The sight, the sound, the feeling of her completely letting go like this makes you lose control. You keep slamming into her, your cock driving through the gushing fluid, making it splash and spray with every thrust. The fucking is louder now, wetter, a constant, obscene slapping sound. Another powerful torrent shoots from her, then another, seemingly endless. Her pussy is a broken faucet, gushing warm, clear fluid that runs in rivers down your legs, pooling on the floor.
"Aaahhh—fuck—it's still coming!" she screams. "I can't stop it—what's happening?! Fuck, fuck, don't you dare stop!"
Her legs, locked around your waist, are trembling so violently she can barely hold on. Her entire body jerks with every stroke, completely helpless in your grip. You fuck her through the flood, your own vision blurring, your body on fire. You watch her face, see her mind completely erased by pleasure, her eyes rolled back, her mouth wide open in a silent, unending scream.
You only slow when the last pulses drain from her, the violent gushes finally slowing to a warm, steady trickle down her thighs. Her limbs go limp, her body slumping against you, completely boneless and spent. She collapses against your chest, shivering and dazed, her entire body buzzing in the aftermath.
With a groan, you stumble back with her still in your arms and half-fall, half-sit on the edge of the bed. She’s still on your lap, your cock buried deep inside her wrecked, dripping pussy. Her arms curl weakly around your neck and she buries her face in the crook of your shoulder, her breath coming in shallow, trembling gasps.
You hold her tight, your own heart hammering against your ribs. Your hands slide slowly up and down her back, a soothing, grounding motion. You kiss her hair, her temple, the shell of her ear, whispering her name over and over.
Finally, you tilt her chin up to kiss her. Her lips are soft, wet, and slow to respond, her body still floating, completely fucked-out. She moans weakly into your mouth, a sound of pure, exhausted bliss.
When she pulls back, her eyes are barely open, her long lashes wet with tears and sweat.
"Mmm," she sighs, nuzzling her cheek against yours. Her gaze drifts down, looking at the mess. Your bodies are gleaming, the floor is soaked, and the air is thick with the clean, musky scent of her release. "Your cock is magic," she whispers. "That was… Jesus Christ. I don't even squirt. Like, ever. I think I've maybe done it once in my entire life, and it was nothing… nothing like that."
You chuckle, your forehead pressing against hers. "Well, I guess your pussy just really, really likes me."
"I guess so," she murmurs, a lazy, dazed smile spreading across her face. "Or maybe you just finally fucked me hard enough to break me.” Then her hand slips between the two of you, down to your lap. Her fingers wrap around your shaft, still rock hard, still throbbing inside her. “Are you close?”
You nod, your breath hitching. “Yeah.”
Her smile changes—still soft, but wicked underneath.
“Good.”
Then she pushes you back, palms on your chest, making you fall flat onto the bed with a surprised grunt. She rolls her hips as she pulls off your cock, the slick noise of her body separating from yours obscene, strands of wetness sticking to your shaft.
She straddles you like she owns you; knees braced on either side of your hips, sweat-slick thighs trembling but determined, ass flexing as she angles herself just right. You’re flat on your back, heart thundering in your chest, cock twitching and red and glistening with her slick, twitching against your stomach until she grips it with one hand, lines the head up with the soaked, glistening pucker of her asshole, and then sinks.
Your breath catches in your throat as her ass envelops you again, tight and hot, that familiar pressure building immediately as she sinks down with a slow, sinful twist of her hips. The tip slides in, and she moans, a low, guttural sound of pleasure and defiance, her back arching, hair sticking to her damp face. Her hole stretches around you perfectly, so perfectly it borders on painful, but she keeps going, inch by inch, until her full weight settles against your hips and you’re buried to the base.
You groan, your fingers digging into the sheets as her ass clenches around your cock like a fist. She lifts her head, licking her lips, eyes half-lidded with bliss.
“Still so fucking hard,” she murmurs. “You love my ass, don’t you?”
You nod, helpless.
“I could ride this cock all night,” she whispers, then smiles wickedly. “And I just might.”
She starts to move.
No slow buildup, no gentle grind: she fucks you, bouncing on your cock with reckless rhythm, ass clapping against your thighs, wet, loud, filthy. You groan through gritted teeth, hands finding her waist to keep yourself grounded, but it’s impossible to keep up with her. She’s wild. Even after cumming twice, even after being reduced to a trembling, soaking mess; she’s still fucking insatiable. Every drop of strength she has is poured into fucking herself on your cock like a nymphomaniac possessed.
“Oh my god,” you groan, hips thrusting up instinctively to meet her. “Irene—Irene, I’m—fuck—I’m close—”
“I know you’re close,” she gasps, riding you harder. “I can feel it. Your cock’s throbbing like it’s about to explode. Come on. Don’t hold back.”
She leans forward, bracing her hands on your chest, and slaps your face (not soft). Your head rocks to the side, the sting immediate, and your cock jerks hard inside her.
“Cum,” she hisses, breath hot against your mouth. “Fucking fill me. Cum in my ass. Do it.”
Your hands clamp onto her hips, pulling her down with every thrust, using her body like a goddamn toy, because that’s what she wants—her words, not yours. She’s a toy, a whore, a filthy little anal slut who wants nothing more than to milk the last fucking drop out of you.
“You wanna cum, don’t you?” she pants, her nails dragging down your chest. “I know you do. I can feel it. You’re right there. Do it—cum inside my ass.”
Your brain goes blank. There’s no air, no words, just pleasure, pure and blistering, like you’ve been set on fire from the inside out. Your whole body seizes, hips jerking up into her as the orgasm slams into you like a bomb.
“Fuuuck—” you groan, head thrown back, every muscle tightening.
You cum. Hot, thick spurts of seed shoot deep into her tight little ass, each pulse more intense than the last, her body milking you with every squeeze, every rhythmic clench. It pours out of you, heavy and helpless, so much it feels like your balls are emptying themselves completely into her. She moans low and deep as she feels it, still grinding, slow now, purposeful, drawing out every spurt like she’s harvesting it.
“Fuck yes,” she groans, eyes fluttering shut. “So hot inside me… I can feel it—all of it. So warm. So fucking full.”
You can't stop moaning, your voice a pathetic, broken thing in the quiet of the bedroom. Your orgasm has left you hollowed out, your body trembling and weak, but she’s still moving. Her hips continue their slow, tight circles, grinding your now hypersensitive cock against the walls of her asshole. Every tiny movement sends a jolt of raw, overstimulated friction through you that’s almost painful. Your semi-flaccid cock twitches again, spasming weakly, squeezing out another dribble of cum into the hot, slick grip of her ass. The wet, squelching sound is obscene.
“Jesus,” you whisper. Your hands are fisted in the sheets, your whole body tense. “Irene—I can’t—please, stop…”
She just laughs. It’s not her usual soft, sweet chuckle. This is a low, throaty, cruel sound that vibrates down through her body and into yours. She leans forward, bracing her hands on your chest, her sweat-slick hair falling around her face like a dark curtain. Her eyes are glittering with a wild, sadistic light.
“Stop?” she purrs, her hips not pausing their relentless, grinding motion. “Oh, baby. We’re not stopping. We’re just getting started.” She grinds down harder, a deliberate, punishing circle that makes you cry out. “Remember earlier? When I was begging you to fuck me harder, and you just kept going slow? When you were teasing me, making me wait, making me plead for it?”
You nod weakly, your eyes squeezed shut.
“Well,” she says. “Payback’s a bitch. This is my revenge. Now it’s your turn to beg. It’s your turn to lie there and take it, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how much you want me to stop. You don’t get to move. You don’t get to pull out. You just take it. Understood?”
“Irene… please… I’m empty,” you plead, your hips instinctively trying to squirm away from the relentless pressure.
Her hands shoot out, pinning your wrists to the bed on either side of your head. Her grip is surprisingly strong. “I said, don’t move,” she hisses. “And you are not empty. I know you, baby. I know your body. There’s always more. And I’m going to milk every last fucking drop out of you before I’m done.”
With your arms pinned, you’re completely at her mercy. She speeds up, just slightly. The slow, torturous grind transitions into a purposeful, steady rhythm. The wet, sloppy sounds of your cum lubricating her fucking get louder. She’s using your own release against you, turning it into a slick coating for her relentless ride.
“That’s it,” she moans, her own pleasure building again. “Feels so good, riding you when you’re this sensitive. I can feel your cock twitching inside my ass with every fucking squeeze. You love it, don’t you? Even though it hurts. You love being my toy.”
“It’s too much, babe…” you groan, your head thrashing on the pillow. Your cock, against all odds, is hardening again inside her, engorging with trapped blood, the sensitivity becoming an unbearable, burning ache.
“Too much? Oh, no. This isn’t even close to too much,” she taunts, her pace quickening even more. She starts bouncing on you, her ass slapping against your thighs, each impact sending a shockwave of sensation straight to your overstimulated nerves. “I’m not stopping until I cum again. And you’re going to be hard and buried inside my ass for that whole ride. You’re going to fill me up again while I’m screaming.”
She’s a fucking demon, a beautiful, insatiable nympho riding you into oblivion. She can feel you getting hard again, feel your body’s unwilling response. A triumphant, wicked grin spreads across her face.
“Oh, look at that,” she pants, her rhythm becoming frantic now. “Getting hard again for me. Such a good boy. You can’t help it, can you? Your cock just wants to please me. It just wants to be milked by my greedy little asshole.”
Her words are a death sentence to your self-control. Your body is already screaming, a raw nerve of overstimulation, but her filthy promises send a fresh wave of heat through you. You’re actually hardening again, impossibly, painfully, inside the slick, tight grip of her ass.
“You’re on the edge again, aren’t you?” she pants, her rhythm becoming frantic now, a brutal, merciless bouncing on your raw cock. “I can feel it. Your cock is twitching inside my ass, getting ready to shoot for me again. Good. I want it. I want your hot load coating my insides. I want to feel you pump every last drop into my greedy little hole.”
“Irene… please… I can’t…” you plead.
“Shhh. You don’t get a say in this. You don’t decide when you’re done. I do. I’m going to milk your balls dry, and you’re going to lie here and take it like the good little toy you are. I want to feel you come apart inside me. I want to feel you lose your fucking mind.”
She feels the tell-tale tremor run through you. She knows. A triumphant, wicked grin spreads across her face.
“Oh, yes… right there…” she hisses, her pace becoming even more punishing. “You’re going to give it to me now. You’re going to fill your whore’s ass up again. Fucking beg me for it. Beg me to let you cum.”
“Please,” you sob, the word ripped from a place beyond your control. “Please, Irene… let me cum… please…”
“That’s it,” she purrs. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”
She lets go of your wrists, braces her hands on your shoulders, and with a final, guttural cry of her own, she sits down on you. Hard.
The sudden, overwhelming pressure is blinding. It forces the air from your lungs in a choked scream. Your body goes rigid, your back arching violently off the bed as the second orgasm rips through you with a force that feels like it’s tearing you apart. It's a complete system overload, a raw, involuntary expulsion that is pure, agonizing bliss.
Hot, thick ropes of your cum shoot deep inside her again, flooding her, filling the space that was already slick with your first release. You’re screaming, incoherent, your mind completely blanked out by the intensity.
As you flood her, a sound tears from her throat; not a taunt, but a raw, shocked scream of her own. Her whole body locks up, seizing around you. Her ass muscles spasm violently, a deep, powerful clenching that milks you even harder, drawing out every last drop of your release. The sheer force of you coming inside her, filling her so completely, has pushed her over her own edge.
“OH FUCK!” she screams, voice cracking as her own orgasm hits her suddenly. She’s coming apart on top of you, her body convulsing, her mind wiped clean. You feel her climax in the way her inner walls flutter and pulse around your still-erupting cock. She’s coming from your cum, from the feeling of being brutally, completely filled.
She rides out the violent waves, her body still moving on instinct, until the last shuddering tremor racks through both of you. Finally, with a long, shuddering sigh, she collapses, her body a dead weight on top of yours, her face buried in the crook of your neck. You’re both panting, drenched in sweat, completely and utterly broken. Her ass is still wrapped snugly around your now-softening cock, your combined releases making a warm, sticky mess between you.
For a long time, the only sound in the room is your ragged, shared breathing. You stroke her hair, your fingers trembling slightly, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks. She feels impossibly warm, impossibly real, molded against you.
You let the silence stretch, letting the intensity fade into a soft, warm quiet. You feel her press a weak, open-mouthed kiss against your throat.
“I love you, Irene,” you whisper. It's the first time you've told her that. It feels like the only true thing in the universe right now.
You feel her tense for a second, then melt against you even more. She lifts her head, her face a beautiful wreck. Her eyes are hazy, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed. She looks at you, and the raw, unadulterated love in her gaze steals your breath all over again.
“I love you too,” she whispers back. She leans down and kisses you.
She pulls back, resting her forehead against yours. “Jesus,” she breathes, a shaky laugh escaping her. “No one’s ever… done that to me before.”
“Done what?” you murmur, your thumb stroking her cheek.
“That,” she says, her gaze soft and vulnerable. “Made me feel so… completely dominated. So used and broken. And then… made me feel so completely loved, all in the same breath. I didn't know that was possible.” She nuzzles her face into your chest. “I trust you so much. I can be… all of this… this filthy, needy thing… and I know you won't leave. I know you’ll still be here to hold me after. You are the first person to understand me completely."
You wrap your arms tighter around her. “I’m never leaving,” you say. “You can be whatever you want with me, Irene. Dominant, submissive, a fucking demon, an angel. It doesn’t matter. I’ll still be here. I’ll still love you.”
She sighs, a sound of pure, contented relief. “Good,” she murmurs, her eyes fluttering shut. “Because I think you broke my ass. You’re going to have to carry me to the shower.”
You chuckle, kissing the top of her head. “Deal.”
—
An hour later, after a long, hot shower that washed away the sweat and cum but left the buzzing, bone-deep satisfaction, you're both on the couch, tangled together in a thick blanket. The apartment is quiet and dark, lit only by the soft glow of a single lamp. You take the cake that Irene prepared and put it on the coffee table.
It's a rich, dark chocolate cake, with a glossy ganache frosting that’s a little uneven on the sides, a testament to the fact that she made it herself. A few simple, elegant chocolate shavings are scattered on top. It looks cute and real. You find a few candles in a drawer and stick them in the center.
"Alright, birthday boy," she murmurs. "Make a wish."
You look from the flickering candles to her face, her skin glowing in the warm light, her eyes soft and heavy-lidded with exhaustion and love. "Already got it," you say quietly.
You lean forward, and blow the candles out in a single, gentle puff. The wicks glow red for a moment before extinguishing, leaving thin trails of smoke curling in the air. You cut a large, messy slice and hold the fork up to her lips. She parts them, taking the bite, and her eyes flutter shut. A low, genuine moan of pure bliss rumbles in her chest.
“Holy shit,” she sighs as she chews slowly. “Okay. This is what I needed all along.”
You laugh, taking a bite yourself. "What, not the two hours of borderline-abusive anal sex?"
She nudges you with her shoulder, swallowing. “Okay, both,” she concedes, her lips quirking into a grin. “But this is a very, very close second. I can’t believe the cake actually turned out good. I had to whip it up in a rush before you got back from your walk.”
"This is honestly the best chocolate cake I've ever had," you say, meaning it. You pause, a wicked grin spreading across your face. "But... I think I still prefer the taste of it on your tits."
Her laugh is sudden and bright, a beautiful, airy sound. A faint blush colors her cheeks, and she hides her face in your shoulder for a second. "Oh my god, you're an idiot," she murmurs into your t-shirt, but she’s still shaking with laughter. “In my head it was an incredibly erotic idea.”
She leans her head against your shoulder, tucking her legs up under the blanket, and you both eat the cake in comfortable silence for a few minutes, sharing the fork.
“I really like this,” she says quietly.
“Yeah?” you ask, nudging her gently with your head. “What part?”
She sighs, a sound of deep, bone-deep contentment. “All of it. The chaos from earlier. The quiet now. You.” She pauses, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the blanket over your thigh. “Just… this. Sitting on a couch, eating cake. It feels so… normal. I haven’t felt normal in a very long time. I think I forgot what it was like.”
She looks up at you, her eyes wide and sincere. “For years, I just felt like this… lonely creature. Hiding. Just trying to get through the day without anyone really seeing me. It’s so nice to not feel like that anymore. To just be… here. With you. And for it to be this easy.”
You put the plate down and turn, wrapping your arms fully around her, pulling her into your lap. You kiss her forehead, holding her close. “This is your new normal, Irene,” you whisper into her hair. “You’re not a lonely creature. You’re my amazing, brilliant girlfriend who makes killer chocolate cake and who I get to come home to. You’re not alone anymore.”
She burrows her face into your neck, holding you tight. You feel a wetness on your skin and realize she’s crying, but it’s a quiet, happy, cleansing cry.
After a moment, she pulls back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, a watery but radiant smile on her face. She leans in, kisses you softly, deeply.
“Happy birthday,” she whispers again against your lips. “This was a really good day.”
—
It’s deep into the night by the time you make it to bed. The room’s completely dark except for the faint glow of the city filtering in through the slats in the blinds. Irene’s lying on her side, bare under the sheets, one leg tangled with yours, her fingers lazily drawing circles on your chest.
“Can I tell you something?”
You turn to face her. “Always.”
She takes a breath. “It’s… about my past. The… stuff I used to do.”
You nod, gently brushing her hair back from her face. “You don’t have to, if you’re not ready.”
“No. I want to.” Her hand presses against your sternum, anchoring herself. “I just haven’t really… said this out loud in a long time. But I think it's time to tell you the whole story.”
You wait.
“I got into porn when I was twenty-one,” she says, slowly, like each word needs to be chosen carefully. “I was drowning in student loans. I’d dropped out after two years of college because I couldn’t keep up financially, and I was so fucking angry; at myself, at my parents, at the system. I was doing retail. I was behind on rent. I was living in a place with mold on the walls, sharing a mattress with someone I didn’t even like.”
You nod, your hand finding hers under the blanket and squeezing it.
“People think porn is this glamorous, expensive thing you fall into because you’re greedy or slutty or broken. But it wasn’t like that. It was desperation. And curiosity. And yeah, maybe a little recklessness too.” She chuckles, but it’s dry. “I found an ad on the internet. It was a new adult film studio that was gaining popularity. I think it no longer exists today, but it was becoming well-known at the time. The ad didn't say much, just ‘professional shoot, high pay, women 18–30.’ And I thought… fuck it. What else am I gonna do?”
A new adult film production company
Your thumb runs along her knuckles slowly. She continues.
“I wasn’t scared, really. I was more scared of being broke forever. I’d always been… into sex. A lot. Like, way more than anyone I knew. Masturbating three times a day since I was a teenager. Hookups that made my friends call me names behind my back. But porn? It felt like a way to finally own that part of myself. Monetize it. Flip the script.”
She shifts, her cheek brushing your chest. Her voice steadies, but it’s raw.
“The first shoot was awkward as hell. I cried afterward. Not because I hated it. I didn’t. I liked it. I liked the power of it, the thrill of being watched, of giving someone a fantasy and being in control of how far I’d take it. After spending 1 week filming the scenes, I came home with two thousand dollars in a brown envelope and the weirdest feeling that I’d just started something I couldn’t undo.”
The way she talks—it’s not rehearsed. It’s not for pity. It’s like she’s finally giving herself permission to speak it out loud.
“And from there it just… grew. I filmed more. I used different names. I met people who pulled me in deeper. Some were great, honestly. Some were predators. But the money came fast. I paid off my college debt in under a year. Got a better place. Better food. Clothes. And I was fucking constantly. It was like being high.”
She pauses. Her fingers clutch yours tighter.
“I got addicted. Not to the money. Not even to the attention. To the sex. To the permission. Like I was finally allowed to be as filthy as I’d always been inside. And people were clapping for it. Commenting. Downloading. Jerking off to me. I became this thing. A brand. A body.”
You feel her exhale. Her voice cracks at the edges.
“Eventually I couldn’t tell where Irene the girl ended and Irene the performer began. I’d be doing grocery shopping and people would stare at me and I’d wonder if they recognized me. Or if I was just imagining it. I stopped dating. Who the hell wants to date a girl who’s had fifty dicks on camera? I started pulling back. Told myself I’d film one last scene. Then another. Then another… Eventually I met a guy, he was nice. And I thought maybe this was my chance to leave that world and live a normal life. I had no idea what was yet to come.”
Her voice fades for a second, and you hear her swallow.
"My relationship fell apart when he discovered everything. I had every intention of telling him the truth—I swear I didn’t mean to deceive him—but it was such a difficult thing to bring up. I was trying to find the right moment, building up the courage. By then, I had already left the adult film industry and was working a regular job, trying to move on with my life. But I waited too long, and somehow, he found out. I still don’t know how it happened. Maybe one of his friends stumbled across something and told him, or perhaps he came across one of my old videos online. It doesn’t really matter now. After that, my world unraveled. He told everyone: our friends, even people at the company where I worked. The shame and judgment were overwhelming. So, I just… vanished. I cut ties completely. Deleted all my social media accounts, changed my phone number, and moved to a new city to start over.”
You can feel her heartbeat through her chest, thudding softly against yours.
“And since then, I’ve been alone. Not just physically. I mean… alone. I didn’t touch anyone. I didn’t let anyone touch me. I thought if I deprived myself long enough, I’d stop wanting it. That I’d be better. Cleaner. Deserving of a different life.”
She lifts her head, finally. She looks at you like she’s terrified. And yet still determined.
“Then you came along. And for the first time in years, I wanted to want again. Not just for the release. But for the way you looked at me. The way you talked to me, saw me. You didn’t flinch. You weren’t scared. You didn’t treat me like I was made of broken parts.”
You move your hand to her cheek and stroke it gently.
“I was scared I’d fall back into old habits. That if I let myself be touched again, I’d become… her. That insatiable thing. The one who always needed more. But it’s different with you. I don’t feel empty after. I don’t feel used.”
She exhales, her lips trembling. “I feel… real. Like I can breathe again. Like I’m allowed to be who I am. And still be loved.” Then quieter. “You don’t think I’m sick, do you?”
Your response is immediate. Fierce.
“No. Not even close.”
Her lip trembles. “I’ve done things that would probably make you run if I told you. Stuff I can’t take back. And I still want sex. I’ll probably always crave it too much. I’m still trying to balance it. Be healthy. Not lose myself in it again. But it’s hard. It’s messy. I feel like damaged goods, sometimes.”
You cup her face in both hands, pressing your forehead to hers.
“You are not damaged. You’re not sick. You’re brave. You’re human. And you’ve survived more than most people even think about. You’re smart. You’re beautiful. And you have a right to want. To need. To feel.”
She lets out a sound like a sob, but it turns into a laugh, wet and breathless.
“Fuck,” she whispers. “No one’s ever said that to me. Not like that. I don’t think anyone’s ever seen me like this. Not even me.”
You pull her close, so close there’s no air left between you.
“You deserve to be loved, Irene. Every inch. Every version. Every mood. You deserve it.”
She stays curled against your chest, her breath soft and steady now, her body wrapped around yours like she’s trying to memorize the shape of safety.
“I was such a bitch when I started,” she says.
“You were not.”
“I kind of was.” She laughs quietly, her nose brushing against your jaw. “I didn’t talk to anyone. I barely made eye contact with you the first two weeks.”
“You were reserved,” you correct her gently. “Not rude.”
“I was terrified,” she admits. “Not of you, just… of everything. I had the feeling that I was constantly being watched. I thought I’d last maybe a month before someone recognized me. Before the whispers started.”
You nod, stroking her spine slowly with your fingertips.
“I almost quit the second week,” she confesses. “I wrote the email. Had my resignation drafted and everything. I thought it’d be easier to just run. That’s always been my thing—run when it starts to feel like people care too much.”
You tilt your head, nudging her nose with yours.
“But you didn’t.”
“No,” she says, a small smile forming at the corner of her lips. “You wouldn’t let me.”
You smirk. “That makes me sound controlling.”
She giggles, quiet and real, the kind of laugh she only gives you when it’s just the two of you in the dark like this.
“No, you were just… kind. And persistent. You kept checking in. Bringing me coffee even when I wouldn’t talk to you. Including me in conversations even when I’d pretend I was busy.” You shrug like it was nothing. Because to you, it was nothing. The bare minimum. But to her? It’s clearly more. “I don’t think I would’ve stayed if it wasn’t for you,” she says, voice dipping lower again. “You didn’t push. You didn’t ask too much. You just… let me be, while still reminding me I wasn’t invisible.”
Her fingers skim your jaw, thumb brushing lightly over the corner of your mouth. “So yeah. Thank you. For being patient. For not giving up on me before you even knew what I was hiding.”
You meet her eyes. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I didn’t know what you were hiding, but I knew you were worth knowing. That was enough.” She looks like she’s about to protest again, maybe deflect or crack a joke, but you don’t let her. “And for the record,” you add, leaning in just a little, your lips grazing hers, “you being here tonight? With me? That’s the best birthday present I could’ve asked for.”
Her eyes flutter shut for a second like she’s letting it soak in. Then she leans forward and kisses you, slow and unsure at first, but then deeper, warmer, like her body’s catching up to what her heart’s just now starting to believe. Her fingers wind into your hair, her chest pressing to yours, and her lips stay against you for long moments, whispering wordless thank-yous between every soft drag of her mouth.
—
Everything is fine. For months, everything is fucking perfect.
The revelation of Irene’s past, that raw, terrifying confession in the dark of your bedroom, didn’t break you. It bonded you. A routine settles in, easy and comfortable. She keeps the apartment, a permanent fixture now, her quiet confidence growing day by day. She starts talking to people more, a small smile here, a shared joke there. She’s still Irene, reserved, observant, but the wall of fear has been dismantled, brick by brick. She’s a common face in your life now, an essential one. Her toothbrush is in your bathroom holder. Your hoodie is her favorite thing to sleep in. You trade nights at each other’s apartments, building a small, shared world of takeout, inside jokes, and lazy Sunday mornings.
And the sex. Fuck, the sex. Knowing her history, knowing the deep well of experience she draws from, only makes it hotter. It’s not just a physical act; it’s a form of communication, a place where she can be completely, uninhibitedly herself. And you… you’re falling in love with her. It’s not a sudden realization, but a slow, creeping certainty that settles in your bones. You’re in love with every part of her—the quiet office worker, the demanding lover, the brave woman who is learning to trust again. Everything is fine.
Until today.
The office is quiet. It’s break time on a Monday. Half the staff are outside or in the break room. You’re just walking back to your desk after refilling your water bottle when you see it. A huddle. Four, maybe five guys from the junior sales and IT teams, clustered around a workstation at the far end of the open-plan space. Their backs are to you, their shoulders hunched together, their focus absolute.
You hear murmurs, low and conspiratorial. A snicker.
"…Jesus, look at her take that…"
"No way that’s really her…"
"God, I’d pay good money…"
A familiar, unpleasant prickle goes up your spine. You start walking over, your curiosity piqued. Probably just watching some stupid viral video or a sports highlight. You come up behind them, peering over the shoulder of some fresh-faced IT kid.
And then you see it. Your heart stops. Literally fucking stops. The blood in your veins turns to ice.
On the monitor, displayed for anyone to see, is a porn video. The image is sharp, clear, and utterly undeniable. It’s her. It’s Irene. Younger, yes, but unmistakably her. She’s on her knees, her mouth wrapped around some guy’s cock, her eyes looking straight into the camera with a practiced, dead-eyed expression that is so alien from the woman you know it makes you physically sick.
You freeze. For one, long, terrible second, your brain cannot compute. The two realities: Irene, your Irene - the woman who makes you laugh and brings you cookies, and this woman on the screen, a sexual commodity - violently collide, and your mind just… shorts out.
You don’t even think. You move. You shove your way through the huddle of gawking men, their surprised yelps barely registering.
"Who the fuck put this on?" you scream, your words ripping through the quiet office, echoing off the partitions.
Your eyes land on the person in the chair. It’s fucking Kyle. A newbie from the sales team, barely twenty-two, a smirking, entitled little shit you’ve disliked from day one, the kind of kid who thinks sexual harassment policies are just a suggestion.
You grab him by the collar of his preppy polo shirt before he can even react, hauling him out of the chair, slamming him back against the cubicle wall. His feet scramble for purchase.
"Was this you?" you roar, your face inches from his, your knuckles white where you’re gripping his shirt. "Did you do this?”
His smug little face has dissolved into pure, slack-jawed terror. "Whoa, man, chill out! I-It wasn’t just me!" he stammers, his eyes wide, darting between you and the screen where Irene is now taking the guy’s cock deeper down her throat.
"I’m going to ask you one more fucking time," you snarl, giving him a hard shake. "Did. you. put. this. on?"
"N-no! I mean, yes, but—but Kevin recognized her!" he squeaks, pointing a trembling finger at another terrified-looking newbie cowering nearby. "He said he’d seen one of her movies before, and we didn’t believe him, so we just… we just looked it up to see if it was true! It was just a joke!"
"'A joke'?" you repeat. "You think this is a fucking JOKE? You had no right. No fucking right!" You draw your fist back, every ounce of rage in your body screaming at you to smash it into his stupid, terrified face, to wipe that pathetic excuse off the planet.
"Hey! What the hell is going on over here?"
The commotion has drawn a crowd. Park Sooyoung from HR is there, her face a mask of stern disapproval. Seulgi from accounts is peering over a cubicle wall. And then, among the new faces trickling in from the break room, drawn by your shouting, you see her.
Irene.
She stops, a cup of tea in her hand, a look of mild curiosity on her face. Then she follows everyone’s gaze. First to you, holding Kyle pinned against the wall. Then to the huddle of now-terrified men. And finally… to the monitor.
Time slows down. You watch as her eyes land on the screen, as they widen, as she processes the grainy, moving image of her younger self. You see the exact moment of recognition. You see the color drain from her face, leaving it a sickly, ashen grey. You see her mouth fall open in a silent, horrified expression. You see her worst fear, the trauma she’s been running from for years, realized in the most brutal, public way imaginable. And it breaks your fucking heart. The rage in you evaporates, replaced by a cold, sickening horror that mirrors her own.
Her cup slips from her fingers, clattering to the floor, splashing hot tea across the grey carpet. She doesn’t seem to notice. Her eyes are still glued to the screen, her body frozen. Then, a choked, strangled sound escapes her lips. She turns, her face a mask of such absolute, bone-deep horror that it will be seared into your memory forever, and she runs.
"Irene!"
You let go of Kyle, shoving him away so hard he stumbles and falls. You push past Wendy, past the stunned onlookers, your entire being focused on getting to her. But she’s already at her desk, her movements frantic, clumsy. She snatches her handbag, her hands shaking so badly she can barely hold it.
"Irene, wait!" you call out, but she’s not listening. She’s a cornered animal, driven only by the instinct to escape. She bolts, running for the elevators, her footsteps echoing in the now-silent, watching office.
You lunge, your body moving on pure instinct, throwing yourself through the gap just as the polished steel doors of the elevator begin to slide shut. You land inside with a heavy thud, the doors closing behind you, sealing you both in the small, descending box. The world outside: the shocked faces, the murmuring, the obscene image still frozen on that monitor, is gone. It’s just you and her.
And she’s broken.
Irene doesn’t just stumble; she collapses. Her body gives out completely, her legs folding beneath her as she hits the floor in a heap. A raw, animal sound of pure agony is torn from her throat, a sound that has nothing to do with the quiet, composed woman you know. She curls into a fetal position on the cold, sterile floor, her hands clawing at her hair, her whole body shaking with violent, uncontrollable tremors.
"No… no, no, no…" she gasps, her words dissolving into ragged, hyperventilating breaths.
This isn't just crying. This is a panic attack, full-blown and terrifying. You’re on the floor with her in an instant, you gather her into your arms, pulling her trembling body against your chest, trying to shield her from a horror that’s already inside her head.
"Irene, hey, I’m here. I’ve got you," you murmur. You hug her tight, trying to use your own body to still her shaking. "Breathe, baby. Just try to breathe with me."
"I knew it," she whines, her face buried in your shirt. "Oh god, I knew this would happen… I was so stupid… so fucking stupid to think I could just… leave it behind…" Her words are punctuated by desperate, panicked gasps for air. "It’s never going to stop. It’s always going to find me. It’ll never fucking stop haunting me…"
"Shh, shh, no, that’s not true," you insist, your heart fracturing at the sheer, raw despair in her words. You gently take her face in your hands, forcing her to look away from the floor, to look at you. Her eyes are wild, unfocused, her beautiful face streaked with tears and twisted in a mask of pure terror. "Irene. Hey. Look at me." Your tone is firm but gentle, trying to cut through the noise in her head. "Look at me. I’m right here. You see me?"
Her gaze flickers, struggles to focus on yours. She gives a tiny, shuddering nod.
"Good," you say, your thumbs stroking her tear-soaked cheeks. "You are not alone in this. Do you hear me? I am not leaving you. Not now, not ever. We… we can get through this. Together. But I need you to be strong right now, Irene. I need you to just hold on for me. Can you do that?"
"I can’t…" she chokes out, a fresh wave of sobs shaking her. "I can’t go back there. I can’t face them. I can’t…"
"You don’t have to," you say immediately. "You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do." And then, the words, the most honest, urgent truth you possess, just… come out. A desperate anchor thrown into the storm of her panic. "I love you, Irene."
Her frantic, panicked breathing stutters. Her wide, terrified eyes blink, the wildness in them receding for just a second, replaced by a look of stunned, utter disbelief. She stares at you as if she’s never seen you before.
"I love you," you repeat. "And because I love you, I will fight for you. I will protect you. Those fuckers who did this? They will be punished. They will be gone from that office before the sun comes up tomorrow, I fucking swear it. I will talk to Henderson. I will talk to HR. I will talk to every single person in that office and I will explain exactly what happened; that a couple of immature, pathetic little shits violated your privacy and humiliated you, and that they don’t represent what our company stands for."
You lean closer, your forehead pressing against hers. "Remember what I said? That it’s a good office, with good people? That is still true, Irene. The people who did this… they are the exception. They are newbies who don’t fucking belong there. You do. You belong there."
Her breathing is starting to even out, her gaze still fixed on yours, clinging to your words.
"You don’t have to be silent," you continue. "You don’t have to hide. I can be your voice, if you want me to. I will scream for you until my own throat is raw. All I ask… all I need from you right now… is that you don’t run away. Not from this. And not from me."
For a long moment, she just looks at you, the tears still flowing silently down her face, but the raw panic has subsided. Then, with a shuddering cry that’s more relief than pain, she collapses forward, her arms wrapping around your neck, clinging to you as if you’re the only solid thing in a world that has just disintegrated around her.
"I love you too," she whispers, her words muffled against your shoulder, choked with sobs. "God, I love you so much."
A huge, shaky smile breaks across your face, even as your own eyes start to burn. You hug her back, hard, burying your face in her hair, breathing in her scent. "That’s great," you whisper, laughing a little through the sheer, overwhelming emotion of it all. "That’s… that’s all that matters." You pull back, looking into her eyes again. "We can do this, Irene. Together."
She looks at you, her face a mess, her body still trembling, but for the first time since this nightmare started, there’s a flicker of her old strength, her resilience, in her eyes. She nods, a small, jerky movement. "Yes," she says. "Okay. Yes. I can… I can try."
Just then, a soft chime rings through the small space, and the elevator doors slide open with a gentle whoosh, revealing the brightly lit, indifferent emptiness of the ground floor lobby.
—
The hours that followed your escape in the elevator were a blur of cold, focused fury. While Irene was safely behind the locked door of your apartment, you went to war. You didn’t just want to find out what happened; you wanted names, you wanted details, and you wanted blood. Leveraging your supervisor credentials and a couple of quiet, pointed conversations with reliable sources (people you knew weren’t part of the office’s smirking underbelly) the whole pathetic story spilled out.
It was exactly as the terrified little shit Kyle had stammered. A rookie named Kevin, a recent transfer from another branch, had recognized Irene. He’d apparently bragged to his new friend Kyle that he’d jerked off to one of her films back in college. Kyle, ever the skeptic and dickhead, had called bullshit. So, on a slow Monday afternoon, they looked her up. When they found the videos, confirming Kevin’s claim, their pathetic little minds were blown. They couldn’t just keep it to themselves. They had to prove their discovery, gathering a small, willing audience of other bored, morally bankrupt juniors to gawk at their coworker’s past, laid bare on a company monitor.
The ugliest part, the detail that made you want to find them and break their fucking hands, came from Park Sooyoung in HR, who had pulled one of the other witnesses aside. Just before you’d walked in, Kyle had allegedly joked to the group that maybe he should make Irene a "proposal" (a bit of quid pro quo). She could fuck him, and in exchange, he’d keep her secret from spreading to the rest of the company. He claimed, when confronted, that it was "just banter." You classified it as attempted blackmail and gross misconduct of the highest order.
Their expulsion was swift and brutal. You, Sooyoung, and Henderson, the big boss himself, had them in a conference room before they could even clock out. By the time they were escorted out by security, their careers at Henderson Corp were over, and the big boss promised you he’d be making a few calls. Thanks to his contacts, those two little shits were going to have a very, very difficult time finding another job in this industry, in this city, ever again.
Now, the next morning, you stand at the head of the main conference room. Your entire team is here, seated around the long, polished table. And so is Irene. She’s sitting between Wendy and another woman from her department, a silent, formidable wall of female support flanking her. She looks pale, exhausted, her eyes slightly puffy, but she’s here. She showed up. The sheer, breathtaking courage of that simple act makes you look at the people in the room with renewed determination.
You clear your throat, and the room falls silent. Everyone’s eyes are on you.
"Good morning, everyone," you begin, your tone calm, level, professional. You let your gaze travel around the room, meeting the eyes of each person there. "I’ve called this meeting because I need to address the incident that occurred in our workspace yesterday afternoon. I’m not going to go into the explicit details, because frankly, they are irrelevant. What is relevant, what is critical for every single one of us to understand, is what that incident represents."
You pause, letting the weight of your words sink in.
"Yesterday, a member of our team had her fundamental right to privacy violated in the most egregious way possible. She was exposed, without her consent, to a small group of employees in an act that constitutes severe, targeted harassment." You can feel the anger, still simmering just below the surface, but you keep it leashed, transforming it into cold, hard authority. "Let me be absolutely, unequivocally clear: this type of behavior is not just unacceptable within this company; it is antithetical to everything we stand for. This is a zero-tolerance policy issue. The individuals responsible for perpetrating this act, for creating what is legally defined as a hostile work environment, have already been terminated. Their access has been revoked, and they will not be returning."
A few people shift uncomfortably in their seats. Good. Let them be uncomfortable.
"We are all human beings here," you continue, your tone shifting slightly, becoming more personal, more human. "We come to this office every day from different walks of life. We all have experiences, we all have histories, we all have traumas and triumphs and pasts that are entirely our own. And no one—no one—in this room, or in this company, has the right to excavate another person’s history and put it on public display for their own amusement or judgment. The moment we start believing we have that right is the moment we lose our own humanity."
Your eyes find Irene’s across the room. She looks up, meeting your gaze. You give her a small, almost imperceptible smile, one meant only for her.
"I am incredibly proud, and frankly, humbled," you say as you continue to look at her, "that our coworker chose to walk back into this office today. That she chose to stay with this team, even after what happened. That choice shows an incredible amount of trust in us. In all of us." You look around the room again, at your team. "It shows that she believes this incident was an anomaly. That she believes the rest of us are better than that. And I hope, I expect, that every single one of you will spend every day proving to her that she is absolutely right to place her trust in us once more."
"We have an obligation to maintain not just a physically safe workspace, but a psychologically safe one. And what happened yesterday was a profound breach of that psychological safety. It will not happen again." You take a deep breath. "Irene, what you did today, just by being here, took more courage than most people will have to show in their entire careers. You are facing this with your head held high, and you have the full, unwavering support of this company’s leadership, and of your team." You start clapping, a slow, deliberate sound in the quiet room. "I’d like to ask for a round of applause for Irene."
For a split second, there’s silence. Then, Sarah, sitting next to Irene, starts clapping loudly. Then another person, and another, until the entire room erupts in a wave of sustained, genuine applause. It’s not polite, corporate clapping; it’s loud, it’s heartfelt. The women beside Irene grab her hands, squeezing them tight, hugging her shoulder. You see a single, fresh tear roll down Irene’s cheek, but this time, she’s smiling through it, a watery, overwhelmed, but real smile.
You let the applause continue for a long moment, a testament to her, a cleansing of the ugliness from yesterday. When it finally dies down, you clap your hands together once, a sharp, decisive sound that brings the focus back to you.
"Alright," you say, your tone shifting back to that of a no-nonsense supervisor. "Thank you for your attention. The matter is dealt with. Let’s get back to work. We have deadlines to meet, and no one is slacking off on my watch."
A few nervous chuckles ripple through the room as people start to stand, the tension finally broken. You wait as the last person files out of the conference room. You inhale and exhale slowly your shoulders slumping slightly. It’s over. The worst is over.
Then, you hear the soft scrape of a chair. It’s Irene. She didn’t leave with the others. She pushes herself to her feet and slowly walks towards you, navigating the maze of chairs.
"That was a great speech," she says.
You manage a tired grin, shoving your hands in your pockets. "Well, I have to live up to my fancy supervisor title sometimes, right? Can’t just be about chasing you for reports and stealing your pens."
Her smile widens. "Henderson steals the pens, not you."
"Right." You look at her, and she looks, even at this delicate moment, the most beautiful woman in the world. "How are you doing? For real."
She considers the question for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. "I’ll be fine," she says. "Tired. A little… wrung out. But I’ll be fine."
"Do you think you can work today?" you ask gently. "Because if you want to go home, you just say the word. I’ll handle everything here."
"No," she says, shaking her head. "I want to stay. I need to stay." She meets your eyes, and there’s a flicker of her newfound fire in them. "I’m done running."
"Okay," you nod. "Okay. But you take it easy." You pause, then a thought strikes you, a desire to anchor this new beginning with something normal, something just for you two. "Hey. You wanna… you wanna go out to dinner tonight? After work? A proper place, with tablecloths and everything. No dive bars."
"Wow, look at you," she teases. "We’re evolving. No more getting me drunk at a bar. Now it’s romantic dinners?"
"Well, now that you've said you love me—twice—I figure I don’t have to get you drunk anymore to trick you into liking me. Saves me some money."
She chuckles again, reaching out and patting your shoulder lightly. "You’re an idiot." Her expression softens, her eyes searching yours. "Hey… can I kiss you?"
You glance instinctively towards the glass door of the conference room, a conditioned reflex. "As long as it’s quick," you whisper back, your heart starting to hammer again for a much, much better reason.
She rises up on her tiptoes, her hands coming to rest on your chest, and presses her lips to yours. It starts as a quick, sweet thank you, but neither of you can hold back. It deepens, fast, her mouth opening against yours, your arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her flush against you. It’s a long, full, passionate kiss, filled with all the terror and relief and love of the last twenty-four hours. It’s a victory.
When you finally break apart, both of you breathless, she reaches up with her thumb and gently wipes the corner of your mouth. "My lipstick," she murmurs. She looks you right in the eye, her own gaze clear and steady. "I love you," she says again, not as a desperate confession in a falling elevator, but as a simple, solid statement of fact.
"I love you too, Irene," you reply.
She rests her forehead against yours for a moment, a comfortable, contended sigh escaping her. "I’m happy to be here," she says softly. "I like it here."
You smile, a teasing glint in your eye. "I hope that’s because of me, and not just because of the significant salary increase and comprehensive benefits package."
"Mmm, it’s mostly because of the salary, to be honest," she says, deadpan. "But you’re nice too, I guess."
"Alright, you," you say, reaching out to playfully nudge her. "We better get going before someone walks in and finds us. Back to pretending we’re just professional coworkers."
"Okay, boss," she says. As you both turn to leave, she gives your ass a sharp, surprising slap.
You yelp, jumping in surprise and turning to look at her with wide, laughing eyes. "Hey! That’s harassment!"
She just winks, her smile turning wicked. "Not my fault you have such a nice ass."
You shake your head, still laughing, a feeling of pure, unadulterated joy bubbling up inside you. "Well, it seems like you’re not that shy, mysterious woman from a few months ago anymore."
She steps closer, looping her arm through yours, leaning her head on your shoulder as you walk towards the door together.
"You’re right," she says, and that confidence of hers that you love so much is back. "I’m not." She looks up at you, her eyes full of love and fire and endless possibilities. "Now, I’m your woman.”
Summary: Y/N is going on a tour for a month and Lizzie has to shoot her next movie during the same time. Being apart for so long for the first time is very hard for both of them. So, Y/N decide to surprise her wife.
Word Count: 10k+
Warnings: fluff, smut, (18+)
Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist
---
The late afternoon sun filtered through the wide windows of their kitchen, casting golden rays on the marble countertops. Y/N, still in her cozy post-shower hoodie and sweats, was leaning against the counter, eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and nerves.
“Okay,” she began, watching Lizzie stir oat milk into her coffee, “I have news. Big news.”
Lizzie smirked as she set the mug down and turned. “You’re pregnant,” she teased, then added with a wink, “Which would be scientifically impressive.”
Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes. “Not quite. But pretty close.”
She crossed the space between them, slipping her arms around Lizzie’s waist and kissing her cheek. “I got confirmed for the European leg of the tour. It’s happening.”
Lizzie froze for a second, then her eyes lit up. “Wait—the tour? The one you didn’t think would happen this year?”
Y/N nodded, smile growing. “We’re talking Paris, Berlin, Amsterdam, Milan… They want me headlining for twelve weeks. It’s the biggest thing I’ve done. Ever.”
Lizzie squealed, pulling her into a full hug. “Baby, that’s incredible! I’m so proud of you.”
They stood there wrapped up in each other, the soft hum of the city outside, the kitchen warm with the smell of cinnamon from the morning’s muffins.
Lizzie pulled back just enough to look at her. “You know I’m coming with you, right? Europe? With my gorgeous, sexy, brilliant wife on stage every night? I wouldn’t miss it.”
Y/N grinned, but her fingers toyed with the hem of Lizzie’s shirt. “It’s gonna be a lot of travel. Not exactly glam.”
Lizzie waved her off. “I’ve been on movie sets in remote deserts. I can handle a five-star hotel in Paris.”
They both laughed—until Lizzie suddenly hopped up onto the kitchen island with a sly smile.
***
“Come here,” she said, curling a finger at Y/N.
Y/N stepped closer, and Lizzie tugged her in by the hoodie strings, settling her wife firmly between her thighs.
“Wanna celebrate?” Lizzie murmured, voice low and wicked as she rolled her hips slowly, deliberately, against the growing heat between them.
Y/N’s breath caught, her hands flying to Lizzie’s bare thighs, gripping them just above the hem of her sleep shorts. “Here?” she asked, voice husky, already leaning in like gravity itself was being rewritten.
Lizzie arched an eyebrow, wrapping her arms loosely around Y/N’s neck. “Kitchen's clean,” she said with a shrug, brushing her lips along Y/N’s jaw. “Mostly.”
Her mouth found the spot just below Y/N’s ear, kissing, then nipping gently as she rocked her hips again—more insistent this time. Y/N groaned softly, grinding back before ducking down to claim Lizzie’s mouth in a kiss that was far from sweet. It was deep, breath-stealing, full of need.
Lizzie moaned into it, legs tightening around Y/N’s waist as her fingers slid beneath the hoodie, skimming over bare skin until they rested on the small of her back, drawing her in closer.
Y/N pulled back just long enough to whisper, “You're dangerous when you're proud of me.”
Y/N’s lips crashed back onto hers, hands slipping under Lizzie’s thighs and lifting her slightly, enough to press even closer. Lizzie gasped, head tipping back, the exposed line of her neck begging to be kissed—and Y/N gladly obliged.
Tongue, teeth, heat.
It was dizzying, desperate, but laced with something soft too. Like even in the middle of their lust, they both knew this was their kind of love: wild, worshipful, and a little unhinged.
Lizzie’s fingers were tugging at the waistband of Y/N’s sweats now, breath shaky. “We have a bed, you know,” she whispered between kisses.
Y/N grinned against her skin. “I thought you wanted here.”
Lizzie's eyes darkened, her legs tightening around Y/N’s hips. “I do,” she whispered. “God, I do.”
Y/N leaned in, kissing her slow and deep, her hands moving under Lizzie’s shirt to trace over soft skin. She took her time, even through the haze of need—because Lizzie deserved to be worshipped.
But then Lizzie rolled her hips up again, grinding against the unmistakable pressure beneath Y/N’s sweats, and it pulled a low, raw sound from Y/N’s throat.
Lizzie gasped. “Fuck, baby…” Her hand slid lower, palming Y/N through the fabric with a confident ease that only came from knowing every inch of her. “You’re so hard for me already.”
Y/N’s breath shuddered. “I can’t help it. You climb up on a counter and start grinding on me—what do you expect?”
Lizzie gave her a wicked smile, fingers slipping under the waistband to wrap gently, lovingly, around her. “I expect my wife to give it to me right here.”
Y/N groaned, hips twitching into her touch. “You really don’t fight fair.”
“I’m not trying to.” Lizzie leaned in, nipping at her bottom lip. “I just want you inside me.”
That undid her.
Y/N pulled Lizzie to the edge of the counter, yanking her own sweats down just enough to free herself, her heart pounding at the sight of Lizzie—flushed, ready, needing.
She held Lizzie’s gaze as she guided herself to her entrance, rubbing teasingly against her folds, both of them trembling with anticipation.
Lizzie whimpered, nails digging into Y/N’s arms. “Please, baby.”
Y/N pushed in slowly, watching Lizzie's lips part in a soft cry as she sank into her inch by inch. The tight heat, the way Lizzie clung to her—it stole the breath from her lungs.
Lizzie wrapped her arms around her wife’s shoulders, anchoring them together. “God, yes—don’t stop.”
Their bodies rocked in rhythm, the marble counter cool under Lizzie’s thighs, the heat between them burning everything else away. Each thrust was met with a gasp, a kiss, a whispered I love you.
Y/N buried her face in Lizzie’s neck, murmuring her name like a prayer, each movement deeper, more desperate. She reached between them, circling her thumb over Lizzie’s clit until Lizzie cried out, head thrown back, body trembling hard around her.
Watching Lizzie fall apart like that, because of her, always felt like magic.
And when Y/N finally let go, spilling deep inside her wife with a groan and a shudder, it was less release and more surrender—like giving everything she had to the one person who knew how to hold it.
They stayed tangled there, chests heaving, lips brushing in soft, messy kisses.
***
Lizzie chuckled against her mouth. “Okay... that was the hottest tour announcement I’ve ever heard.”
Y/N smiled, nose brushing hers. “Guess I’ll have to break big news more often.”
Lizzie grinned, pulling her close again. “Just promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“Don’t leave for Europe without fucking me on every surface in this house.”
Y/N laughed, still breathless. “Challenge accepted.”
---
They made good on that promise—every surface in the house. More than once. The weeks leading up to the tour were a blur of suitcases, setlists, and stolen moments. They counted down the days with sticky notes on the fridge and late-night planning under the covers, falling asleep in each other’s arms like they always had.
But life had its own plans.
A few months before the tour, Lizzie’s shoot got moved up. Her production dates now overlapped with Y/N’s European leg. Neither of them said it out loud at first, but they both felt it—the weight of what it would mean.
It would be their first time apart for more than a week since they got married.
There were tears. There were reassurances. There were phone alarms set across time zones and shared calendars meticulously color-coded to make sure they carved out every possible moment to connect.
Y/N left first.
Lizzie drove her to the airport before sunrise, wearing one of Y/N’s hoodies and clutching her hand until the last possible second. The kiss they shared at the gate was long and silent, full of promises they already intended to keep.
And then she was gone.
Three weeks later, Y/N wrapped the final show in Milan with confetti in her hair, sweat on her brow, and her heart beating a little too fast—not just from the encore, but from the ache to go home. To her.
Lizzie didn’t know yet. As far as she was aware, Y/N still had one more week of press and travel.
But plans could change. And Y/N? She needed to see her wife.
---
Lizzie tugged at the zipper of her jacket, irritation flaring in her chest. Wanda’s costume was heavy, her feet hurt, and she was emotionally drained from a particularly harrowing scene with Paul. She’d just finished take twenty-three and was desperate for a break—physically and mentally.
The director called for a 15-minute pause. Lizzie wandered toward the edge of the set, phone in hand. She had a new message from Y/N:
“Hope today’s going smooth. I miss you like crazy. I know it’s only a few more days, but God, babe, I just want to come home.”
Lizzie smiled, bittersweet. She responded quickly, fingers flying across the screen.
“I miss you more. We’ll survive this. We always do.”
"Hey, Liz," Sebastian’s voice called behind her.
She turned, expecting him to tease her or invite her to coffee. Instead, he was grinning in that over-the-top way of his.
“What?” she asked warily.
“I brought you something,” he said, stepping aside.
And there she was.
Y/N. Dressed in a leather jacket, hair a little messy from the plane, guitar case slung on her back, and that familiar smile that melted Lizzie’s world like it was made of ice.
Lizzie’s heart stopped.
Then her whole body moved.
She didn’t walk—she ran. Through the lot, past crew, past cameras and cables, into Y/N’s arms with a force that nearly knocked them both down. The guitar case hit the floor with a thud, forgotten.
Y/N caught her. Held her like it had been years, not weeks.
Lizzie wrapped her legs around her wife’s waist and buried her face in Y/N’s neck. “You—are the worst—for not telling me,” she whispered, voice shaking with tears.
Y/N smiled into her shoulder. “Surprises work best when you don’t see them coming.”
“I hate surprises,” Lizzie murmured, laughing and crying.
“You love me,” Y/N countered.
Lizzie leaned back just enough to cup her wife’s face and kiss her—slow, hungry, real. A kiss that made the crew collectively forget what professionalism meant for a second.
When they broke apart, Y/N whispered, “God, I missed you, Lizzie.”
Lizzie pressed their foreheads together. “I missed you more. Don’t you ever do three weeks again.”
“Never,” Y/N promised. “Next time, I’m packing myself in your suitcase.”
“Or I’m flying out to your next show. I don’t care where. Antarctica? I’m there.”
They laughed quietly, wrapped in each other. Time paused.
Then Lizzie glanced around, suddenly aware of the dozen people watching.
Y/N grinned. “Guess I stole the scene, huh?”
Lizzie shrugged. “Well, you are my favorite view.”
Lizzie kept her arms looped around Y/N's shoulders, unwilling to let her go just yet. But awareness of their audience finally kicked in as a wave of murmurs and amused chuckles rippled across the set.
“Is that…” someone whispered.
“That’s Y/N,” another confirmed.
“The Y/N?”
“Oh my god, I love her music.”
Y/N chuckled softly against Lizzie’s hair, then gently lowered her back onto her feet. Lizzie adjusted the collar of Y/N’s jacket with an affectionate tug, smoothing down her hair like she was still trying to process that she was actually here, in the flesh, after three painfully long weeks.
Sebastian approached first, clapping Y/N on the back like they’d been friends for years. “And the mission is complete. Welcome to Berlin, Rockstar.”
“Thanks for the assist,” Y/N grinned, bumping fists with him. “I owe you a drink—or five.”
“Hold you to that,” he said, then turned to Lizzie. “You should’ve seen her in the terminal. Girl looked like she was walking into battle.”
Lizzie beamed. “She kinda was. My heart’s been a war zone since she left.”
Scarlett walked over next, arms crossed but a huge smile on her face. “You must be the wife we’ve heard all the love songs about.”
Y/N laughed, shaking her hand. “Guilty. And you must be the legendary Natasha Romanoff.”
Scarlett gave Lizzie a teasing look. “She’s got charm, Olsen. I like her.”
One by one, the cast and some of the crew trickled over—curious, kind, and in awe. Anthony Mackie gave Y/N a bear hug and immediately launched into a full review of her latest album, asking about the production on track three. Paul Bettany was all warm politeness and British humor, asking if Y/N would ever consider scoring a film. Even the director stopped by to greet her, joking that if she ever wanted to try acting, she could contact him.
Y/N took it all in stride—humble, funny, endlessly gracious—but her hand never left Lizzie’s. Their fingers stayed twined like gravity couldn’t pull them apart again.
At one point, a young crew member shyly approached with a folded piece of paper and a pen.
“Um… Miss Y/N? Could I… maybe get your autograph? My sister’s a huge fan.”
Y/N smiled gently. “Of course. What’s her name?”
“Isla.”
“To Isla,” Y/N wrote, “your sister’s amazing, and so are you. Stay loud. Love, Y/N.”
Lizzie leaned her head on Y/N’s shoulder, watching with pride so visible it might’ve been neon. She whispered, “You’re kind of amazing, you know that?”
Y/N looked down at her. “Takes one to marry one.”
Lizzie laughed, light and bright. “You’re seriously staying the rest of the week?”
Y/N nodded. “I rearranged everything. I’ll fly back when you do. I didn’t want to miss another night without you.”
Lizzie’s eyes glossed with emotion, but she blinked it back quickly.
“Lunch break’s in twenty,” someone called out from across set.
Y/N raised a brow. “Wanna sneak away for twenty-one?”
Lizzie grabbed her hand. “Let’s go before Mackie tries to third-wheel our reunion.”
They laughed as they jogged off hand-in-hand, slipping into Lizzie’s trailer. The cast watched them go with soft smiles, and someone muttered, “They’re disgustingly perfect.”
Sebastian just smirked. “Yeah. And totally in love.”
---
The door slammed shut behind them, and before Y/N could even drop her guitar case to the floor, Lizzie was on her.
She pushed Y/N gently but firmly against the door, hands tangled in her jacket, eyes wide and full of fire and longing. Y/N barely had time to gasp before Lizzie crashed her lips into hers—no hesitation, no room for words, just raw, hungry need.
It wasn’t a soft reunion kiss. It wasn’t careful or choreographed. It was messy, overwhelming, desperate—like Lizzie was trying to make up for every missed second, every lonely night, every phantom touch that hadn’t been enough.
Y/N groaned into the kiss, arms wrapping tightly around Lizzie’s waist as their mouths moved like they’d never been apart. Lizzie’s fingers gripped at Y/N’s collar, pulling her closer, closer, like she needed her inside her skin.
When they finally broke apart for air, both were panting.
“Three weeks,” Lizzie whispered, her forehead resting against Y/N’s. “Three goddamn weeks without you. Do you know what that did to me?”
Y/N cupped her cheek gently, brushing her thumb across Lizzie’s flushed skin. “Felt like I was missing oxygen, Liz. Every show, every night—I couldn’t sleep without your heartbeat next to mine.”
Lizzie let out a shaky breath, eyes already tearing up as she stared at her wife. “I kept reaching for you in bed. Waking up to nothing. I’d just… lie there. Hoping your voice would show up in my dreams.”
Y/N pressed her lips to Lizzie’s temple. “I’m here now. For as long as you want me.”
Lizzie pulled back, just far enough to see her face. “Always. I always want you.”
Then she kissed her again.
This time slower, but still just as full of heat. Her hands slid under Y/N’s jacket, palms mapping the familiar shape of her wife’s body, needing to *feel* her, not just see her. Y/N’s hands roamed too, holding Lizzie like she was fragile and precious and everything that ever mattered.
Clothes stayed on—for now—but the emotion between them was utterly naked.
Lizzie guided them toward the tiny couch without breaking the kiss. They collapsed onto it, tangled limbs and soft laughter as they settled in. Lizzie curled up half in Y/N’s lap, fingers now laced gently with hers.
“Promise me something,” Lizzie whispered, kissing the inside of Y/N’s wrist where her pulse still raced.
“Anything,” Y/N breathed.
“No more three weeks. Ever.”
Y/N nodded. “Never again. We’ll figure it out next time. If I have to sing to you from the back of a set or sleep on tour buses parked outside your trailer, I will.”
Lizzie smiled, heart too full, eyes glassy again. “You’re insane.”
“I’m in love,” Y/N corrected, brushing her nose against Lizzie’s. “Deeply. Stupidly. Helplessly.”
Lizzie kissed her again—gentler now, like she finally felt safe again. Whole.
Outside, the world kept moving. But in that trailer, time bent just for them.
The kiss had settled into something slower now—softer presses of lips, lingering touches, and the kind of silence that only came when hearts were beating in sync again. Lizzie was curled into Y/N’s side on the tiny couch, one leg draped over her lap, fingers lazily tracing circles on the singer’s thigh.
Y/N’s eyes, though, kept wandering to the corner of the trailer… to the rack of wardrobe pieces hanging near the vanity.
And more specifically—to one bold, dark red corset with leather details and a plunging neckline that practically screamed chaos magic dominatrix.
She raised a brow. “Is that Wanda’s new costume?”
Lizzie followed her gaze and immediately groaned, dropping her forehead to Y/N’s shoulder.
“Oh God. Don’t even start.”
But it was too late. Y/N was already smirking.
“No, I’m not judging—” she began, clearly judging just a little, “—but that thing has more cleavage than an awards show after-party.”
Lizzie looked up, mock-serious. “Marvel’s idea of ‘tactical gear,’ apparently.”
Y/N snorted. “What’s it meant to protect? The power of boobs?”
“Exactly. I weaponized them.”
Y/N gave her a slow, dramatic once-over. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure if Wanda looked at me in that thing, I’d forget how to breathe. She wouldn’t even need powers.”
Lizzie grinned and leaned in close, her voice dropping. “Is it because I’m the one wearing?”
Y/N licked her lips, eyes darkening just slightly. “Exactly!”
“Wanna help me out of it tonight?” Lizzie teased.
Y/N leaned in until their lips were a breath apart. “Only if I get to help you into it first.”
Lizzie laughed, loud and warm, then kissed her again—short and sweet this time.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You married ridiculous,” Y/N reminded her.
“And I’d do it again tomorrow.”
They both smiled, their foreheads pressed together. The weight of weeks apart had finally lifted, replaced by flirty banter and the quiet hum of love rekindled.
After a moment, Y/N glanced toward the corset again and muttered, “Still, though. That thing’s basically lingerie with a cape.”
Lizzie smirked. “Funny. I said the exact same thing at my fitting.”
“And they kept it?”
“They said, and I quote, ‘Wanda’s evolving.’”
Y/N blinked. “Into a Victoria’s Secret model?”
Lizzie giggled, burying her face in Y/N’s neck. “God, I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too, my magical lingerie-wearing wife.”
Lizzie smacked her lightly on the chest. “Shut up.”
“Never,” Y/N said, wrapping her tighter in her arms. “You’re stuck with me.”
“Good.”
---
***
Back at the Hotel
The suite door slammed shut behind them, but they barely made it two steps in.
Lizzie crashed into Y/N with a kiss so fierce it knocked the breath from her lungs.
Fingers tangled in hair. Teeth caught on lips. Hands gripped, pulled, clutched like they were afraid the other might vanish again if they let go for even a second.
Three weeks apart had left them starving.
Y/N dropped her bag blindly to the floor as Lizzie shoved her backwards, lips locked, until they hit the nearest wall. Y/N groaned, gripping her waist, pulling her closer, like there was any space left between them.
“I’m gonna lose my mind if you don’t fuck me,” Lizzie whispered, panting between kisses. “I’ve needed you so bad.”
Y/N’s voice was wrecked. “You have no idea what you’ve done to me these past weeks.”
She grabbed Lizzie’s ass and lifted her off the ground—legs wrapping around her instinctively, mouths crashing again as they stumbled toward the bedroom, knocking into the doorframe, laughing and moaning at the same time.
They fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and need.
Lizzie rolled them over, straddling Y/N with her hair wild and eyes dark with hunger. She ripped her own shirt off, tossing it blindly, then reached for Y/N’s. “Off. Now.”
Y/N sat up, yanking it over her head as Lizzie attacked her neck with kisses and bites that would definitely leave marks.
Lizzie pulls up the sports bra Y/N was wearing throwing it away behind her. And soon her lips were back to Y/N neck, going down to her breasts.
When her lips wrap around Y/N nipple, she grinds down on the hardness under her at the same time, making Y/N moan. “Fuck…”
The singer flipped them without warning, pinning Lizzie down with her hands and hips, their breaths hot against each other’s mouths.
Lizzie moaned, arching up. “God, I missed your weight on me.”
“You’re gonna feel all of me tonight,” Y/N growled, her hand slipping down between Lizzie’s thighs, fingers finding her already wet and throbbing.
Y/N finally kicked the last of her clothes off and knelt between her wife’s thighs, her breath catching at the sight of her laid out—panting, legs open, eyes wild with want.
She slid inside her slowly—deliberately—watching Lizzie come undone instantly, head thrown back, back arching off the bed.
“Fuck—yes, baby, yes—” Lizzie clutched her tighter, wrapping her legs around Y/N’s waist and dragging her in deeper, hips moving in frantic rhythm.
Y/N buried her face in Lizzie’s neck, her thrusts growing fast, rough, needy. They couldn’t stop kissing—between moans, between groans, between every ragged breath. Hands were everywhere—gripping, scratching, holding like they couldn’t get close enough.
The bed creaked beneath them, the air thick with sweat and sex and the sound of skin meeting skin.
Lizzie clawed at Y/N’s back, dragging her nails down hard. “Harder—don’t stop—please don’t stop—”
Y/N growled against her skin and obeyed, slamming into her deeper, harder, until Lizzie was shaking, crying out, clinging to her like she’d fall apart without her.
“Come with me,” Y/N gasped, her voice low and desperate. “Please, baby—come with me—”
Their hands found each other, fingers laced tight. Lizzie locked eyes with her—wide, wet, full of so much love it burned.
And then they came—together, hard, loud, overwhelmed by everything they’d held back for twenty-one aching days.
They collapsed, a tangled mess of limbs and trembling bodies, breathless and soaked in each other’s sweat and pleasure.
But even then, Y/N didn’t pull out. Lizzie didn’t let go.
“Again,” Lizzie whispered after a beat, kissing her jaw, her shoulder. “Please.”
Y/N groaned, already hardening again inside her. “As many times as you want.”
“Good,” Lizzie said with a smirk, rolling them over. “Because I’m not done with you either.”
Y/N barely had time to catch her breath before Lizzie was on top of her again—straddling her hips, nails trailing down her chest, lips swollen, eyes wild with hunger. Her thighs pressed tight around Y/N, grounding her, claiming her.
“You really thought you could show up after three weeks and not be ruined by me?” Lizzie whispered, her voice low, rough, devastating.
Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut as Lizzie grinded down against her, slow and purposeful. “I came here hoping everything.”
“Good.”
Lizzie leaned down and kissed her—sloppy and deep, tongues tangling, teeth scraping. She sucked a mark into Y/N’s neck, groaning when she felt her twitch underneath her.
Then she reached between them, guiding Y/N back inside her—slow, deliberate, both of them moaning at the contact like it physically reset their hearts.
Lizzie moved her hips slowly at first, teasing, savoring the stretch, the pressure, the way Y/N looked up at her like she was the only thing in the universe.
“You feel so good,” she gasped, her hands pressed to Y/N’s chest for balance. “I forgot how full you make me feel…”
“Fuck, Lizzie,” Y/N growled, gripping her hips, trying to hold on, but Lizzie batted her hands away.
“No. Let me ride you.”
Y/N’s mouth parted, her voice caught in her throat.
She obeyed.
Lizzie started moving faster—messy, desperate, riding her hard and deep, head thrown back, breasts bouncing with every thrust. The room was thick with moans, the slap of skin, the bed creaking beneath their rhythm.
Y/N’s hands hovered at her sides, twitching to touch her, but she held back.
Until Lizzie looked down at her, hair a halo of chaos, and moaned, “Touch me. Please.”
That was all she needed.
Y/N sat up, arms wrapping tight around Lizzie as she started thrusting up into her, matching her rhythm, their chests pressed together, sweat-slicked skin sliding, gasps turning into cries.
Lizzie buried her face in Y/N’s neck, her voice a broken whisper, “I’m so close… don’t stop… please—don’t stop—”
“I’ve got you, baby,” Y/N murmured, kissing her shoulder, her jaw, her mouth. “Let go for me.”
Lizzie shattered in her arms—shaking, crying out her name, clinging to her like her body was the only thing holding her together.
And Y/N let go with her, falling hard, deep inside her, breath caught in her throat as she came with a shuddering groan against her skin.
They collapsed together, still joined, still pulsing with aftershocks, hearts pounding like war drums in their chests.
Minutes passed in silence except for their breathing.
Lizzie finally lifted her head and kissed her softly—slow, lazy, full of love. “I missed you.”
Y/N smiled sleepily. “I don’t think I’ve ever missed someone the way I miss you when you’re not there.”
Lizzie laid her head on Y/N’s chest, still catching her breath. “I’m going to be sore tomorrow.”
Y/N chuckled, brushing her fingers through her damp hair. “That’s okay. I’ll kiss it better.”
“Mm. Deal.”
They stayed like that—tangled, satisfied, quiet—for a long time.
And for the first time in weeks… they both finally slept.
***
---
The sun was out, birds chirped somewhere behind the trailers, and Lizzie Olsen looked like she hadn’t just spent half the night being thoroughly and repeatedly ruined by her wife.
Correction—she looked exactly like someone who’d spent the night being thoroughly and repeatedly ruined by her wife.
And everyone could see it.
“Morning,” one of the makeup artists said as Lizzie walked into the trailer.
“Morning,” Lizzie replied, voice a little raspy and warm, her oversized coffee in hand. She smiled dreamily, then winced the slightest bit as she sat down in the chair.
“You okay?” the artist asked, pulling her hair back gently.
“Totally,” Lizzie said, a bit too fast. “Just… stretched weird in my sleep.”
A beat.
“You sure it wasn’t your wife doing the stretching?” came Scarlett’s voice from behind them, with a classic grin on her face as she leaned against the doorway.
Lizzie gave her a flat look in the mirror. “You know, it’s weird how obsessed you are with my sex life.”
“I’m just saying,” he gestured loosely, “you came in like you were walking on clouds. Which is wild considering how much you were complaining about your back yesterday.”
Lizzie muttered under her breath, cheeks pink. “Mind your business.”
The makeup artist tried—and failed—not to laugh.
Just then, the trailer door opened again, and Y/N stepped in. Black jeans, boots, her vintage band tee barely hiding the bite mark at the base of her throat. Aviators perched on her nose. Calm. Cool. Gorgeous. Effortlessly rockstar.
Scarlett blinked. “Oh. Wow.”
Y/N smiled, slipping her arm around Lizzie’s chair and pressing a kiss to her temple.
“Morning, love.”
Lizzie reached up to touch her wife’s hand, soft and subtle, like a reflex. “Hey. You sleep okay?”
Y/N gave a lazy grin. “Eventually.”
The makeup artist had completely stopped moving.
Scarlett leaned sideways, whispering to no one in particular, “She’s way hotter in person. No offense.”
“None taken,” Y/N deadpanned, then looked at him over her glasses. “You’re just saying that because you haven’t seen her in bed.”
Lizzie choked on her coffee. “Babe.”
Scarlett looked like she’d just been spiritually ejected from the trailer.
As Y/N leaned down to whisper something in Lizzie’s ear, the red on her cheeks bloomed deeper. She bit her lip and shot her a look that was half affection, half don’t you dare make me walk funny on set.
Y/N only smirked and backed away, walking out like she hadn’t just made a professional crew question their career choices.
The moment the door shut behind her, the trailer burst into chatter.
“Oh my God,” the hairstylist whispered.
“I thought she was gonna be cool,” one of the costume girls mumbled. “She’s dangerous.”
“I’m suddenly rethinking every romantic decision I’ve ever made,” Scarlett said, still staring at the door.
Lizzie just sighed, hiding her smirk behind her coffee. “That’s my wife.”
---
The sun beat down on the lot, but no one noticed—not with Elizabeth Olsen in costume, hurling imaginary debris like a goddess of chaos.
The camera crew stayed focused. Anthony Mackie was mid-line. The stunt doubles were prepped and waiting.
But Y/N?
Y/N didn’t even pretend to be subtle.
She stood off to the side, arms crossed, sunglasses on, watching her wife work like it was a private show. She’d seen Lizzie in movies. Watched her dominate red carpets. But something about seeing her in action—in full Wanda mode, confidence radiating with every move—made something low in Y/N's chest curl hot.
Lizzie tried to focus.
Really.
But every time she turned her head, Y/N’s smirk was right there. And God help her, it made her spine tingle.
“Cut!” the director called. “Take five!”
Lizzie walked off set, grabbing a water. “You trying to distract me?” she asked under her breath, brushing past Y/N.
“I don’t have to try,” Y/N murmured, lips near her ear. “You keep looking at me like you’re starved.”
Lizzie shot her a glare that was half threat, half plea. “You know what last night did to me.”
“I remember. Vividly.”
---
A half hour later, the entire crew stared in stunned silence as two food trucks pulled in—one serving gourmet Mediterranean bowls, the other dishing out fresh flatbreads, grilled skewers, and handmade desserts.
“Is this a mistake?” someone asked.
“Nope,” a PA called out, waving a hand. “It’s from Y/N. For everyone.”
A murmur rippled through the lot.
Lizzie walked over mid-bite of fruit, stopping short when she saw the setup. “You didn’t.”
Y/N, sitting on a folding chair with a bottle of lemonade and her feet kicked up, gave her a lazy grin. “You’ve been living off sad wraps and burnt coffee. I couldn’t let that stand.”
Lizzie lowered her sunglasses, giving her wife a look that said you're ridiculous, and I love you.
“Plus,” Y/N added, standing to meet her, “I wanted to thank the people who put you in tight leather and threw fake buildings at you. That’s love.”
“You’re going to cause problems,” Lizzie muttered, stepping close. “Half this crew already has a crush on you.”
“Let them,” Y/N whispered, brushing her hand along the small of Lizzie’s back. “I’m taking you home.”
---
Everyone ate like it was their last meal on earth. Mackie was three plates in. The grips were in heaven. Someone shouted, “She’s a legend!” as they dipped warm pita into house-made hummus.
But Y/N?
She didn’t eat much.
She was too busy watching Lizzie—face flushed from the heat, hair pinned back, lips curved into that soft little smile she only gave when she felt safe.
They locked eyes across the lot.
Y/N mouthed, Later.
Lizzie smiled.
And mouthed back, Can’t wait.
---
The city outside hummed with distant traffic, but inside their room, it was quiet—lamplight golden, sheets slightly rumpled from the morning’s rush, and the lingering scent of Y/N’s cologne still clinging to the pillows.
Lizzie stood by the window, freshly showered, damp hair tucked behind her ears. One of Y/N’s band tees hung loose on her frame, swallowing her curves, sleeves brushing past her elbows.
Y/N watched her from the bed—still in jeans and sports bra, half-sprawled across the comforter, one hand resting on her stomach. She looked tired but happy. Content. Her gaze hadn’t left Lizzie since they walked in.
“You’re staring,” Lizzie murmured.
“I missed staring at you,” Y/N said softly.
Lizzie turned, slow, eyes warm. “You missed more than that.”
Y/N sat up, shifting toward the edge of the bed. “I did.”
A beat passed between them. And then Lizzie walked over, climbing into Y/N’s lap like she belonged there—because she did.
Y/N exhaled against her temple as their bodies melted together.
“I kept waking up in the middle of the night,” Lizzie whispered, arms around her neck. “My hands would reach out for you. And when I realized you weren’t there, it felt like I forgot how to breathe.”
Y/N closed her eyes, forehead pressed to hers. “I know the feeling.”
Fingers ran along jawlines. Palms found familiar places on skin. There was no urgency now—just the ache of having gone too long without this. Without them.
“I hated being apart,” Lizzie said, voice cracking just a little. “I hated all of it.”
Y/N nodded, thumbs brushing tears that never quite fell. “We won’t do three weeks again.”
“Promise?”
“Swear it.” A pause. “I’ll move mountains next time if I have to.”
Lizzie settled over Y/N like she belonged there, thighs straddling her hips, hands never still—roaming over the face she’d ached for, down the chest she’d dreamed of curling against again.
Their mouths didn’t part for long. When they did, it was just to whisper breathless things like “God, I missed you,” and “You feel like home.”
Y/N’s hands found Lizzie’s waist under the oversized tee, fingertips spreading against warm skin like she needed to memorize every inch all over again. “Three weeks,” she breathed. “How did we survive it?”
Lizzie shook her head, eyes glassy but hungry. “I didn’t. I—I couldn’t sleep right. Eat right. Breathe right.” She rocked into Y/N with slow, needy pressure, their bodies syncing like muscle memory. “I needed you.”
“You have me,” Y/N said, voice low, reverent. “You always have me.”
***
Their kisses turned messy again—urgent, deep, full of longing. Lizzie tugged Y/N’s bra up, revealing skin she hadn't touched in too long, her hands sliding across familiar dips and lines with a desperation that made her gasp.
Y/N groaned softly. “You’re shaking.”
Lizzie nodded, not embarrassed. “I’ve wanted this every night since you left.”
They undressed each other slowly—but not gently. Fabric hit the floor with a little too much eagerness. Fingernails scratched down spines. Teeth grazed skin. Every inch they uncovered came with kisses that turned into sighs that turned into gasps.
When Lizzie sank down onto Y/N at last, they both stilled—just for a breath, foreheads pressed together, the weight of all those lonely nights suddenly dissolving in the heat between them.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Y/N promised, hips moving in time with her, hands gripping her thighs, her waist, her heart. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”
They moved like they were trying to make up for every lost second—rocking, clutching, gasping each other’s names like mantras. Lizzie’s moans turned ragged as she arched above Y/N, riding wave after wave of everything they’d been holding in.
“I love you,” she sobbed when she came, collapsing into Y/N’s chest, arms tight around her, body trembling. “I love you so much it hurts.”
Y/N held her, kissed her hair, whispered her name like a prayer. “I love you more. Always.”
They stayed tangled together, catching their breath, skin damp, hearts pounding in sync again.
No distance. No silence. Just the sound of love rediscovered in the dark.
***
---
Next Morning
Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft gold across the tangled sheets. The bed was half-empty, Lizzie’s side slightly cold, but her scent lingered—lavender and warm skin, like a dream Y/N didn’t want to wake from.
She stirred slowly, stretching with a quiet groan. Muscles still sore from the last leg of her tour. Sore from last night, too—though that ache was the kind she didn’t mind carrying.
Her hand reached instinctively for Lizzie, only to find a note on the pillow.
Y/N blinked and smiled.
“Didn’t want to wake you—you looked too peaceful. I miss you already. Come find me when you’re up? I need a kiss. — L”
She sat up, running a hand through her hair. Her body felt heavy but content. Soul full.
A few minutes later, after a long shower and throwing on a hoodie, loose jeans, and her favorite cap, she headed out. But not to set—not just yet.
She had a different stop in mind first.
---
The bakery smelled like heaven. Warm butter. Vanilla. Espresso.
Y/N scanned the case with a small grin. She knew Lizzie’s favorites: those lemon-glazed scones, that tiny, rich chocolate tart she always claimed she “only wanted a bite of” and finished in two. And of course—extra hot coffee with oat milk and two pumps of honey syrup. No more, no less.
The girl behind the counter blinked when she recognized her. Y/N smiled politely but didn’t stop. She was on a mission.
Boxes in hand, coffees secure, she texted Lizzie.
“Guess who’s bringing lunch, Mrs. Maximoff? 😉”
The reply was almost instant.
“You’re evil. I’m starving. Trailer or set?”
“Your trailer. Knock twice.”
---
Crew buzzed in every direction. There were wires, green screens, and the low hum of tech and camera gear. Y/N passed unnoticed at first— hoodie up, coffee carrier in one hand, pastry bag in the other.
She got to Lizzie’s trailer just as they were resetting for the next scene.
She knocked—twice.
The door flew open a second later.
Lizzie stood there still in costume—corset, leather, hair curled and pinned back—eyes wide, smile wide and hungry.
“You’re insane,” she said, dragging Y/N inside before anyone could blink. “I’ve been thinking about food—and you—all day.”
Y/N held up the bag like an offering. “Scones. Tart. And the coffee you love enough to marry me for.”
Lizzie took the coffee and kissed her instead. “Still would’ve married you without it.”
They settled on the small couch in the trailer, Lizzie curled up beside her wife in full Scarlet Witch gear, munching on a lemon scone with visible bliss.
“You spoil me,” she mumbled through a bite.
Y/N grinned, brushing a crumb from Lizzie’s lip. “I was gone too long. Gotta make up for it.”
“You’re doing a damn good job.”
Outside, they called for setup. Lizzie sighed.
Y/N nudged her gently. “Go save the world, Mrs. Olsen. I’ll be right here when you’re done.”
Lizzie kissed her cheek, then her lips. “Promise?”
“Swear it.”
---
Later
The hum of air conditioning and soft tapping of Y/N’s laptop keys filled the space. She sat cross-legged on the little couch, Lizzie’s scent still lingering on the pillows beside her. A few half-eaten pastries sat on the coffee table. Her phone was on speaker.
“…yes, move the London radio interview to next week. No, I don’t want to zoom in from here. I’m here to rest—and be with my wife. Let’s keep my calendar light.”
On the other end of the line, her PA laughed. “Got it, boss. So, no surprise promos?”
“Not unless someone’s dying”
They hung up just as the trailer door creaked open and Lizzie stepped in, tired but glowing.
Y/N looked up and immediately smiled. “There’s my superstar.”
Lizzie let out a breath and leaned against the door. “There’s my entire world.” She walked over and dropped into Y/N’s lap with a groan. “I missed you.”
“You saw me three hours ago.”
“I still missed you.”
They kissed, lazy and soft, foreheads resting together after.
“Wrapped up your empire?” Lizzie murmured, nodding toward the laptop.
“Mostly. Just told them I’m not working while I’m here. I’m officially your groupie until you wrap this movie.”
Lizzie laughed, full and warm. “I like the sound of that.”
Then she sat up a little straighter, eyes sparkling.
“So—Paul’s throwing something tonight. Small club. Most of the cast and crew are going. He said you’re totally invited.”
Y/N raised a brow. “Me? At a club full of Marvel stars? Will the world survive?”
Sunset spilled honey-gold light into the room, casting long shadows across the bed. The playlist Y/N had picked pulsed low, velvet beats vibrating softly through the air. She stood in front of the mirror, straightening her black button-up shirt. It clung perfectly to her frame—broad shoulders, narrow waist, sleek lines—and the black pants hugged her hips and thighs with just the right amount of tension. She knew she looked good, but she wasn't thinking about herself.
Not when her wife was still in the bathroom.
The door creaked open behind her—and Y/N turned.
Lizzie stepped out barefoot, hair slightly damp, slipping earrings into place with a glance toward her wife.
She wore a deep burgundy dress—barely-there straps, low neckline, silk that caressed every curve like it was made to be touched. Her skin glowed golden in the dying light. She didn’t even look at Y/N at first—until she felt her gaze.
Y/N’s breath caught. “Fuck,” she whispered, eyes raking down Lizzie’s body. “You’re unreal.”
Lizzie looked up and froze. Her lips parted. Her eyes dipped—slowly, deliberately—to take in the way Y/N’s shirt stretched across her chest, the way the pants outlined her hips and the growing tension between her thighs.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Lizzie said quietly, but there was a wicked smirk tugging at her mouth. “We have to leave in twenty.”
Y/N crossed the room in two strides, hands sliding around her waist. “Then let’s make it fifteen,” she murmured, already hard, already burning for her.
Her mouth found Lizzie’s neck, kisses quickening, hips pressing forward, trying to grind against her.
Lizzie let out a soft sound—but she pulled back, laughing breathlessly. “Nope.”
“What?” Y/N stared at her in disbelief. “Seriously?”
Lizzie bit her lip and smoothed down her dress, still looking her wife up and down like she was barely holding back. “We’ll be late. You know how Mackie gets when people show up after he’s drunk.”
“I don’t care if Feige gets mad,” Y/N growled, trying to grab her again.
Lizzie dodged her touch with a playful grin. “I said no, baby.”
Y/N narrowed her eyes, the ache between her legs sharp and urgent now. “You’re evil.”
“I know.” Lizzie leaned in, brushing her lips just barely against Y/N’s jaw. “I want you to spend all night watching me. Wanting me. Thinking about what you could’ve had before we left this room.”
Y/N groaned low, jaw tight.
Lizzie stepped back, grabbed her clutch, and winked. “Now come on, rockstar. Let’s go make everyone at that club jealous.”
Y/N adjusted herself with a frustrated sigh, already plotting revenge.
“Fine,” she muttered, grabbing her wallet. “But the second we get back…”
“You won’t even make it to the bed,” Lizzie promised over her shoulder.
And God, Y/N believed her.
---
At the Club
The private section of the club was buzzing with energy. Music thumped low and sexy, lights pulsing gently, and laughter rang through the room as the Marvel cast loosened up after a long shoot week. Drinks flowed, stories were shared, and the vibe was effortless—like a reunion of friends who genuinely liked each other.
Y/N had drifted away from Lizzie’s side for the first time that night, pulled into conversation by Robert Downey Jr. and Scarlett Johansson, who immediately took to her with warmth and curiosity.
“So you’re the Y/N,” Scarlett said with a knowing grin, nursing a drink and leaning in. “I’ve had your song stuck in my head for weeks.”
Y/N chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck. “Hopefully one of the good ones.”
“It’s the one that sounds like sex,” RDJ chimed in. “The one with the heavy bass and that line about—what is it? Midnight bruises and silk?”
“Yup,” Y/N said, trying not to grin too wide. “That one’s about Lizzie.”
Robert raised his brows. “Good lord. You’re a menace.”
Y/N smirked. “I try.”
Not far off, Lizzie stood with Anthony Mackie and Sebastian Stan, watching her wife with sly intent. Her drink dangled lazily in her hand, her eyes locked on Y/N’s frame as she laughed with her co-stars.
Her gaze was dark. Possessive. Dangerous.
She moved slowly through the room, hips swaying in that burgundy dress, every step deliberate. She didn’t go to Y/N. No—she circled her. She’d let her wife feel her from a distance, catch glimpses of her while pretending to be immersed in conversation.
Y/N noticed. Of course she did.
While Chris Evans pulled her into a warm hug and joked about something, Y/N’s eyes kept flicking toward Lizzie.
And Lizzie? She was whispering something to Sebastian, hand on his arm as she laughed—just a little too close, a little too playful.
Y/N’s jaw ticked.
Scarlett nudged her. “You’re being hunted.”
Y/N tore her eyes away from her wife. “Yeah,” she muttered. “And she knows exactly what she’s doing.”
“She’s driving you crazy on purpose,” Chris added with a laugh. “Can’t say I blame her. You two are…” He gestured vaguely between them. “Kinda intense.”
Lizzie finally approached, slipping between conversations like silk. She didn’t touch Y/N right away—no, she let her fingers graze the small of her back as she passed by, just enough to make her flinch.
Y/N’s breath caught. Her pants were already tighter than comfort allowed.
“Having fun, baby?” Lizzie asked sweetly, now standing beside her and taking a sip of her drink.
Y/N looked down at her, eyes hungry. “I swear to God, if you touch me like that one more time—”
Lizzie leaned up on tiptoe and kissed her cheek. Just her cheek.
“Behave,” she whispered. “I want you squirming until we get back.”
Y/N exhaled harshly, barely keeping it together.
---
Nearby, Sebastian leaned over to Mackie and whispered, “They’re either about to go home… or start something in the damn hallway.”
“Place your bets,” Mackie grinned.
But Y/N didn’t move yet.
No. She stayed. Sat right back down with the rest of the crew—because if Lizzie wanted to tease, Y/N could play that game too. Two could set fire to a room without lifting a finger.
So she let Lizzie sit beside her on the low velvet couch, one leg crossed over the other like nothing was wrong. Like she hadn’t just spent the last hour driving her famous, desperate wife insane with every glance, every touch, every graze of her fingers along skin that had gone far too long without being touched.
The cast kept talking—Sebastian teasing Chris, Scarlett recounting a moment on set that had everyone laughing—but Y/N’s focus narrowed. Lizzie leaned in, laughing at something Mackie said, and her hand settled on Y/N’s thigh again. Innocent. Casual.
Except it wasn’t.
Y/N's leg tensed. Her jaw clenched. Lizzie’s thumb traced slow circles over the fabric of her black pants—right where she knew it would do the most damage.
Y/N reached for her drink and downed the rest of it in one go.
“Hey,” Chris said, leaning closer, “how’s the tour going?”
Y/N blinked. “Hm?”
“The shows,” Chris laughed. “Your tour. You just wrapped, right?”
“Oh. Yeah.” Y/N rubbed a hand over the back of her neck, willing herself not to look down at Lizzie’s hand. “They were great. Exhausting, but great.”
Robert leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Still writing while you’re out there?”
Lizzie smiled to herself—pleased at the strain in her wife’s voice, the twitch in her thigh, the way she sat perfectly still while her body screamed to move.
“You look warm,” Lizzie murmured under her breath.
Y/N turned to her with a dangerous glare. “You think this is funny?”
Lizzie’s lips brushed her ear. “I think I want you so desperate you forget how to speak.”
Y/N bit her cheek, hard. Her arousal was a live wire now. She couldn’t even shift in her seat without drawing attention to just how tightly her pants clung to her.
Sebastian caught the tension—smirked. “You good, Y/N?”
“Peachy,” she gritted out.
“I think we should go,” Lizzie said sweetly, rising from the couch with one last little squeeze to Y/N’s thigh. “It’s late.”
Y/N stood fast—too fast—mumbling goodbyes while Lizzie hugged the others like she wasn’t dragging her wife to the edge of sanity.
As they walked out, RDJ called after them, “Try not to break anything expensive!”
Lizzie waved, utterly unbothered. “No promises!”
Y/N didn’t speak until they hit the car.
Then she turned, grabbing Lizzie by the waist and pressing her up against the inside of the door before it even closed. “You think teasing me in front of all your friends is a game?”
The second the door clicked shut, Y/N spun Lizzie around and pressed her up against it, mouths crashing together in a kiss that was pure need.
No words.
Just heat. Tongues. Teeth. Hands already tugging at fabric.
“You think it’s funny?” Y/N growled against Lizzie’s lips. “Spending the whole night turning me on like that?”
Lizzie gasped, breath hitching as Y/N’s hands gripped her hips tight. “I wanted you like this.”
“You got what you wanted.”
She was already working open the buttons of Lizzie’s dress, lips dragging hotly along her neck. Lizzie’s hands slipped under Y/N’s shirt, nails raking across her stomach.
Y/N hissed. “Bed. Now.”
“No,” Lizzie whispered with a smirk, dragging Y/N back by the collar. “Here.”
She dropped to her knees in front of her wife like she’d been waiting all damn night to do it. And she had.
Y/N's breath caught, one hand bracing against the door as Lizzie undid her belt, slow but purposeful. Her tongue flicked at the corner of her mouth, eyes dark with hunger.
“Fuck—Lizzie—”
“Shh,” she smirked. “You were such a good girl all night. Just let me.”
Y/N’s head hit the door with a soft thud, a broken moan leaving her lips as Lizzie took her into her mouth, slow and deep. Her hands found Y/N’s thighs, gripping tightly, guiding the rhythm, relishing every shaky breath and curse.
It was messy. Desperate. All heat and noise and need.
Y/N couldn’t last. Not with the way Lizzie moaned around her. Not after hours of Lizzie brushing against her, whispering filth in her ear, staring at her across the club with eyes that promised exactly this.
She pulled Lizzie up before she lost her mind entirely, cupped her jaw, and kissed her hard, tasting herself on her wife’s lips.
“You like making me lose control?” Y/N whispered against her mouth.
Lizzie nodded, breathless. “I want you to.”
She didn’t even make it to the bed. Y/N pushed Lizzie onto the chaise near the window, slid her dress up in one swift motion, and stepped in behind her — pressing close, chest to her back, one hand flat against her stomach to hold her there.
Lizzie gasped, eyes fluttering shut as her hands gripped the arms of the chaise. The city lights spilled in from the window, throwing gold across her skin. Her breath fogged the glass in front of her as Y/N’s body molded to hers, firm and shaking with restraint.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” Y/N whispered into her ear, voice thick with need.
Lizzie arched into her. “Then take me. Please.”
Y/N groaned softly and slid a hand down, over her hips, in between her thighs — fingers trailing over her with a kind of reverent hunger. Lizzie whimpered, her head falling back onto Y/N’s shoulder.
“You’re soaked,” Y/N breathed, teeth grazing her neck. “All night you’ve been teasing me, looking like that… and you’re this desperate already?”
Lizzie moaned in response, shifting back against her wife’s hips with purpose. “I’ve been waiting. Just like you.”
The moment cracked like thunder. Y/N guided herself inside Lizzie, holding her steady with one arm around her waist. The first slow push made both of them gasp — not just from the sensation, but from the sheer intimacy of it, the pressure of finally being joined after a night full of tease.
Lizzie trembled, one hand reaching back to clutch at Y/N’s thigh. “Don’t hold back. I can take it.”
Y/N didn’t. She moved with purpose, with hunger, hips driving forward as Lizzie cried out into the night. The sound of skin against skin echoed softly in the room, paired with whispered curses, desperate moans, and the occasional break of Y/N’s name from Lizzie’s lips like a sacred word.
They moved together like they were trying to erase the weeks of absence — like they could memorize each other’s bodies all over again in one night. Every thrust, every gasp, every grind of hips was soaked in longing and love and wild, reckless desire.
Y/N slipped a hand down again, rubbing slow circles against Lizzie’s clit that made her fall apart, gasping, trembling, shuddering. The climax hit her hard — her body arching as she let go with a cry, clutching the edge of the chaise, legs unsteady.
Y/N held her close through it, her own breath ragged, forehead pressed to Lizzie’s back. Her cock still fully hard inside Lizzie.
Lizzie, chest rising and falling, let out a soft breath. “Wait,” she murmured after a moment, looking back at her wife with glassy eyes and a flushed face. “You didn’t finish…”
Y/N shook her head, her voice a little hoarse. “Didn’t want to yet.”
That made Lizzie smile — slow, dazed, but hungry again. “Come to bed.”
Y/N didn’t hesitate. She pulls out and followed Lizzie across the room, hands never quite leaving her skin, eyes locked on her like she still couldn’t believe she was real again.
Lizzie dropped onto the bed, lying back with arms open, hair wild against the sheets. “Come back inside me.”
Y/N climbed over her, settling between her legs, her body hovering just slightly above.
Then, she push slow, deliberate — a deep, aching slide that pulled a soft gasp from both of them. Lizzie’s hands flew to Y/N’s back, pulling her closer, deeper.
The intensity hit them both hard.
No teasing now. No games. Just the desperate rhythm of two people who had waited too long — who knew every curve, every sound, every tremble of the other’s body.
Lizzie clung to Y/N, panting against her ear. “Harder. I want all of you.”
Y/N groaned low in her throat and gave in — hips rolling harder, lips seeking out every inch of exposed skin, breath mingling in heat and sweat and whispered curses.
It wasn’t slow for long.
The tension built fast — the kind of hunger born from three weeks apart, too many late-night calls, and dreams that ended too soon. Lizzie cried out again, her body trembling from oversensitivity but refusing to stop. She needed this. Needed all of it.
“Y/N,” she gasped. “Don’t stop—please—”
She didn’t. Y/N drove into her until her own release tore through her with a sound that was more raw than controlled — a sharp gasp against Lizzie’s neck, her body shuddering as she came deep inside her wife.
They stayed like that for a long moment — skin on skin, hearts pounding, breath syncing slowly back to normal.
Lizzie eventually let out a shaky laugh. “So… still not done?”
Y/N kissed her shoulder, then her jaw, then her lips. “Not even close.”
Lizzie smirked lazily. “Then get some water. I want you again… but this time, I’m on top.”
Y/N chuckled softly against Lizzie’s skin, still trying to catch her breath. “You’re insatiable.”
Lizzie grinned, running a hand down her wife’s back, fingers tracing the dip of her spine. “You were gone for three weeks. That’s 21 nights without you. You do the math.”
She rolled them over smoothly, straddling Y/N’s waist, and sat up, hair tousled and falling in soft waves around her flushed face. The moonlight framed her like a painting, and Y/N could do nothing but look up at her in awe.
“God, you’re beautiful,” Y/N murmured, hands settling on Lizzie’s thighs.
“And you,” Lizzie whispered as she leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her lips, “are mine.”
Her mouth trailed lower — over Y/N’s jaw, her neck, her collarbone — leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses that made Y/N shiver. She rocked her hips just enough to remind them both that Y/N hadn’t softened yet, and Lizzie smiled against her skin.
Y/N’s hands gripped her hips. “You’re playing a dangerous game, babe.”
“I know,” Lizzie whispered as she rose up again, guiding her wife inside her with practiced ease.
The moan that escaped them both was quiet but wrecked — full of need and the kind of relief that came from being home in each other’s bodies. Lizzie moved slowly at first, rolling her hips in a steady rhythm, her hands resting on Y/N’s chest for balance.
Y/N watched her, completely lost in the sight. “You feel like heaven.”
Lizzie leaned down, brushing her lips over Y/N’s again. “Then don’t stop worshipping me.”
Her movements quickened, a rhythm that grew more desperate as their bodies synced — gasps and soft curses filling the room. Y/N met her every motion with a thrust of her hips, hands now gripping Lizzie’s waist like she’d come undone without her.
It didn’t take long. The intensity built fast, the second round shorter, sharper. Lizzie cried out Y/N’s name as she came again, her body trembling as she collapsed against her wife.
Y/N followed seconds later, groaning into her shoulder, arms wrapped tight around her as she spilled inside her again.
They lay there in the aftermath, tangled together and breathless, skin slick with sweat and kisses.
Lizzie smiled lazily, cheek pressed to Y/N’s chest. “Okay… now I’m done.”
Y/N laughed softly and pulled the covers over them both. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”
And in the quiet of their hotel suite — city lights flickering in the distance — they finally slept, tangled in each other, fully at peace.
***
---
Sunlight filtered gently through the sheer curtains, casting a soft golden hue over the room. The quiet hum of the city outside barely reached them, muffled by the luxury hotel’s thick windows. Inside, all was calm — the only movement was the slow rise and fall of two bodies curled together under the covers.
Y/N stirred first, blinking open sleepy eyes to find herself wrapped in a familiar warmth. Lizzie was tucked tightly against her, head resting on her chest, one arm splayed possessively across Y/N’s stomach. Their legs were tangled, her bare skin pressed to Y/N’s in that effortless, intimate way that came only from years of loving someone deeply.
Y/N didn’t move at first — didn’t want to disturb the peace. She let herself feel: the warmth of Lizzie’s breath against her skin, the occasional twitch of her fingers as she dreamed, the scent of her still clinging to the sheets. She was home.
Lizzie murmured something incoherent and nuzzled in closer, her lips brushing the side of Y/N’s breast before she finally cracked open one eye. “Morning.”
Y/N smiled down at her. “Hey, sleepyhead.”
Lizzie blinked up at her with a slow, lazy grin. “What time is it?”
“Does it matter?”
That got a soft laugh. Lizzie stretched, the movement making the sheets shift and reminding both of them just how little they were wearing. She didn’t move away though — just looked up at Y/N like she was the sun itself. “You always wake up this pretty?”
“Only when I’ve got you in my arms,” Y/N teased, brushing a bit of hair off Lizzie’s face.
Lizzie rolled her eyes fondly and kissed her collarbone. “Cheesy.”
“True,” Y/N murmured, dipping down to kiss her forehead, her nose, and finally her lips — soft, slow, and unhurried.
They stayed like that for a while, kissing in the gentle stillness, hands roaming in that sleepy, affectionate way — not with hunger this time, but comfort. Familiar. Needed.
Eventually, Lizzie pulled back just enough to whisper, “Let’s stay like this all morning.”
“No arguments here,” Y/N murmured, arms tightening around her. “Room service later?”
Lizzie smiled against her skin. “Later. Much later.”
She nestled back down, eyes fluttering shut again, and Y/N followed suit — not caring about alarms or plans or anything beyond the warmth of her wife, safe in her arms.
You drive up to Irene's mansion, where every inch of the lawn looks meticulously manicured, and the fountain at the entrance shoots water in a pattern that can only be described as "obscenely expensive." You still can't believe you were hired to train a woman who doesn't seem to need a single day in the gym, but money is money, right?
You step out of the car and walk to the front door, a massive wooden structure that probably weighs more than your car. Before you have the chance to knock, the door opens as if the house has been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Irene appears, and the first thing you think is that the photos simply don't do her justice.
She's like an upgraded version of a classic diva, someone with a beauty that would be admired in any era of humanity, now enhanced by all the improvements time could offer. Black hair cascading in soft waves, feline eyes that devour you in a fraction of a second, and a posture that makes you wonder if you're standing before a queen or a trap disguised as a woman.
"Oh, I was excited to finally meet my personal trainer," she says.
"Ms. Irene," you reply, offering your hand in a gesture that feels outdated in her presence. Her hand is soft and firm, and the grip is just enough to make you feel that you are, without a doubt, in foreign territory.
"Come on, I'll show you the house," she says, turning quickly without waiting for a response. You follow her, walking through a house that is a maze of marble, stainless steel, and glass. Every piece of art on the walls screams in a flamboyant way, "I have more money than you can imagine," and the faint scent of fresh flowers lingers in the air, as if even the aroma of the house was custom-made.
"This here is the living room," she says, passing through a room larger than your entire apartment, and you pretend not to be impressed. "And over there is the kitchen. You might need something to drink after the workouts. Or during, if I decide to tire you out too much."
She smiles again, and this time you can’t help but smile back, with that kind of irony that only arises when you know you're in trouble.
"This is the bedroom," she says, stopping in front of a closed door. You feel the tension rise a bit, and she notices it. "Not that you’ll need it, but I thought you'd like to know where it is." She opens the door and reveals a room that looks like it came straight out of a decor magazine: an immense bed, silk sheets, and a view of the garden that seems hand-painted.
"Nice place," you say, more out of politeness than anything else.
"Thank you. Now, the gym," she says, as if this was the true purpose of the entire visit. She leads you to a room where all the exercise machines seem to shine with newness. "I need to stay in shape, after all," she says, leaning casually on a treadmill, her posture suggesting that the idea of sweat is something completely alien.
"Shall we begin, then?" you ask, already pulling out the water bottle from your bag, trying to appear professional.
You decide to start the session with the basics, which seems like the best approach when dealing with someone whose idea of physical effort probably consists of reaching for the remote control.
"So, Irene, have you trained before?" you ask, but in your mind, she doesn’t exactly look like the type who frequents a gym.
She smiles, that smile you're already beginning to associate with trouble. "Only if you count marathon shopping trips and half-hour Pilates sessions with my instructor who told me to breathe deeply and think of happy places. Does that count?"
You smile back. "Well, let's start with something simple. A warm-up. Just to prepare the muscles."
"Oh, I love a good warm-up," she replies.
You guide her through some basic stretches, and of course, she starts asking for help. "Can you show me how to do this one? I've always had trouble with it," she says while trying to touch her toes.
You approach, placing your hands on her waist to guide her, trying to ignore the fact that she’s perfumed for a workout. "Like this, push a little further forward... That’s it."
She lets out a soft sigh, almost inaudible, but you notice. "I don't think I've ever had someone help me like this," she says, making you realize that "help" has multiple connotations for her.
"Practice makes perfect," you respond, trying to stay focused.
After the warm-up, you lead her to the weight machines. "Let's start with something simple, like the leg extension machine. This will work your quadriceps."
She looks at the machine as if it were some kind of medieval torture device. "Quadriceps... Right. And this does what exactly? Makes me gain muscles?"
"Exactly. You sit here, adjust the weight, and lift your legs to extend the knee. It’s great for toning the thighs."
She sits down, but instead of following your instructions, she just pretends to be confused. "I don't think I'm getting it. Can you show me again?"
You lean in to help her adjust the position of her legs, and you feel her gaze fixed on you. "Like this? Is it good now?" she asks, her voice softer than it should be for a simple exercise instruction.
"Yes, it's perfect," you reply.
"So, have you been training for a long time?" she asks as you guide her through the exercise. "It’s noticeable, you know... by your physique, the way you explain…"
"I’ve been training for a few years. It’s a passion of mine."
"Passion? Interesting," she says. "And are you single? Or is there someone waiting for you at home after you spend the day helping women like me stay in shape?"
You hesitate, realizing that the conversation is veering off course.
"I'm single. I guess my work takes up most of my time. What about you? You told me your husband is always traveling, right?"
"He's away most of the time, yes. His work is... demanding. But luckily, I know how to take care of myself," she says, lifting her legs on the machine with a little more enthusiasm. When Irene was done, she paused to drink water, then walked between the machines until she chose the next one. “Hey, help me here. I don't want to mess up the movement, I need your guidance." She says, standing in front of the lat pulldown machine.
"Oh, great. This one’s for your back and shoulders," you explain, adjusting the weight. "You hold here, pull the bar down, and then release slowly, feeling the resistance."
She looks at the machine as if it were an abstract art piece.
"Looks complicated. Show me how it's done?"
You demonstrate the movement, feeling her eyes on every motion of your body. When you finish, she positions herself, but instead of pulling the bar, she holds it for a second, looking at you with a false expression of confusion. "I think I’m not doing it right. Can you guide me?"
You approach again, this time placing your hands on her arms, helping her execute the movement. "Like this," you say, your voice a little lower. "Pull with your back muscles, not just your arms."
"Since you’ve been working out for a long time, you must be very strong," she comments as she pulls the bar, her muscles tensing softly under your hands. "And you must be used to lifting heavy, right?"
"It depends on the workout," you respond, trying to ignore the fact that every word she says seems to have a double meaning. "But it’s always good to vary, to do a bit of everything."
"So, how many of these should I do?" she asks, as if she’s genuinely interested in the answer, but her eyes say something else.
"Let's do three sets of twelve reps," you reply, trying to keep a professional tone. She does the first set with you close by, watching every movement, and then asks for your help with the next machine.
The dynamic continues until, by the end of the workout, she’s sweating, but in a way that looks more like a healthy glow than discomfort. She stretches, her muscles relaxing, and looks at you with that same smile that started everything. "I think you made me work pretty hard today. Maybe I’ll need a massage afterward," she says, her tone provocative.
You smile, unsure whether to take her seriously or laugh. "Massages aren’t part of the package, but we can talk about a relaxation stretch."
"We’ll see," she says, stepping closer with that smile that always precedes trouble, the kind you should have learned to avoid. “It seems like I’m the only one sweating here,” she says, with a sweetness that’s pure venom, before leaning in and, without warning, licking your cheek.
You take a step back, your heart pounding in your chest. "Ms. Irene, what is this?!"
"I told you, you’re not very sweaty. And I licked you to prove it," she responds with the casualness of someone asking the time.
"But what the hell does that mean? I came here to work—"
"And you’ll get paid at the end, of course!" she interrupts, her smile widening in a way that only makes things worse. “I just want… to have a little fun with you. Include that in the deal. You could earn a bonus for it, if you’d like.”
She takes another step forward.
“Irene, you’re married. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not a good idea.”
“No one needs to know, sweetheart,” she whispers, as if it were a secret you truly wanted to hear. “You’re too young to be so worried about life.”
You try to speak, but the words come out jumbled, as if your mouth forgot how to work.
“I-I… This isn’t right.”
She laughs, a sound that makes you feel like a mischievous boy caught in the act. “I bet I’ll make you change your mind once you see what you’re missing.” With a quick, decisive movement, she removes her top, revealing small, pale, perfect, and provocative breasts. Her smile widens, and you feel your face flush with heat. Worse than that—you feel your cock pulse in your pants.
“What do you think?” she asks, each word dripping with irony and certainty.
“Cover yourself, please!” Your voice comes out louder than you intended, but the plea is almost pathetic.
“Oh, don’t play the saint with me,” she retorts, suddenly stepping closer, grabbing your hand with firm resolve and placing it on her breast. The touch is warm and soft. You swallow hard, but it feels like the lump in your throat is stuck there for good. And the worst part? You can’t pull your hand away.
“What do you think? My boobs are small, but they fit perfectly in your mouth,” she teases, her voice lower, more intense.
“This isn’t right, Ms. Irene…” you try, but your resistance is fragile.
“Shh! Just call me Irene,” she orders, and before you can protest again, she seals any chance of escape with a kiss—warm and commanding, as if she already knew you wouldn’t say no.
Before you could even process what was happening, Irene had already wrapped her hand around your cock. With force. With a desire that you felt reverberate down your spine. “You’re so hard for me,” she whispers, her lips pulling away from yours, but the heat of her proximity still clinging to your skin.
“Irene…” you murmur, the name escaping as a whisper, almost a plea, but for what? For her to stop or to keep going?
“That’s right,” she continues, giving you no room to regain control. “I want to hear you moan my name while you fuck me good.”
Before you could refuse—or worse, agree—she pulls you toward a weight bench like she’s practiced the move a thousand times. It’s astonishing how a woman so small, so delicate, can exert such absolute control over you. You feel like a toy in her hands, powerless to resist.
You take off your shirt while she kneels to untie your shoes, making sure every detail is perfect, that you’re comfortable—but not for you, for her. When she asks you to take off the rest, you comply without question, feeling the cool air caress your exposed skin. She compliments your physique, her words sliding over your skin like hot oil. Her hands roam over your muscles, her fingers tracing the contours of your biceps.
“You’re so hot,” she murmurs, kissing your chest, her lips warm and soft. The excitement builds within you, uncontrollable, wild.
You sit back down on the bench, Irene kneels between your legs, her smile a mix of wickedness and pure desire. She takes your cock with a confidence that makes you hold your breath, her touch firm, almost possessive. “Wow… you’re much bigger and thicker than my husband,” she murmurs, licking the tip, teasing, while her eyes remain fixed on yours. “I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to have something like this… I’m going to love gagging on this cock.”
She slowly opens her mouth, her lips stretching around the head of your cock, and the sensation is mind-blowing. You watch, mesmerized, as she starts to take you in, inch by inch, until her mouth is completely full. “Oh, yes,” she mumbles with difficulty, her words muffled as she struggles to accommodate your size.
She begins to move her head up and down, faster and faster, the wet, warm sound of her mouth creating a steady rhythm. Her small mouth adjusts to your cock, fighting the instinct to pull away, but instead, she pushes forward, making it clear she wants more.
The sight of her, drowning on your cock, is almost unbearably arousing. You can’t resist, your hands go to her hair, pulling to gain more control. With a decisive move, you push deeper into her throat, and the muffled moan she lets out is a mix of pleasure and challenge. “Just like that,” she moans, tears welling in her eyes from pleasure and effort, but with no intention of stopping. She wants this as much as you do.
You feel her throat tightening around your cock, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you as she takes you as deep as she can, not giving up even when her air becomes scarce. The mix of pain and pleasure on her face only fuels your desire further, and you continue, deeper and deeper, until she finally has to stop to breathe, gasping, but with a satisfied, lascivious smile on her face.
Irene stands up, her gaze burning with a desire that mirrors your own. She starts to take off her leggings, revealing she’s not wearing any panties. The sight of her like this, naked and ready, is enough to take your breath away.
Without a second thought, you grab her firmly, your hands holding her slim waist as you lift her off the ground with an ease you didn’t even know you had. Irene lets out a low, sensual moan as she wraps her legs around you, locking her ankles behind your back, pulling the two of you even closer. With a decisive movement, you press her against the nearest wall, the cold concrete contrasting with the growing heat between you.
“Ohhh, yes,” she moans as you penetrate her for the first time, her head falling back, hitting the wall, but she doesn’t seem to care. “You’re so thick!”
With each thrust, Irene responds with louder, more desperate moans. “Just like that, baby… more, please, more!” Her voice is a mix of command and plea, her nails digging into your shoulders, pulling you closer, as if she wants to merge with you.
“That’s it! Oh, God! You fuck me better than my husband!”
That somehow spurs you on, every movement becoming deeper, stronger, as if you’re trying to shove every inch of yourself into her. Irene bites her lip, her face in pure pleasure, and then she starts babbling, as if facial expressions weren’t enough to describe what she’s feeling. “Yes… fuck me… fuck me hard… do what my husband never could…”
But she’s not the only one on the edge. The heat of her body, the almost painful tightness around your cock, every moan and sigh, it all makes you want more, makes you lose control.
After what feels like both an eternity and an instant, you feel like you need more. With a quick move, you pull away from the wall and carry her to the bench. Irene drops to the floor, turns around, positioning herself on all fours while you sit down. She positions herself, slowly lowering onto your cock, moaning as she feels you stretch inside her, filling every inch.
She leans back against you, her head resting on your shoulder, her body sinking even further into your lap. Your hands immediately move to her small breasts, squeezing them, while your lips find her delicate neck, biting and sucking the soft skin. Irene lets out a loud moan, the sound of pure satisfaction, and arches her body, pushing herself even deeper.
“Yes… leave a mark… mark that you were here… that you fucked me like no one ever has,” she pleads, her words breathless, interrupted by moans that only grow louder as you squeeze and thrust into her.
You don’t hesitate, biting harder, leaving a visible mark on her neck, a testament to what’s happening. Irene shudders in response, her pussy tightening even more around you, each of her movements sending waves of pleasure through you, making you forget any shred of morality. She moves against you, her rhythm frantic, the need for more, always more, evident in every gesture.
“Yes… yes, baby… fuck me until I can’t take it anymore,” she moans, her hands reaching back, grabbing your neck, pulling you closer as she continues to move, to lose herself in the sensation.
Irene, breathless, leans in closer, and with a soft voice, almost a whisper, says in your ear, “I want you to fuck my tight ass.”
Her words are like a match striking the box, igniting something fierce within you. Irene rises off your lap and walks to a corner of the gym, where she grabs a bottle of lube. She returns with a mischievous smile, shaking the bottle in the air. “I brought this just for this moment,” she says.
“You had this in mind from the start, didn’t you?” you ask, already knowing the answer.
Irene doesn’t bother replying. Instead, she kisses you before lying down on the padded floor, her pale skin contrasting with the dark material, her body exposed in a posture of pure submission, but with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what they want. “Come here, you naughty boy,” she calls, her voice like poisoned honey.
You kneel beside her, your hands trembling with desire as you reach for the lube. Irene smiles at you, then gets on all fours and arches her back. With steady movements, you pour the gel into your palm and begin applying it to her ass, feeling the warm, soft skin under your fingers. Irene lets out a low sigh, closing her eyes, savoring the sensation. "That's it... get me ready, I want to feel every inch of your thick cock inside me."
You don’t waste any time. With one hand, you spread the lube around and inside her ass, your fingers gently penetrating to prepare her. Irene bites her lip, her body slightly writhing, a mix of pleasure and anticipation. "Feels good, keep going... make me ready for you."
When you feel she’s sufficiently lubed, you apply the rest to your cock, rubbing it until it’s fully coated, hard and throbbing.
Irene changes position, lying on her back on the floor. You position yourself between her raised legs, and she looks at you with eyes full of desire. "Come on, don't wait any longer," she begs, her voice low and sweet. You press the tip of your cock against her tight entrance, pushing slowly, feeling the initial resistance. Irene lets out a moan of pain mixed with pleasure, and you keep going, advancing inch by inch, feeling the heat and pressure around you.
"Ahhh… yes," Irene moans, her eyes closed, her hands gripping the padding beneath her as you penetrate her slowly. "It's so big… so tight…"
You keep pushing, feeling her ass open up, millimeter by millimeter, her body adjusting to your size. The heat, the pressure, the sensation of filling her completely is indescribable, and the low moan she lets out only fuels your desire. "Yes, yes, yes! Fuck me deeper," she pleads.
You obey, pushing deeper until you're finally all the way inside her. Irene lets out a muffled moan, a sound of pure satisfaction, her body arching with pleasure. "Yes… like that… don’t stop," she begs, her eyes shining with wild desire. You start to move, slowly at first, savoring every second, every contortion of her body, every moan that escapes her lips.
As you gain rhythm, Irene’s moans grow louder, more desperate. "Yes… fuck my ass… do what I never let my husband do… ahhh… harder… please," she moans, every word an encouragement for you to go deeper, to push both of you to the limit.
And you do, increasing your speed and force, your hands gripping her thighs firmly, guiding each thrust with precision, feeling her body tremble with pleasure until it all comes down to heat, sweat, the pure desire consuming you both.
Irene then begins to tremble, her body stiff with imminent pleasure. She looks at you, her eyes burning with lust and urgency. "Mmm, I’m about to cum, babe… Let’s cum together?" she asks, her voice broken by moans.
You feel her body pulsing around you, each contraction almost pushing you over the edge.
"Do you want to come inside my pussy? Fill it with your cum?"
The desire and madness of the moment take over you. “Can I?” you ask, your voice tense, almost disbelieving.
“Of course you can,” she replies with a wicked smile, "I'm on the pill, darling. I want to feel you unload everything inside me."
With that, you both move into the classic missionary position. Irene spreads her legs and bends them, her feet planted on the floor, while you kneel between her thighs, your cock positioned exactly where she wants it. Irene wraps her legs around your waist, pulling you closer. The warmth and tightness of her pussy confirm your decision: you need to cum inside her.
You start thrusting into her, each stroke deeper and faster than the last. Irene moans loudly, the sound of her moans echoing through the gym. “Ahhh, yes… more… harder…” she screams, her eyes closed in pure ecstasy. “Fuck my pussy… Make me your cum dump.”
You’re on the verge of exploding, your entire body tense with the anticipation of climax. Irene feels it and, between moans, murmurs, “I’m almost there… I’m going to cum…”
“Me too… I’m almost there…” you reply, your breathing fast.
She opens her eyes, her gaze burning with intensity. “Have you ever cum inside a stranger before, huh? Ever filled a married woman with cum, you pervert?” She asks, her words hitting you like a wave of heat.
Those words make you lose control. With one last, powerful thrust, you bury yourself deep inside her, feeling your cum release into the depths of Irene’s pussy. She screams as she cums at the same time, her body writhing beneath you, her legs tightening around your waist.
“Ahhh… I can feel it all… it’s so warm… so good…” Irene moans, her words loaded with pure pleasure, her breathing ragged as she feels every hot stream filling her. You keep moving, even as the orgasm leaves you breathless, prolonging the pleasure for both of you.
When you finally pull away, your cock slipping out, cum begins to slowly drip from her pussy.
Irene smiles, a satisfied and wicked smile, as she looks at you, her breathing still uneven. "That was… exactly what I wanted," she says, her eyes gleaming with contentment, as the cum drips between her thighs, and you watch, fascinated, as she uses her fingers to spread her lips, letting the cum flow freely. She collects some of the semen with a finger and brings it to her mouth, tasting the result of your mix.
Irene kneels beside you and leans in for a deep kiss, her lips warm and moist against yours, while her hands glide over your body, caressing you with a certain tenderness.
“So, handsome, what did you think of the workout?” she asks.
You, still with your body pulsing with residual pleasure, respond with a smile, “I loved it. It was… incredible.”
Irene smiles back. “Good to hear that,” she says, with a note of amusement, “you can consider yourself my official personal trainer now. And the best part, you’re still getting paid for it. Isn’t it the best job in the world?”
You laugh, a mix of incredulity and amusement, realizing that your concept of ‘job’ will never be the same. “So that’s it? Daily sex with a gorgeous woman and I’m going to get paid for it? What are the downsides?”
“There aren’t any. As long as my husband never finds out, of course. But that’s my problem. Your only requirement and concern is to keep me satisfied.”
With that, she gets up nonchalantly, and starts gathering the clothes scattered on the floor.
You also get up, and as you’re dressing, you can’t help but think about the absurdity of the job you’re accepting.
When you’re almost ready to leave, Irene approaches, casually adjusting her hair.
“Don’t forget, tomorrow is training day again,” she says, her voice full of light arrogance. “Same time. Don’t be late. I want more of that… energy,” she adds with a smile.
You nod, laughing to yourself as you try to regain some of your composure.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
You're Mine and Only Mine (I'm Yours and Only Yours) (Alex Morgan x Reader)
It all started with a bit of harmless flirting to get you riled up, something Alex Morgan knew would lead to a confrontation before you took her home and had your way with her, but when the man's flirting becomes a bit too forward, you step in, something that leads you to having your way with the woman somewhere a little more public than home.
Anonymous Request: Alex Morgan/G!P Reader, jealous sex in an alleyway behind a bar, and marathon sex.
Your lip curled as your grip on your tumbler tightened, your eyes burning holes in the back of the head of the man currently flirting shamelessly with your fiancé.
Every so often, she’d glance your way, shooting you a playful wink, but making no attempts to move away from the man, whose intentions were clear.
“She’s just doing it to get a rise out of you.” Kelley says, giving you a nudge and you grunt.
“Well, it’s working.” You mumble sipping your drink, grimacing at the taste.
Alex knew what would happen if she got a rise out of you, she knew that you’d either confront the person flirting with her or drag her home and absolutely have your way with her.
Your eyes narrow as you watch the man lean towards her, whispering something in her ear that makes her giggle, your nostrils flaring.
You turn away angrily, unable to watch the man blatantly flirt with your girlfriend any longer.
Your fingers drummed against the bar as you tried to focus on your drink, the ice bobbing slightly within then dark liquid.
“What do you say we get out of here...?”
Your head snaps upwards as you turn abruptly towards your girlfriend, the woman smiling softly at the man, who now has a hand on her forearm.
You’re up in an instant, shoving his hand off of her as you slip an arm around her middle.
“She’s not going anywhere with you.” You growl, Alex’s hand landing on the small of your back.
The man scoffs.
“I think she’s the one who should make that decision.” He says, turning to Alex with a charming smile, the woman shaking her head, her lips parting.
“My fiancé, isn’t going anywhere with you.” You say, cutting off the woman, your teeth bared.
The man snorts.
“Well, your fiancé was just all over me, maybe she’s having second thoughts.”
Your blood was boiling, your hands balling into fists.
The man’s throat noticeably bobs at the look on your face, the muscle in your jaw jumping as you take a step closer, the man visibly shrinking.
You weren’t small by any means, you were a goalkeeper on the San Diego Wave for years, and you completely dwarfed the man now cowering in front of you.
“Yeah, if I were you, I’d get out of here.” Kelley says from behind him, the man slipping from between you and the defender before scurrying out of the bar, your darkened Y/E/C orbs on him the entire way.
“Hey...”
Your attention is pulled away from the door when Alex steps into view, the woman looking noticeably regretful.
“I-I’m sorry...” She says, cupping your cheeks and you turn away with a frown.
You knew Alex had only started to flirt to get a rise out of you, but you couldn’t help but replay the man’s words in your head.
What if she WAS having second thoughts...?
You swirl the contents of your glass before downing it, slamming the tumbler down before you turn and make your way down the hall towards the restroom, your fiancé frowning.
Alex blows a raspberry as she takes your empty seat at the bar, her best friend turning towards her a brow arched.
“Well, THAT didn’t go as planned.” Alex sighs, tracing the rim of your empty glass.
Kelley huffs.
“Yeah, maybe you should go check on Y/N.” She says, nodding towards the bathroom, her eyes widening when she sees you slipping out the back door of the bar.
“Yeah, I will.” She says, moving to her feet and following after you, the woman’s breath hitching sharply when you press her against the brick wall of the bar’s exterior.
Alex’s blue orbs lock with your Y/E/C’s, a fire smoldering behind your eyes that makes her weak at the knees.
You surge forwards, pressing your lips hard against hers, your tongue pushing its way past her lips.
Alex moans as you hitch her leg up and around your waist as your kiss, your tongue dominating hers easily.
The forward is unable to stop a moan from tumbling out of her mouth as your hand sneaks up her dress and between her legs, your fingers tracing her slit through her panties before you draw relentless circles against her clit.
“Fuck.” She moans, wrapping her arms tightly around you as you work mercilessly between her legs.
Unsurprisingly, you were hard, the woman you loved moaning in your arms combined with the thrill of being caught made you harden rather quickly.
Alex’s brows furrow, the woman whining when your hand leaves the apex of her thighs, the woman now significantly wet, which is exactly what you wanted.
“The only thing you’re coming on is my cock.” You say, Alex's eyes widening when you undo your pants, pulling your zipper down slowly.
You tug your pants down slightly, enough for your erection to spring free, Alex eyeing it hungrily.
She spreads her legs allowing you to push her panties to the side before running your head between her lower lips, the woman sighing.
“Do you want to keep going?” You ask, stilling, waiting for your fiancé to give you the go ahead.
“Yes.” She nods rapidly, whimpering when you teasingly prod against her entrance.
“Just, let me know if you want to stop, okay?” You ask, earning a rapid nod, Alex’s arms slipping beneath your own, her hands splayed on your back.
In one swift motion, you thrust into her, the woman gasping loudly against your neck, her walls fluttering around you.
Alex groans as you cock your hips upwards, your member reaching places only you could reach.
“Who does this belong to...?” You ask, thrusting harder, Alex’s mouth agape as you thrust into her rapidly.
Alex’s mouth opens and closes, the woman unable to find her words as she bounces on your cock, the appendage slipping in and out of her rapidly.
“Whose is it, Alex?” You ask, thrusting up into her with authority, the woman moaning loudly as you slam into her roughly.
“It’s yours.” She moans, her nails digging into your back.
“Say it louder, whose pussy is this?” You ask, the woman bouncing erratically on your cock.
“It’s yours!” She yells, hooking a leg up around your waist, her breath hitching rapidly.
The woman comes undone on your cock, moaning loudly into your chest as she shakes in your hold, her walls clamping down around your member.
You thrust up into her, groaning when you too reach your climax, filling the woman with your seed.
She trembles in your hold as you kiss her neck, continuing to thrust gently until you both still.
You remain sheathed in her as you kiss her neck repeatedly, your nose running along her jawline before your lips find hers, the two of you kissing softly.
You kiss lazily for a minute or so before you part, the woman grunting when your member slips out of her, leaving a literal mess in her panties.
“I-I didn’t hurt you, did I?” You ask worriedly, fearful that you’d let your jealousy and anger get the best of you.
She shakes her head rapidly.
“No, exact opposite.” She laughs, and you exhale loudly, the breath you were holding finally releasing.
“Honestly, this was the outcome I wanted.” She smirks and you chuckle.
“Oh really?” You ask and she giggles.
“I guess I didn’t expect him to come on so strongly.” She mumbles and you snort.
“He ran away pretty quickly.” You chuckle, Alex ducking down to press sloppy kisses to your neck.
“What do you say we take this home?” She asks, nibbling on your pulse point.
She lets out a squeak when your hands run from the small of her back to her ass, giving it a squeeze.
“I like the sound of that.” You say, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips.
“We should PROBABLY tell Kelley we’re leaving.” She giggles against your lips, and you nod, the two of you making yourselves presentable before slipping back into the bar.
Kelley spots you from across the room, the woman rolling her eyes, her brows arched.
“Calling it a night?” She asks and you shrug apologetically.
“Something came up.” Alex says and Kelley snorts.
“Oh, I bet it did.” She laughs and your cheeks flush.
“You forgot your zipper.” She says, motioning to your pants, your flush deepening as you tug your zipper up.
Alex gives her a nudge as she takes your hand, dragging you towards the bar’s entrance.
Kelley rolls her eyes, the woman making her way out of the bar a few moments later, scoffing when she sees the two of you zipping out of the parking lot and down the road.
She shakes her head, mumbling to herself as she heads to her car.
The second the front door slammed shut behind you, the two of you are kissing, your clothes strewn along the floor as you fumble your way through the house and towards the bedroom.
You eventually reach the bed, depositing Alex, who you’d been carrying on its surface.
She crawls to the end of the bed, pushing herself up to her knees before shedding your boxers, taking your semi-hard cock in her hands.
“Fuck.” You grunt, tilting your head back as she lavishes your member with attention, stroking it until you’re fully erect.
Alex’s smirks devilishly as she leans in, her tongue running along your length.
“Shit.” You moan, the woman taking your head into her mouth.
You do your best to keep yourself from thrusting further into her mouth, the woman laying special attention to your head before taking the rest of your length into her mouth, her head bobbing up and down.
“Feels so good.” You groan, the woman taking nearly your entire member into her mouth, which was no small feat.
It isn’t long before she’s releasing your cock with a pop, the woman taking in some air before she’s back at it again.
Your thighs start to shake, your hips trusting slightly upward, pushing your cock further into her mouth.
“I-I’m gonna come.” You moan, groaning when Alex’s hands grab your ass, the woman pulling your hips forward, encouraging you to thrust into her mouth.
You stiffen moments later, groaning loudly as you come undone, Alex unwilling to let a drop of your release go anywhere besides down her throat.
She licks you clean, releasing your head with a slurp, the sound making your hips stutter.
“That was--” You pause, whimpering as you’re hit by what can only be described as an aftershock.
You whimper when she again takes you into your mouth, sure to catch the tiny bit of your release that had crept out.
Alex gasps when you push her backwards onto the bed, the woman shuffling upwards until her head hits the pillows at the head of the bed.
Thankfully, in your fumbling towards the bedroom, Alex had been completely stripped bare, no barrier between your hands and her skin.
Her hips arch off the bed as you trail down her body, your lips wrapping around one of her nipples as you give it a suckle, earning a whimper in response.
You work your way down her body, your tongue swiping at your lips when you reach your destination.
“Oh, Oh shit!” Alex cries out when you dive between her legs with no sense of hesitation, your tongue running along her slit before pushing your way between her lips, purposely avoiding her clit as you revel in her taste.
“You did a LOT of teasing tonight, Morgan.” You say, your eyes meeting hers, the woman visibly pouting.
“I think it’s time for payback.” You wink, again burying your face between her legs, the forward knowing she was in for a long night.
A bead of sweat ran down Alex’s face as you licked the apex of her thighs, the woman soaked and on the precipice of a powerful orgasm.
You’d indeed gotten your payback, continuing to work her up before pulling away from the apex of her thighs, the woman whining loudly each and every time.
It’s when you climb entirely on top of her that she groans.
“I-I’m so close, pl-please.” She stutters, her eyes glassy and you smirk, glancing between your bodies.
“Can you take me?” You ask as you run your head between her soaked lips, the woman moaning.
“Please.” She moans, wrapping her legs around you, her feet against your ass as she pulls you in, your head slipping into her tight heat.
“Fuck.” Alex sighs as you continue sliding into her until you bottom out, the woman’s walls fluttering rapidly around you.
“You’re gonna come so hard.” You comment as you give your hips a thrust, the woman’s mouth agape as you thrust into her.
Alex started to tremble, her eyes almost immediately rolling into the back of her head as she screams loudly, her orgasm ripping through her.
You continue your thrusts, the woman shuddering violently, her toes curling almost painfully as her walls clamp down around you.
Watching the woman, you wanted to marry have such a powerful orgasm throws your headlong into your own, your member buried deep inside her as your seed spurts from your tip making its home within her.
The two of you tremble, your muscles contracting as you hover over Alex, the woman blinking rapidly, in a complete state of bliss.
“God, that was so fucking good.” She says, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
You duck down, pressing a kiss to her lips, a kiss that immediately grows heated, your tongues tangling.
It’s only when Alex moans that you realize you were thrusting into her again, her walls warm and welcoming.
In one swift motion, your positions are switched, your eyes widening when you see Alex hovering over you, the woman sinking down onto your hard cock.
“Jesus.” You sigh, the woman’s tongue swiping at her lips, her brows furrowed as she lifts her hips before dropping them back down, your member sliding in and out of her tight heat.
She tilts her head back, gripping her breasts as she rides you, wanting to tumble over the edge at least one more time before the two of you collapse out of exhaustion.
You give her thighs a slap, the woman whimpering as you thrust your hips upwards, establishing a rhythm.
“S-So good.” Alex whispers, her movements quickly becoming irregular.
You thrust upwards as rapidly as you can, Alex eventually stiffening, a raspy moan crawling up her throat as she comes for a third time that night, her muscles contracting as she spasms.
You thrust roughly upwards, burying yourself in her as you too orgasm, Alex’s walls milking you for all you’re worth.
Alex collapses on top of you, your member slipping out of her, leaving a mess in its wake.
She presses a few tender kisses to your lips before burying her face in your neck, still attempting to catch her breath.
“That was...” She pauses, a grin stretching across your face.
“Incredible.” You pant and she giggles.
“Yeah.” She whispers against your neck, her hot breath dampening your already sweat covered skin.
“I guess I need to make you jealous more often.” She teases and you growl.
“You better not.” You mumble and she hums.
“I mean, if this is the outcome every time, I’ll have to flirt even harder.” She jests, yelping when you roll over on top of her.
“Don’t even think about it.” You say, giving her neck a playful nip.
Her hands make their way to your back, her fingers drawing small circles on the muscular expanse of your back.
“I’m thinking about it.” She giggles and you growl, giving her a bit of a harder bite.
“If you do, I’ll make sure you can’t walk next time.” You growl, pulling back to look in her blue orbs, the woman biting back a smile.
“Is that a promise?” She asks and you snort.
“Absolutely.”
It’s only a few weeks later that you make do on that promise, having your way with the woman in such a way that she has a noticeable shift in her normal walk, something that makes you smirk.
“I mean, I DID promise.” You say as you jog passed her at practice and she scoffs, swatting at you playfully.
Plot: Reader is a new athletic trainer for the team, she is at practice with the girls. Alex takes a nasty fall and bangs up her leg. Reader takes Alex back to the hotel to inspect her leg and give her a massage to help release the pressure and tension. While readers driving Alex asks if they can take the long way back to the hotel and begins to get extremely handsy with reader as reader is driving. Reader can’t take it and has to pull over. Alex smirks and they begin to release their sexual tension in the back seat of the car.
*Y/n's pov*
We were at practice. Today was the 3rd day of camp I'm the new athletic trainer. I was standing off to the side with coach and watching the girls do drills.
Alex and Mal were doing a drill together. While they are doing the drill Alex and Mal collide, and take a nasty fall.
Alex banged up her knee pretty good. I grab my training bag and run over to the girls to check on them.
"Hey girls, you two okay?" I ask.
"Yeah, just my knee really hurts." Alex replies.
Mal smiles and gives me a thumbs up, she gets up and limps away walking away. I turn my attention back to Alex I help her up.
"You took a nasty fall . I'm sorry but I gotta take you out I don't want you to risk an even bigger injury." I say.
She sighs and nods. "Okay." She says sadly.
I help her up I throw my bag over my shoulder, and help her walk off the field. For some odd reason we don't have access to the lockers rooms here so I gotta take her back to the hotel and check her knee out.
I talk to coach. Coach nods she hands me the keys giving me permission to take her back to the hotel and drive back in the rental.
I help Alex walk out to the van, I throw my bag in the trunk and help Alex in the van. I walk around and get in the drivers seat.
I start the car. We pull out of the parking lot and start the drive back to the hotel. As I'm driving Alex starts to get handsy, she bites her lip and stares at my bulge.
"Can we take the long way back?" Alex asks and rubs my bulge over my shorts.
"Y-Yeah we can t-take the l-long w-way back." I stutter a bit and bit my lip as she rubs my bulge over my shorts.
I moan as she does this. Alex smirks and bites her lip.
"Someone's turned on." She giggles.
I moan and nod, it was dark out by now. Plus the windows were tinted, Alex takes off her seat belt. She taps my thigh, I get the hint. I lift my self up a bit, Alex slides my shorts and Boxers down my legs.
Alex leans over. She smirks and wraps her hand around my dick and slowly start stroking my dick.
"Woah, Your huge baby." Alex says as she continues stroking my dick.
I blush darkly as she says this. "T-Thanks." I stutter.
"F-Fuck." I moan in pleasure as Alex strokes my dick a bit faster. I keep my eyes on the road and grip the wheel as she strokes my dick.
Once my dick is hard Alex swirls her tongue around my tip. I moan as she does this, Alex smirks and takes my dick in her mouth.
I moan as the tip of my dick hits her throat. Alex chokes and gags a bit and slowly bobs her head I moan as she does this.
"Mmm fuck Alex, just like that." I moan as Alex starts giving me head.
Alex continues to give me head bobbing her head a bit faster. I moan as I continue driving, eventually I can't take it anymore. I spot an old building and pull over into the parking lot and park behind the building and turn off the car.
"Mmm fuck Alex right there." I moan.
"Relax Y/n, relax and enjoy." Alex says.
She takes me deeper in her throat, she deep throats me and bobs her head faster and faster.
"Oh S-Shit." I moan.
She deep throats my dick and sucks my dick faster and faster. I throw my head back as she continues to suck my dick. Her lips adding pressure making it more better than ever.
"Mmm." I moan.
Alex hums against my dick and continues to suck the soul out of my dick. She chokes and gags a bit as she deep throats my dick. Spit and drool runs down my dick.
I moan as I feel myself getting close to cumming. "Alex baby.... I'm close."
Alex hums against my dick and bobs her head even faster than before. I moan and help her bob her head. I throat fuck her as she continues to suck my dick.
Alex chokes and gags. "Guck guck guck."
I moan as I feel that all to familiar feeling in my balls. "Alex baby I'm gonna-"
Throat pie:
I can't take it anymore. Alex hums against my dick which sends me over the edge. I bust my load in her mouth, Alex chokes and gags a bit as I cum in her mouth.
Alex swallows my load and sucks me dry, my dick falls from her mouth. Alex sits up, she opens her mouth and shows me a mouth full of cum. She smiles, some cum drips down her chin. She smiles and swallows my load.
"Mmm fuck that was amazing." I moan Panting and coming down from my high.
Alex climbs over the center console and moves to the back seat. I join her and also climb into the back seat.
I make out with Alex kissing her deeply. I slip off her shirt and sports bra. She does the same and we set our shirts and bras off to the side.
I slip my hand in her shorts and panties and rub my finger over her soaking folds as I kiss her deeply.
Alex moans in the kiss. "Mmm your soaking wet baby." I say.
"All for you daddy." Alex moans.
I smirk, I lay her down on the back seat. I kiss her, she kisses back I kiss and suck on her neck leaving hickys.
"Mmm no teasing." Alex moans.
I kiss her neck down to her chest. I kiss and suck on her chest leaving hickys. Alex moans and plays with my hair. I kiss and suck on her boobs leaving hickys, Alex gasps and moans as I do this.
I kiss from her boobs down to her stomach/ abs. I kiss and suck on her abs leaving hickys. Alex moans and runs her fingers through my hair.
"Mmm fuck." She moans.
I kiss from her and down to her shorts. I kiss her pussy over her shorts.
"Mm Y/n please take off my shorts and eat me out." Alex moans.
I grab the waist band of her shorts and panties and slide her shorts and panties down her legs and set them on the ground. I kiss from her abs down to her thighs. I kiss and suck on her inner thighs teasing her and making her beg for more.
Alex sighs in frustration. "Y/n stop fucking teasing before I finish myself off with my fingers."
I smirk. I lick her folds and begin to eat her out. Alex moans as I start to eat her out. I slip in a finger and slowly finger her as I eat her out.
"F-Fuck." Alex moans.
I smirk against her pussy as I continue to eat her out I finger her a bit faster than before.
I eat her out, I slip in another finger and finger her faster and faster as I eat her out, Alex moans loudly in pleasure and wraps her thighs around my head and rests her legs on my shoulders.
I lick her clit and roll my tongue on her clit adding different pressure. This drives Alex crazy making her a moaning mess.
"Mmm fuck fuck fuck." Alex moans.
She squirts in my mouth and on my face. I lick up her juices and keep eating her out as I finger her faster and faster.
"Ahh I'm gonna cum." Alex moans.
I stick my tongue the deep in her pussy and finger her faster and faster slipping in a third finger.
Alex moans. Her legs shake and buckle in pleasure as she cums. She cums on my face, in my mouth and on my fingers.
I like and clean up her sticky mess. I wipe her juices off my face and lick her cum off my fingers.
"Mmm to taste amazing baby." I say.
Alex blushes darkly as she sees me lick her cum off my fingers. Alex comes down from her high, once she catches her breath she smirks and slowly strokes my dick.
I moan as she strokes my dick, Alex lines my dick up with her pussy and helps guide me in. I moan as she slides my dick deep inside her wet tight pussy.
"Mmm so wet and tight." I moan.
Alex giggles and moans. "Tell me when to move baby."
Alex nods and takes a moment to adjust to my size deep inside her.
"Damn I thought you were big in my mouth but you feel even bigger deep inside me." Alex moans.
I giggle. Alex pulls me down and kisses me, she wraps her legs around me and pulls me closer leg trapping me.
I melt into the kiss and kiss her back. Alex wraps her arms around me. She breaks the kiss.
"Move." Alex moans.
I slowly thrust in and out of her. Me and Alex both moan as I thrust in and out of her slowly then pick up the pace and go a bit faster.
I go faster and faster. I moan loudly in pleasure as I feel her walls clench around my dick gripping my length.
"Mmm fuck your pussy feels amazing clenched around me." I moan in pleasure.
"Mmm fuck Y/n right there." Alex moans in pleasure.
I smirk and go faster and harder. My balls slapping against her skin and our moans echo throughout the car.
*Alex’s pov*
I moan in pleasure as Y/n picks up the pace, Y/n moans cutely and keeps going her balls slapping against my skin. She was balls deep inside me damn she was super deep inside me.
I could feel her dick throbbing inside me she really needed a release. I moan as my walls clench around her, I was close to cumming.
"Mmm I'm close." I moan in pleasure.
Y/n goes at an angle and pounds my g spot fast and hard. My boobs bounce up and down as she goes faster and faster.
I moan loudly in pleasure and squirts all over like crazy. Y/n moans her breathing getting heavier letting me know she's close to cumming. Y/n cutely moans and starts to focus on her surroundings letting me know she's about to bust.
"Yes, cum in me cum in me." I moan Louldy in pleasure.
"Ahh fuck I'm close." Y/n moans.
"Me too don't stop." I moan in pleasure.
I moan and cum on her dick. This sends Y/n over the edge, Y/n moans and busts her massive load deep inside of me, I moan and sigh in pleasure as her juices flood inside me.
I moan and leg trap her making her finish inside me. Y/n moans and lowly thrust back and forth as she continues to shoot ropes of thick sticky cum deep inside me.
I moan and grab her ass and help her thrust deep inside of me. I gasp and moan, she can cum buckets. She was still cumming inside me.
Y/n moans. We rest our heads against each other. We both look down and watch her slowly thrust in and out of me. Cum oozing out of me and coating her dick and lubing my pussy.
I bite my lip as cum oozes out. Fuck that was such a sexy site to see. Y/n moans and comes down from her high slowly thrusting in and out of me filling me up with the last of her cum.
God I could feel her cum in my stomach there was so much. I felt full, god I've had multiple guys fuck me and finish In me but damn Y/n's dick and cum felt so much better than theirs. No better feeling in the world than to feel someone finish inside you.
Y/n was less tense now. She moans and pulls out cum oozing out of my pussy and coats my folds and floods onto the seat, Y/n collapses onto me panting and coming down from my high.
I moan and pant and hold her as we both catch our breathes. "God that was amazing. I'm sorry I didn't mean to cum in you." Y/n says.
"It's okay baby I'm on a pill. Don't hold back baby cum in me as much as you want to." I moan.
*Y/n's pov*
I catch my breathe and sit up, Alex also sits up, she straddles my waist. She lines my dick up with her pussy, she pushes my tip in and slides down on my dick taking my length back deep inside her pussy.
"Mmm fuck." I moan and wrap my arms around her. "So tight and warm." I moan in pleasure.
Alex moans and slowly slides up and down on my dick. I Moan and rest my head against hers, Alex moans and grips the head rest behind me as she slides up and down on my dick faster and faster.
"Holy shit babe. Just like that I'm gonna cum buckets if you keep doing that." I moan in pleasure.
Alex’s boobs bounce up and down as she continues to ride my dick. "Mm fuck daddy." Alex moans.
Alex goes faster and faster slamming her ass down on my dick. I moan in pleasure I close my eyes and lean my head back against the head rest.
"Does that feel good daddy? My cum filled pussy clenched around your dick." Alex says seductively as she keeps going.
"So fucking good." I moan in pleasure as I feel myself getting close to cumming. "Alex babe, I'm close."
Alex moans loudly. "Me too cum in me. Give me that thick cum." Alex moans seductively.
I moan as I feel my balls tighten. Fuck I don't think I can last much longer her pussy is amazing and feels like heaven.
"Ahh fuck." I moan.
Alex moans and smirks. "Is someone close?" She asks teasing me.
I moan and nod. "Give it to me baby give me your load." Alex moans in pleasure.
Alex goes faster and harder, she slams her ass down on my lap as she goes faster and harder.
Creampie #2:
Alex moans and slams her ass down on my lap. I moan and bust my load deep inside her filling her up with a second Creampie.
Alex moans and cums all over my dick. We both moan I fill her up and paint her walls whiting shooting thick ropes of sticky cum deep inside her.
Alex moans and rests her head against mine as I continue to fill her up with my load. I help Alex ride out her high, once we both come down from our high Alex slowly gets up. My dick falls from her pussy.
Cum oozes out of her pussy. Cum drips down her thighs and drips onto my lap and onto the seat, I smirk and squeezes her ass.
"Such a cum slut." I say.
Alex giggles and nods. "All for you daddy."
Alex gets on all fours my cum still oozing out of her pussy and dripping down her thighs and onto the seat. I get up and move behind her, I slide my dick back inside her cum filled pussy. We both moan in pleasure as I slowly thrust in and out of her.
"F-Fuck yes right there." Alex moans.
I thrust into her faster and faster, I go at an angle and pound her g spot. Alex moans and grips the edge of the seat screaming my name.
I smirk, I pull her hair and slap her ass as I keep going.
"Harder daddy." Alex moans.
"Like this?" I question and slap her ass a bit harder than before.
"Yes like that." Alex moans.
I spank her ass as I keep going fucking her brains out from behind. Alex screams in pleasure and squirts all over the seat. Some of her juices go on my abs.
"Fuck fuck fuck." Alex moans loudly n pleasure as I continue to fuck get ass from behind.
I moan in pleasure as I feel myself getting close to cumming.
"Mmm I'm close, so good." I moan in pleasure.
"Fuck daddy you feel so good stretching out my pussy." Alex moans in pleasure. She throws her ass back against me and slides back and forth in my dick at a fast pace.
"Yeah? You like that baby, my dick and cum deep inside your cum filled pussy?" I questions as I continue to pound her g spot from behind.
"Yes I love it. Fuck I feel so full with your cum deep inside me." Alex moans.
I moan and go faster and harder. I dig my nails in her ass as I feel myself getting closer and closer to cumming.
"Mmm fuck I'm close." I moan.
"Me too, don't stop." Alex moans.
I moan and keep going. I go as fast and as hard as I can go. Alex moans and squirts like crazy again she was a squirter which was kinda sexy.
I moan loudly as I fell my balls tighten. Alex moans and throws her ass back against me sliding her ass back and forth fast and hard on my dick.
Cream pie#3:
Alex slams her ass back against my dick. I moan and bust my load deep inside her pussy. Alex cums all over my dick, me and her both moan as I paint her walls white and shoot ropes of thick sticky cum deep inside her.
"Ahhh shit, feels so good." Alex moans in pleasure as I continue to shoot warm sticky cum deep inside her.
I moan as I continue to cum deep inside her filling her up to the brim. I help Alex ride out her high, we both come down from our highs. I slowly pull out, cum immediately oozes out of her pussy.
Cum oozes and coats her folds. Cum drips down her legs and drips onto the seat. Alex moans, she reaches up and uses her finger and pushes whatever cum she can back inside her pussy.
Alex moans as she scoops up and shoves my cum back inside her pussy. I kiss her back and nip her ear.
I grab my phone and look at the time. "Fuck we gotta get back." I say.
I grab my clothes and hand Alex her clothes, we get dressed and get back in the front seat. I start the car and we drove back to the hotel.
We get to the hotel and I park the car. Alex smiles and leans in and kisses me.
"You were amazing Y/n. Stop by in the morning I'll definitely need a massage." Alex smirks and rubs my dick over my shorts. “For now I’m gonna shower and get some sleep.”
I smirk and kiss her. Alex smiles, she gets out of the car and limps into the hotel and goes up to her room leaving me alone.
I turn off the car, I grab my bag and make my way inside and go back up to my room.
Fuck that was unexpected. I walk back to my room abd try to comprehend that I just fucked Alex Morgan in the back seat of a car. Oh my god! That’s makes her a milf I’m only 21! But I kinda dig it, I’ll go round 2 with her again. God she’s amazing in bed and can really make a girl cum.
I head back up to my room, I unlock the door and go inside the room. I shower and lay in bed and fall asleep.
I'm Burning Up For You Baby (Alex Morgan x Reader)
If there was one thing you loved to do, it was tease your wife, Alex Morgan, and wearing your uniform was something that would gurantee a night spent together in bed, and tonight wasn't going to be any different.
Anonymous Request: Alex Morgan/G!P!Reader, getting turned on by their partner's new uniform.
I fiddled with this request a bit, so the uniform isn't TECHNICALLY new, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.
You take a deep breath, taking a small sip of the amber colored liquid you’d gotten from the open bar.
A smile stretches across your face when you see your wife, Alex Morgan, making her way across the room towards you, her arms wrapping around your neck as she presses a kiss to your lips.
“I’m sorry, traffic was a nightmare.” She says and you smirk.
“Are you sure it was traffic, or were you just taking forever to get ready?” You tease and she scoffs, hooking her arm around your own.
“I’ve never taken forever to get ready for anything.” She rolls her eyes, and you laugh, turning to press a kiss to her cheek.
“Sure, you haven’t.” You wink, her cheeks noticeably flushing.
Your eyes rake down her front, the woman wearing a simple sparkling black dress, which hugged her curves in all the right ways.
You lean closer, ducking down to whisper in her ear.
“You look stunning.” You say softly, unable to stop yourself from grinning when her cheeks visibly darken.
“You don’t look so bad yourself.” She smiles, turning towards you, her hands resting on your shoulders, giving them a squeeze.
She leans in, her hot breath dancing across your neck as she whispers.
“You know what your uniform does to me.” She purrs and you smirk.
“Oh, trust me, I know.” You say, your tongue swiping at your lips, something Alex intently watches.
Once after an award ceremony, you’d spent the entire night in bed, bringing the woman to the precipice of pleasure over and over again until the two of you were entirely spent.
You rest your forehead against hers.
“Is it working now?” You ask, your brows wiggling, and she hums.
“I suppose you’ll have to see.” She whispers, sending you a wink before she unhooks her arm from yours, making her way towards the open bar to get herself a drink.
You down the remainder of your drink before following after her, intent on seeing if in fact, your uniform was doing what it would typically do to your wife.
Alex knew you were trying to work her up, the light brush of your fingertips against her ass, followed by a mumbled apology that Alex knew you didn’t mean.
In all honestly, just seeing you in your uniform made her core ache, the thought of what happened last time you wore it prominent in her mind.
After that session, she wasn’t able to walk correctly for a number of days, sore from the number of times you’d made her orgasm.
Her throat bobs, her breath catching in her throat slightly, something you take note of, a smirk stretching across your face.
You lean towards her, Alex’s eyes darkening at the proximity between the two of you.
“You alright baby?” You ask, Alex’s breath hitching at the pet name.
“I’m just fine.” She smiles, doing her best to mask her arousal, but you catch on immediately.
You’d been married for over 3 years; you could instantly tell when your wife was turned on, and by the way she was fidgeting, she was aroused.
Inconspicuously, your lips brush her neck, her throat bobbing roughly.
“Whatever you say.” You say with a smirk, turning to glance around the room, when you hear your name called, your chief waving you over.
You turn, kissing Alex’s cheek before moving across the room towards the group staring expectantly your way.
Alex doesn’t take her eyes off of you as you strut across the room, your head held high, the group of men greeting you with handshakes and smiles.
She smiles softly as she makes her way across the room, leaning against a nearby wall, her blue orbs remaining firmly on you.
You held your head high in confidence as you talked to the group of older men, your chief patting you on the back with a grin.
You loved your job, even if it meant putting yourself in danger to save others, something that worried Alex to no end, but she was confident you would always return to her at the end of the day.
You’d earned several medals for your bravery and had become someone that many of your coworkers aspired to be.
Alex couldn’t have been more proud of you.
Her blue orbs widen when your eyes catch hers, a smirk stretching across your face as you send her a wink before turning back to the conversation.
Alex smiles, bringing the wine glass to her lips and taking a sip, knowing full well how this night would end.
Eventually, you make your way back to your wife, a charming smirk stretching across your face, the one that never ceased to make her weak in the knees.
“Hey.” You say, your voice raspy, the sound making her throat bob.
“Hey you.” She grins, her cheeks flushing when your hands move to her waist.
“Miss me while I was gone?” You ask and she giggles.
“No, I’ve had my eyes on someone all night.” She jests and you hum, giving her sides a squeeze.
“Oh? Who?” You ask playfully and she hums.
“I don’t know her name, just that she looks REALLY GOOD in uniform.” She purrs and you smirk, your tongue swiping at your lips.
“I do know ONE thing.” You say, Alex’s brows furrowing when you lean towards her, your voice dropping below a whisper.
“She’s going to absolutely rail you tonight.” You place a kiss to the smooth skin beneath her ear, catching the sound of her hitching breath as you pull away.
“Is that a promise?” She asks gruffly and you nod, your throat bobbing, the member between your legs reacting to the sound of her husky voice.
“It is.”
Alex leans in, pressing a slow, and tender kiss to your lips before pulling back.
“I’m holding you to it.” She winks and you smirk seductively.
As the night went on, Alex became more and more aroused, the image you’d painted in her mind of what would happen after the event making her core ache with want.
There was nothing she wanted more in this moment than to have you inside her, your body pressed against hers as you rutted into her.
If the night was anything like the one you shared before, she knew you were both in for a long night, one that would more than likely end with the two of you sore the following day.
She’s made her way to the bathroom, throwing cold water in her face in an attempt to stifle her arousal.
“What’s on your mind...?”
Alex’s breath hitches as your arms wrap around her from behind, your chin resting on her shoulder, your hot breath dancing along her ear.
She feels your smile stretch across your face.
“Actually, I think I already know what you’re thinking about.” You rasp in her ear, the woman swallowing roughly.
“You’re thinking about later tonight, aren’t you?” You ask, your tongue swiping at her ear.
Thankfully, she’d excused herself to the restroom, but she was unaware that you’d followed her there.
“You’re thinking about how it’ll feel when I’m inside you.” You say as you suckle on her earlobe, your nails scraping at the front of her dress before sliding lower, lightly caressing her lower abdomen.
Alex turns in your hold, slamming her lips against yours, silencing your teasing.
You only part when you feel her hips arch against you, the woman craving some sort of friction.
“As much as I’d like to make you come right here, I think we should save it for home, don’t you?” You ask and she huffs, her bottom lip jutting out in a pout, a pout you immediately kiss away.
“I guess you’re right.” She mumbles, a smirk stretching across her face as you turn away.
Your breath hitches when the woman gives your ass a light smack, your eyes narrowing as you turn back towards her.
“Watch it, Morgan.” You tease, taking her hand and dragging her out of the bathroom, eager for the party to be over so you can spend some ‘quality time’ with your wife.
Thankfully for you, the party ends soon after, you and Alex being one of the last couples to leave.
You make your way towards the car, albeit a bit faster than necessary, but you and Alex were incredibly eager to get home.
You open the door for her with a seductive smile, the woman sliding into the car and crossing her legs, hoping to alleviate the pressure building between them.
It isn’t long before you’re sliding into the driver’s seat.
“Ready to have some fun?” You ask, Alex’s tongue swiping at her lips as she reaches across the center console and boldly places her hand on the bulge in your pants.
You clench your jaw, biting back a moan as she gives it a squeeze.
“More than ready.” She purrs, pulling her hand away painfully slow before she turns away, watching out of the corner of her eye as you jam the keys in the ignition and back quickly out of the parking lot, wanting to get home as quickly as possible.
The moment Alex steps out of the car she lets out a squeak, giggling as you lift her into the air and carry her through the front door with ease, the woman kissing your neck all the way.
You kick the door shut behind you and place her on a nearby table, the former soccer player moaning when your lips slam against hers.
You kiss feverishly, your tongue eventually slipping into Alex’s mouth, the two of you moaning as your tongues meet.
Alex hastily unbuttons your jacket before shoving it off of you, neither caring that your formal attire was now on the floor.
Alex holds her arms up, letting you pull the dress over her head, leaving her in a pair of panties and a strapless bra.
“Gorgeous.” You mumble as you unhook her bra and palm her breasts, the woman throwing her head back as you roll her nipples between your thumb and index fingers.
“God, look how wet you are.” You say, spreading her legs, your tongue swiping at your lips you brush your fingertips against the damp patch in her panties.
“Y/N...” She sighs as you caress her through her panties, the woman moaning.
You were now rock hard, you honestly had been since before you arrived at home, the thought of what you were going to do to Alex when you got home arousing you beyond belief.
It isn’t long before your upper half is bare, Alex moving at lightning speed to make you as bare as she was.
She kisses your breast, sloppily kissing the mounds of flesh as she undoes the belt holding your pants on.
You kick off your boots, which takes some maneuvering but soon they’re off and your pants are around your ankles, your member standing at attention beneath your boxers.
Alex kisses you hungrily, her tongue running along your own, the two of you moaning into one another’s mouth.
Your fingers hook into the waistband of Alex’s panties as you kiss, the woman’s hips rising as you pull her panties down her legs, the soaked garment ending up on the floor along with your other clothes.
Alex groans loudly as your hand slips between her legs, your fingers tracing her slit before giving her clit a gentle nudge.
“I’m gonna fuck you right here.” You growl, moaning when Alex’s cups you through your boxers, rubbing your already throbbing member.
Alex shoves your boxers off, no barrier remaining between you and her hand, the woman wrapping her fingers around your rod, pumping it slowly.
Alex’s movement ceases when you lift her in the air and place her back against your front door, the two of you entirely bare as you take your member in your hand.
“Ready for me?” You ask and she nods rapidly, shivering in anticipation.
She clings to you as you run your head through her lower lips, your head positioned at her entrance.
Her brows furrow in pleasure as you head slips inside, the woman unable to wait as she lowers her hips, the rest of your cock sliding into her.
“Shit.” Alex moans loudly, the woman panting heavily against your neck.
Her legs wrap around your middle as you give your hips a slow thrust, her fingers prodding into your back.
You slid slowly and deeply into her, knowing that she enjoyed it more when you thrust as deeply into her as you possibly could.
“Oh god.” She moans, her toes curling.
She’d been worked up the entirety of the night, and now she FINALLY had you inside her.
“Harder.” She purrs, and almost immediately your thrusts increase in speed.
Soon your thighs are slapping together loudly, the woman in your arms moaning shamelessly as you rut into her, making do on your promise from earlier in the night.
“Fuck... Fuck... Fuck...” Alex moans repeatedly against your neck, her hips bouncing in time with your own wild thrusts.
You clench your teeth tightly, mere moments from erupting inside your wife, but you’d be damned if she didn’t come first.
Alex’s breath hitches rapidly, a sign to you that she was teetering on the edge, her walls fluttering around you.
She stiffens in your hold, letting out a high-pitched whine against your neck as she shudders violently.
Her core tightening around you makes you groan, your hips canting upwards as you come, unable to hold back your orgasm any longer.
Her nails dig into your back as you erupt inside her, filling her with your seed, the woman’s core still squeezing around you.
Alex presses tender kisses to your neck as you moan, your hips still rocking as you come down from your high, eventually stilling.
“Christ.” You moan, pulling back to press a tender kiss to her lips, your member still buried inside her.
You reluctantly part, a smirk stretching across your face as you bury your face in her neck, nipping at her pulse point.
“Want to take this to the bedroom?” You ask and she laughs.
“I think you already know that answer to that.”
You reluctantly slide out of her, before carefully maneuvering your way through the home and to your bedroom, where you deposit Alex onto the bed, the woman’s legs spread wide open as she teasingly slips a hand between her legs, rubbing her clit.
Her hips arch off the bed as the circles she’s drawing against her clit grow smaller and faster, the sounds she’s making, making your semi flaccid cock harden.
You take her hand from between her legs, bringing her fingers to your lips before wrapping your lips around them, sucking her fingers clean, the woman’s eyes rolling back in her head slightly at the sight.
Alex watches as you take your member in your hand, sliding it between her nether lips, your head brushing her clit, making her moan.
You’re unable to slip inside her before she rolls the two of you over, your back hitting the mattress.
She takes your hard cock in her hand, stroking it gently before she lines it up with her entrance and slowly lowers herself down onto it, impaling herself on your cock.
“Shit.” You moan, your back arching as Alex’s hands rest on your abdomen the woman lifting her hips, your member slipping out of her slightly before she drops back down, your member sliding back into her tight heat.
“Oh, Jesus.” You moan as she throws her head back, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.
“God, so good.” She moans, her bouncing quickly becoming erratic.
You start a rhythm, timing your thrust in time with her bouncing, the woman moaning loudly as you slide deep inside her.
Her core starts to pulse around you before it tightens, your wife throwing her head backwards as she moans loudly, coming for the second time that night.
You watch lustfully as her hips slow, the woman eventually stilling.
Alex yelps when you flip your positions, the woman now beneath you, your member slipping out of her momentarily.
Her hands settle on your shoulders as you press a hand against the headboard.
Alex moans loudly as you slide into her without hesitation, the woman still sensitive, but eager to have you inside of her again.
You brace yourself against the headboard before thrusting into her roughly, Alex letting out a raspy moan as you pound into her, your headboard smacking the wall loudly.
Alex is unable to catch her breath, letting out repeated high-pitched moans, the woman overcome with absolute pleasure.
Your thighs slap together loudly and repeatedly, your cock throbbing as you make do on your promise you made earlier in the night, absolutely railing your wife.
She grips your shoulders tightly as you slam into her, sweat forming on your brow as you plow into her.
Alex’s core tightens around you, the woman letting out a loud and lengthy whine as she comes again.
This time, her orgasm throws you headlong into your own.
You thrust deeply into her tight heat, as you explode inside her, again coating her walls with your release.
You thrust slowly into her, working the two of you down from your highest peaks.
Eventually you still, collapsing on top of the woman, the two of you attempting to fill your lungs with the air you lost.
Alex kisses your neck softly, lazily drawing patterns against your bare back.
You pull back, staring into your wife’s glassy orbs, a smile stretching across your face.
“I love you.” You whisper, the woman surging forwards, pressing a tender, and loving kiss to your lips.
“I love you too.” She smiles, scratching the nape of your neck softly, the fine hairs there soaked in sweat.
You duck down, your lips again meeting hers, the kiss a complete contrast to what you were just doing.
You pull back with a smirk, glancing between your bodies, your smirk splitting into a grin.
“You don’t think I’m done with you yet, right?” You ask and Alex giggles, wrapping her legs around your middle.
“You better not be.”
It isn’t until hours later that the two of you are entirely spent, your bodies sore from the rigorous activities you just performed.
Your wrap your arms around Alex from behind, kissing the soft skin beneath her ear.
“I love you, Alex.” You whisper, the woman snuggling back into you, covering your hands with her own.
“I love you too Y/N.”
You chuckle, Alex’s brows furrowing.
“What?” She asks in confusion and you grin.
“I told you I was going to absolutely rail you.” You tease and she rolls her eyes.
“Shut up.”
“I think I just need to start wearing my unform around the house.” You laugh and she rolls over in your hold.
“If you do that, we’ll literally never leave bed.” She smiles and you shrug.
“I like the sound of that to be honest.”
Alex giggles, closing the distance between you again, her lips pressing against your softly.
If It Were Up To Me (We'd Be Meant To Be) (Alex Morgan x Reader)
It was the typical cliche, childhood best friends falling for one another, in this case however, it was only you who fell and judging by the wedding invitation currently resting on your kitchen counter, you'd be the only one to ever fall.
The day was like any typical day, your parents chattering away in the Morgan’s living room as you and Alex played a few feet away, the two of you giggling as you made your two dolls walk towards one another.
“What do you mean?” You ask in confusion, your head cocked to the side, your tiny brows knitted in confusion.
“I seen mommy and daddy kissing.” Alex says, the little girl shrugging as she leans her doll towards your own.
“What’s a kiss?” You ask, turning back to the toys the two of you were playing with.
“It’s what two people do when they love each other.” She says nonchalantly, playing with the doll in her hands.
“Can anyone kiss?” You ask and she shrugs.
“I think so.”
You hum, turning your attention back to your own doll.
You remain quiet for a moment, but questions plagued your tiny mind.
“How do you kiss?” You ask, your best friend turning towards you with a small smile.
“I think it’s like this.”
“Awwwwww, look at them...” You hear your mother say as Alex Morgan’s lips meet yours, the two of you giggling as you part, your parents cooing.
“Before we know it, those two will be married!” Alex’s father says, sharing a round of laughter with your parents.
Though the kiss you had shared was a meaningless kiss between two children, something neither of you understood, it would lead to something much more complex the older you got, something that would lead to your heart eventually being broken.
You frowned sadly as you stared down at the invitation resting on your kitchen counter, an invitation to your best friend, Alex Morgan’s, wedding.
You’d been best friends since childhood, and that hadn’t changed throughout your adult life, the two of you growing closer and closer the older you got.
You wouldn’t lie, you found yourself developing feelings for Alex in middle school, and those feelings only progressed as the two of you got older.
Those feelings had in no way dissipated, even as you stared at the invitation resting on your marble kitchen counter.
You flip the invitation over, not wanting to read the name of your best friend and her soon to be husband on its surface.
You bury your face in your hands, your stomach churning as your eyes again drift to the invitation, one that is now upside down, the names no longer visible.
You knew you missed your chance; you knew you couldn’t go back and change things, the wedding date was cemented now, and there was no changing it.
You knew you couldn’t go; you couldn’t watch the woman you loved marry someone else.
You had to come up with an excuse, and though you knew missing her wedding would break her heart, seeing her get married would shatter yours in such a way that you’d never be able to piece it back together.
Your hands tremble as you move to your feet, shuffling towards the cabinet near the fridge before you produce a bottle of Vodka, screwing the cap off and taking a swig, the liquid burning your throat, it’s warmth spreading to your chest.
If you had any say in the matter, you’d drink so much you would forget the name Alex Morgan.
No matter how much you drank that night, you couldn’t forget Alex, you never could and deep down, you knew that.
Alex Morgan’s brows knitted in confusion, the corners of her mouth drooping downwards.
“What’s wrong?” Kelley O’Hara says as she flops down onto the bed beside Alex, the woman still staring blankly at her phone’s screen, unable to really comprehend what she’s reading.
“Y/N just cancelled her RSVP.” She mumbles, Kelley’s eyes widening when she peers over her shoulder.
“What?!?” She asks, scanning the email, her brows furrowed.
She’d only met you a few times, but it was obvious to literally anyone with eyes that you were absolutely in love with the woman sitting beside her, a woman whose wedding you cancelled your RSVP for.
Kelley knew it would be absolute torture to watch the woman you loved get married to someone who wasn’t you, if she was in your shoes, she probably would have cancelled as well.
“Did she say why?” Kelley asks, earning a shake of the head from Alex.
“No...” She frowns, dropping her phone onto the hotel room’s bed.
Kelley slips an arm around her middle, pulling her towards her, Alex’s head resting on her shoulder.
The two sit in silence, the defender trying to think of a response, but before she can reply, Alex breaks the silence.
“We’ll be in New York in a couple weeks for our match against you guys, I’ll go see her then.” She mumbles and Kelley nods, her throat bobbing, wondering what the conversation between the two of you would entail, and hoping that for your sake, it didn’t end negatively.
You did your best to avoid Alex’s multiple calls and her text messages, knowing that if you really spoke to the woman, she would see right through you.
She could always tell when you were lying, commenting on the fact that you’d noticeably fidget, unable to meet her gaze.
You’d come up with a bullshit excuse for missing her wedding, claiming that your office had denied your request to get the week of her wedding off.
In reality, you’d had the week off for months, but you needed an excuse not to go, you need an excuse to miss watching her marry someone else.
Alex’s texts and phone calls had stopped, but you knew that wouldn’t be the end of it, if Alex Morgan was anything, it was stubborn.
What you didn’t realize was that stubbornness would lead to her knocking on your door a few weeks later, your eyes widening when you peer through the peephole and see Alex Morgan standing at your door.
You take a deep breath, your heart racing, your chest tightening as you try to calm yourself down, your eyes fluttering shut.
“Y/N, are you there?” Alex calls out and you clear your throat, pulling your door open with a smile on your face, one Alex notes, doesn’t meet your eyes.
“Hey.” She says softly, closing the distance between you, throwing her arms around your neck and giving you a squeeze.
Your arms slide around her middle, your heart racing as you hug her tightly, your eyes fluttering shut.
Alex’s hugs never ceased to make a warmth spread throughout your chest, and make your heart thump wildly, the close proximity between the two of you making your pulse race.
Alex buries her face in your neck and your breath catches in your throat, the tip of her nose brushing your jawline.
“Where have you been?” She asks as she pulls back her blue orbs locking with your Y/E/C’s.
You glance away, unable to look her in the eyes and blatantly lie to her, it’s not like you could tell her you were avoiding her calls and texts purposely.
“I’m sorry, things have been REALLY busy at the office, I literally come home and the second my head hits the pillow, I’m out.” You shrug, turning back to Alex who inspects you closely.
She could read you like an open book, and almost immediately she knew you were lying.
“Y/N...” She starts and your throat bobs.
“What?” You say as you turn away, making your way towards the refrigerator.
“Do you want anything?” You ask, acutely aware of the fact that Alex is moving towards you.
“Y/N...” She says again, her hand on your back, her touch making you stiffen.
You sigh, your eyes fluttering shut as the woman caresses your back gently, smiling when you sag slightly.
“You’ve been my best friend for over 20 years, I know when something’s wrong.” She says softly, subconsciously tracing your spine causing you to shiver.
Her throat bobbed as she traced your spine, reveling in the way you shuddered.
In all honesty, the way you reacted to her touch never ceased to make her heart race, in some circumstances, she’d brush her fingertips against you, just to see that reaction.
“Y/N...” She whispers again, gently taking your shoulder and turning you around slowly, her blue orbs widening when she realizes your Y/E/C orbs are filled with tears.
Alex cups your cheeks gently, frowning as a tear slides down your cheek, the inner turmoil in your dulled Y/E/C orbs visible.
“Y/N--
Alex pauses mid-sentence, her blue orbs wide and heart racing when your lips press against hers. She remains still, unsure of what to do as your lips move against hers.
Almost as quickly as they met hers, they’re gone, your eyes wide, your heart slamming violently against the confines created by your ribs.
Alex remains silent, unable to find her voice, before you turn and sprint out of the apartment, putting as much distance between yourself and her as possible.
Alex wasn’t sure how long she stood in your apartment, unable to tear her gaze away from the place where you’d been originally standing.
She never expected when she’d come to your apartment that you would kiss her, the thought of your lips meeting hers making her heart race.
It was only when her phone started to ring that she was pulled from her daze, her head on a swivel as she surveyed your apartment, an apartment you’d bolted from sometime before.
Alex’s feet guide her towards your apartment door, the woman slipping out of your apartment before clicking the door shut behind her.
In all honesty, she was numb, her mind racing wildly, she had no idea what to do, but before she realized what was happening, she was sitting in the back of a taxi on her way home.
Needless to say, when you returned to your apartment hours later and realized it was empty, you broke down, knowing that the relationship between the two of you would never be the same again.
Alex Morgan hadn’t tried to contact you after that, not a single text, or phone call, the woman doing everything she could to distance herself from you.
Despite that, you couldn’t help but stare down at the invitation still lying on your kitchen counter with each passing day, the date of the wedding looming.
You knew you weren’t welcome; you knew Alex wouldn’t want to see you after the unreciprocated kiss, but still you found yourself preparing for the event anyway, dressing in a well-tailored suit despite knowing you’d planned on not being seen.
Thankfully for you, the venue wasn’t indoors, the massive and extravagant wedding being held outside, the sun high in the sky and the sea’s waves crashing wildly against the rocks nearby.
It was easy considering you didn’t exactly have to sneak in, but you still chose to keep your distance, so much so that the wedding participants were barely visible.
You lean against a nearby tree, your throat bobbing when you catch sight of the woman you’d come there to see, a woman who you’d kissed months ago, a woman who didn’t feel the same way as you did, and never would.
Even at a distance, you knew Alex Morgan looked stunning in her wedding dress, the sight of her taking your breath away.
Your throat tightened, as did your chest, the knowledge that she was about to marry someone who wasn’t you making your heart tear in two.
It was only when she reached the altar that you felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, tears that were now streaming down your cheeks.
The man officiating the wedding starts to speak, the sound deafening to your ears despite being so far away.
Your palms begin to sweat as you watch the wedding from afar, the urge to get a closer look, and to move further away from the venue prominent.
You stand completely still, unable to keep yourself from watching the scene before you, a scene that was shredding your heart into tiny pieces.
You knew Servando was speaking, you could barely see his lips moving in your peripheral vision considering your gaze was focused entirely on Alex Morgan.
Your focus thus remained on her when the woman abruptly turned away from the man she was marrying and sprinted down the aisle, the guests gasping as Alex sprinted away from the venue.
Alex Morgan couldn’t keep her mind off you, it was her wedding day, she was about to marry the man she’d been with for years, and she STILL couldn’t get her mind off you.
She’d replayed the moment in her head over and over again, remembered the way your lips felt against hers, and the look of fear in your eyes when you left the apartment.
“Alex?”
Alex’s eyes widen, her head snapping upwards, catching sight of her mother’s eyes in the mirror, the older woman’s eyes narrowed as she inspects Alex’s face through the reflection.
“Is something wrong...?” She asks, Alex’s mouth opening and closing rapidly before it snaps shut, the woman shaking her head slowly.
Her mother shakes her head, moving towards her daughter, her hands resting gently on her shoulders.
“Honey, you can tell me anything.” She whispers, tucking a wild wisp of hair behind her ear as she stares at her face in the mirror.
Alex shrugs, her throat bobbing as her mouth opens and closes yet again before she finally finds her voice.
“What if I’m making a mistake...?” She asks, her mother’s eyes widening.
“Why would you think that...?” Her mother asks, her thumb running back and forth along Alex’s shoulder.
She shrugs.
Pam hums, staring at her daughter before realization dawns on her face.
“Is this about Y/N?” She asks, Alex’s eyes widening as her eyes meet her mothers in the mirror.
“Why would it be about Y/N?” She asks, her mother smiling softly.
“Honey, I know you, and I know something happened between the two of you.” She says, gauging her daughter’s reaction, Alex’s gaze falling to her lap, taking particular interest in her manicured nails.
“What happened?” Her mother coaxes and Alex sighs deeply.
“She...” She pauses, inhaling deeply.
“She kissed me.” She exhales, Pam’s eyes widening, though with Alex’s head down, she misses the twitch at the corner of her mouth, the older Morgan fighting back a smile.
“When was this?” She asks, Alex playing with her fingers nervously.
“A few months ago.” She mumbles and Pam nods.
“Is that why you haven’t been talking?” She asks and Alex nods silently in response.
Pam studies her face quietly for a moment before she sighs, grabbing a nearby chair and taking a seat beside her daughter.
“What happened after?” She asks, Alex still staring at her lap.
“I didn’t kiss back, and she ran away.” She says, vividly remembering the look on your face after you’d kissed her.
Pam remains silent, pondering on what to say before she speaks.
“Did you want to kiss back?” She asks and Alex shrugs.
“I don’t know.”
Pam and Alex turn back towards the door, smiling when Alex’s father, Michael peeks his head in.
“It’s time.” He says softly, moving into the room, ducking down to kiss the top of Alex’s head, completely oblivious to the conversation he’d interrupted.
“Are you ready?” He asks, Alex’s blue orbs darting to her mothers in the mirror, the two sharing a silent conversation before Alex reluctantly nods.
Alex blindly made her way down the aisle, her father’s arm hooked with her own, the smiling man at the end of the aisle the man she was supposed to spend the rest of her life with.
Though she should’ve felt excitement, she didn’t, the thought of waking up to him every day in no way feeling as appealing as it would to wake up to you every day.
Alex plastered on a fake smile as she reaches the altar, Servando taking her hands with a loving smile, his thumbs caressing the back of her hands.
“I love you.” He whispers, turning away, completely unaware that she hadn’t returned the sentiment.
The officiant starts speaking, though his words fall on deaf ears, Alex lost in her own thoughts, thoughts of what would happen if she married the man in front of her.
If she went through with it, she would never be able to explore what she was feeling, she’d never know what it would feel like to feel your lips against hers again, she’d never know what it would feel like to actually kiss you back.
And as the seconds passed, she realized she wanted to know what it felt like to kiss you back.
“Alex?”
Alex blinks rapidly, picking her head up, realizing the officiant, and Servando were looking at her expectantly, Servando’s brows knitted in confusion.
“Do you have anything you’d like to say to Servando?” The officiant asks, and Alex swallows hard, her mouth opening and closing rapidly.
“I can’t do this.”
Those around her gasp as she turns on her heels and sprints down the aisle, as best as she can in heels.
Much like you had months ago, she sprints away, unaware that you’re watching her from afar and following after her.
Unfortunately, you weren’t able to catch Alex before she disappeared into a taxi, the taxi carrying her a lengthy distance away before you reach the sidewalk.
You’re completely unaware that a number of the wedding guests had followed after the wayward bride.
You can’t help but jump when a hand settles on a shoulder, a hand you realize belongs to nonother than Pamela Morgan.
The older woman’s eyes lock with your own and you turn away, your throat bobbing.
“Do you have any idea where she could’ve gone?” You hear one of the wedding guests ask Servando, the man shaking his head rapidly.
“I don’t know.” He says sadly, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Pam meanwhile leans towards you, whispering in your ear.
“But you do.” She says, your eyes widening as you pull back abruptly.
You had an idea of where she might be going, a place the two of you frequented when you were growing up, a place the two of you would run to when you needed to get away from the world around you.
Pam nods, giving your shoulder a squeeze.
“Go.”
You swallow hard, searching her face momentarily before you nod, turning away from the older Morgan before you sprint off, intent on following after your best friend and the woman you were hopelessly in love with.
The clearing in the small woods behind Alex’s childhood home that you’d frequented as kids hadn't changed all that much, the large rock the two of you would lounge on still resting a few feet away from the small stream running by.
And that’s of course where you find Alex, the woman completely unaware of your presence as you move towards her.
You frown at the sound of her soft sniffles, transported back to your teenager years when you’d found her in this very same position, crying about a boy who’d cheated on her.
Even back then, you were in love with her, and you still felt that same love for her to this day.
“Al...?” You whisper, the woman gasping as she sits up abruptly, her watery blue orbs finding your Y/E/C’s in an instant.
Her eyes rake down your front, her throat bobbing as she turns away.
You make your way towards her, taking a seat on the slab of stone beside her.
The world around you falls silent, the two of you gazing at the small stream in front of you, its water flowing past slowly and softly.
“How did you know where to find me...?” Alex croaks out and you smile.
“This was our spot, remember?” You ask and Alex shakes her head wiping her running nose with her forearm.
"I know." She sniffs, remembering the times she'd found you there when you were going through something, specifically when you were hit with the realization that you were having feelings for girls, that you were SUPPOSED to be having for boys, of course, according to society’s standards.
The two of you fall silent again, focusing on the water running by in front of you.
“Why did you run?" You whisper hoarsely, fearful of what her answer may be.
Alex remains silent, the woman gathering her thoughts before she speaks.
“Because I didn’t want to spend my entire life settling for Servando...” She pauses, slowly turning towards you, the woman delicately cupping your cheeks, your breath catching roughly in your throat.
“When all of this time, I could’ve had you.” She whispers, caressing your cheek, smiling when you lean into her touch.
Your eyes instinctively flutter shut as Alex leans in, her lips pressing gently against your own.
You'd kissed twice before, a meaningless kiss when you were kids, and a kiss that unfortunately, Alex hadn't reciprocated, but now, Alex Morgan had kissed you, and you in no way hesitated to kiss her back.
Your hands find their way to her waist as you kiss softly, her fingers knitting behind your neck as she pulls you closer.
The kiss made your heart race, and your body tingle, a feeling you'd been longing for since you were teenagers had now come to fruition, and you never wanted it to end.
It's only when you feel something wet on your cheek that you pull back, your eyes flashing open to reveal Alex's tear covered cheeks.
"Hey..." You say as you cup her cheeks, swiping her tears away with the pads of your thumbs.
"Please don't cry." You whisper as you hold her close, the woman shaking her head as she covers your hands with her own.
“I almost made the biggest mistake of my life.” She whispers, leaning into your touch as she turns head, kissing your palm.
“What do you mean?” You ask, unable to put two and two together in your mind at that moment.
Alex’s watery blue orbs meet yours as she leans back in, pressing another loving kiss to your lips, your bottom lip trapped between hers, as her hands cover your own, her fingers pushing their way in between yours.
Again, you part with much reluctance, Alex leaning her forehead against yours, the two of you breathing one another's air.
“I almost married someone who wasn’t you.” She says, your eyes widening as you study her face intently, your heart beating rapidly in your chest.
Your mouth opens and closes rapidly, your brain unable to respond to what Alex’s had just said, a fantasy you could’ve only ever dreamed up playing out before you.
Alex’s hands leave yours and she gently cups your cheeks, wiping away tears you hadn’t realized were streaming down your cheeks.
You squeeze your eyes shut, but you’re unable to keep your tears at bay as Alex scoots closer, resting her forehead back against yours.
“And I would’ve spent the rest of my life regretting it.” She says, brushing her nose back and forth against your own, your watery Y/E/C’s opening to meet Alex’s watery blues.
“I love you.” You whisper, your eyes widening when you realize what you’d said.
“Wh-What I meant was--
You’re cut off by the press of Alex’s lips against yours, the woman pulling back with a toothy grin.
“I love you too Y/N, I always have.” She says, tilting her head back to kiss your forehead.
“And I always will.”
You press a kiss to Alex’s lips again before turning back towards the stream, your arm slipping around her middle, her head resting on your shoulder.
It was in that moment, sitting in the spot that you’d frequented as kids, you in a suit and Alex in her wedding dress that you realized this was always meant to happen, and it all started with a kiss between two clueless kids who had no idea what it meant at the time.
Now, however, when you kissed, it meant something, it meant so much in fact that you’d eventually kiss in front of a crowd of people, you in a suit, and Alex Morgan in a wedding dress.
pairing: Rosé x male reader
rating: Explicit
wordcount: 2.8k
prompt: a young journalist gets a chance of a lifetime with Rosé at a recent event.
Being a writer for a celebrity magazine has its advantages, such as getting to attend grand events like the Cannes Film Festival, or in this case, the MET Gala. Now you might think, where's the fun or excitement in that? A bunch of rich people dressed in overpriced clothing and posing on the red carpet while you have to ask them redundant questions that no one truly cares about outside a small niche of fans.
That is a reasonable question to ask, and a fair point to make. Hell, there are times when you wonder to yourself just how legitimate of a job this is. You certainly hear that question from your parents enough. But the answer to all of those questions comes from the woman currently walking towards you.
"Thank you for your time," you say to the current girl in front of you.
You have been interviewing some girl who is apparently 'the next Olivia Rodrigo,' which is a wild title to have, but you digress. As you bid her good-bye, a sudden chorus of "Rosé! Rosé over here!" erupts from the group of photographers, followed by a series of flashing light bulbs.
Your eyes flick over to the red carpet area near you to see none other than the 26-year-old starlet, Roseanne Park. Otherwise known as Rosé from Blackpink.
You have never crossed paths with her at any events you have covered; which you just toss up to bad luck or god punishing you for some crime you can’t remember. Either way, it seems like you will finally be getting your chance. Judging from this distance, she is just as beautiful as she appears in all her photos.
Her blonde hair is flowing down her back while loose bangs frame her face as she smiles for the camera. She is wearing a black dress that is form-fitting at the top, held together by two thin straps, and flares outwards at the waist. Frankly, she looks stunning. It is a classy dress that still manages to spark arousal in you. Though, you will keep that last part to yourself.
It is only a few moments later that you have to compose yourself as the press woman directs Rosé towards your vicinity. Adjusting your stance, and growing erection, you cough and put on a friendly smile as she walks over.
"Hi, I'm with Eros Magazine," you introduce yourself, managing to remain composed.
"Rosie, it’s nice to meet you," she says sweetly. She is even more beautiful up close, and that smile is practically paralyzing. Given that you don't trust your tongue at the moment, you decide to keep it simple.
"So how are you tonight?" you question, knowing how many times she must have answered it already.
"I'm great! It's a little cold tonight, but I'm excited to be here," she starts in her accented voice. "I love the Museum of Arts and supporting a good cause is always great. There are so many beautiful dresses and people here. So it's all feeling great right now!" she says, remaining smiling and bubbly throughout her answer.
For your part, you merely nod your head and smile, holding the recorder up to get every word. You go through the litany of typical red carpet questions: what projects are you working on, how's the music coming; all the typical things you could hand in to your editor when a story is due. You can see the press woman getting antsy though. Typical. Figuring you only have one or two questions left, you decide to venture out a bit.
"So, you're going to be going on tour again soon, that must be exciting..."
"It is! You're actually the first one to bring that up all night," she says, a hint of surprise in her voice.
"I do like to do my homework beforehand," you joke with a grin before continuing, "That being said, how do you manage to have fun and unwind? Even at these events, you have to keep a certain image, right?"
Rosé is quiet at first, and for a moment, she glances around as if to check that the coast is clear before she answers, "Oh, you know the girls and I find out ways to have fun. And this is actually my third year at the Gala, so I’ve found the little tricks and ways to have some fun."
There is something about the way she looks at you as she speaks that screams there is more than meets the eye to her words. Maybe it is the coy tone to her voice or the glint in her eye as she smiles. Whatever it is, you suddenly find yourself wondering exactly what ‘some fun' entails.
"By the way," Rosé says, interrupting your thoughts, "Eros Magazine...as in the Greek word for erotic love?"
Again she fixes you with that mischievous grin.
"Uh — yeah. Nice catch," you stammer, causing her to giggle.
"I like it" she says, a look you can’t read in her eye. Before you can ask anything further, the press woman begins to nudge her on to the next reporter. "It was nice meeting you."
"You too, have a good one," you reply, watching her intently as she walks away.
If that is your first and last interaction with the K-pop star, then you can say it has been interesting if nothing else. You get the feeling there is more to that little minx than meets the eye, you are only disappointed that you’d likely never get the chance to delve a bit further.
Covering the event means that you gain access to the party but hardly anyone does any real reporting. After all, these kinds of events are meant for the rich and famous. To cement their status as celebrities, they then sneak off inside to where they can have their fun. For the most part, you reporters stay together, talk, and drink the free liquor that is available.
You expect your night will be spent at the bar, winding your time down until it reaches an acceptable time to call it a night. But first things first, if you are going to be here on the company dime, you might as well get your money's worth.
"I've been looking for you all night!"
You are in the middle of ordering yet another drink when a familiar accented voice reaches your ears. Turning in your stool, you lay your eyes on Roseanne Park for the second time tonight, only this time there is something a little more...loose to her demeanor. You get an explanation when you spot the glass in her hands and briefly wonder how many she had at this point.
"Me? You must be confused," you say, both amused, curious, and a bit confused, "I don't think anyone at this party has said I’m wanted."
"Well, you are!" she says, smiling as she moves towards you, "And now that I've found you, I have something to show you."
"Don't you have famous friends to entertain?" you question more than protest as she places her drink on the bar and takes your hand.
You catch a glimpse of a hint of a pout on her features, "Don’t worry, they’re occupied." Again, there is that suggestion that something more is going on. Of course, there is the very realistic possibility that your mind is just running away with crazy, erotic theories. But that potential doesn’t stop you from being any more turned on by the thought. Coupled with the fact that Rosé is dragging you through a gala to god-knows-where and you are practically dreaming. In that moment, she could take you to hell for all you care.
"You're going to love it, trust me," she assures, looking back at you as she continues leading.
"Oh, I’m sure," you reply. Your mind is racing with things from a blow job to taking her from behind, so needless to say, you are a bit disappointed when she stops at your destination.
"A photo booth?" you ask, a bit amused at how silly it seems.
Rosé is either undeterred or doesn’t register your lack of enthusiasm as she simply nods, still smiling and pulling you into the booth.
“It's fun! Come on," the blonde insists, pulling you by the hand into the photo booth. Judging by the size of it, the booth is clearly an afterthought to the gala planners, or maybe it just isn’t meant for two people at the same time to occupy it. You do your best to squeeze yourself in so she can close the curtain behind you. To your surprise, Rosé neatly slides onto your lap, her perfect, tight ass sitting right on top of where your hard-on has been growing for the last couple of minutes.
"Alright, so it takes six photos then prints them out there," she points to the deposit box under the screen. She either doesn't feel the bulge pressing firmly against her ass, or she is very good at playing naive.
"Okay," you nod, as if you are bothering to pay any attention to the pictures.
As she shimmies on your lap to get into a better position, you decide to be bold and snake your arm around her slim waist, only to receive no complaints from the pop star. A countdown shows up on the screen, and when it says CHEESE, Rosé throws her arms around you, smiling openly as you try and fail not to look too bewildered. The screen replays your photo, and you can’t help but laugh at your own expense.
"Not bad," you grin, as the counter starts for the second photo.
"Not bad, but I think we can do better!" she says with a determined look on her face. When the screen says CHEESE again, Rosé suddenly leans over and licks the side of your face. You are so surprised you don't know how you react until the photo replays.
"Oh my god! That's great!" Rosé laughs.
You take the next few photos in the same fashion, going for ridiculous and silly in each one. After every photo, Rosé would shift her weight on your lap, rubbing against your erection each time. You are certain that she has to be well aware of what she is doing, and by the time the countdown for the last photo appears, you have made up your mind.
When the screen flashes, you turn Rosé's head to you and push your lips flush against hers. To your surprise, it takes less than half a second for her to respond, her hands moving up to cup your face. You kiss passionately like that until the simple need for air breaks you apart.
"I was starting to think all my work was for nothing," she says, a devilish grin on her face.
You raise an eyebrow at her; apparently, all your theories have just been confirmed. "You planned all this then?"
"I told you we know how to have our fun at these things," she comments, twirling a strand of hair in her finger.
"We?"
Mischief gleams in her gaze for a moment, “Maybe later. I know you’re a reporter, but you shouldn’t ask too many questions.”
She places a delicate finger to your lips as she gets up off your lap. The low ceiling of the booth doesn't allow her to stand up fully, but she doesn't have to as she crouches and reaches under her dress and begins pulling down her panties. "Fuck...these things are definitely ruined. I practically soaked them."
Her comment is more to herself than you, but your cock only grows harder at the revelation. You watch as she slides her thong down past her ankles, and her eyes fall to your crotch. With nimble fingers, she works on your button and zipper, springing free your aching cock.
"Oh wow..." she mutters, eyeing it with an animalistic hunger. "I would love to wrap my lips around that..."
"You're more than welcomed to," you groan, starting to get that sense of teasing with the amount of anticipation that is building. You are tempted to just force her head onto your cock, but you stop short when she speaks.
"Later. We don't have a lot of time."
Your disappointment at that statement is short-lived as she stands again and turns around. Rosé lifts her skirt and hovers over your lap. Grabbing hold of your member, you let out a groan as she positions it at her entrance, rubbing it for a second in her dripping juices. Unable to hold out, you thrust your hips slightly upward, causing your tip to pierce her folds.
"Mmm, somebody's anxious," she purrs, her accent coming out thick.
"Can you fucking blame me?" you say through gritted teeth, reaching out to grab her waist. Before you can yank her down, she beats you to it and spears herself on your rod. "Oh fuck," you let out, feeling how tight her petite body is.
"God, you feel fucking amazing," you mutter into her shoulder.
"Ah~...and you're...much bigger than you look," she says, clearly trying to adjust to the size she just filled herself with in one go. Apparently, the discomfort isn't so bad as she soon begins lifting and dropping herself on your cock slowly. "Try not—ooh— to get too loud," she moans out, her ass rocking against you.
"Speak for yourself," you grunt, your hands gripping her waist firmly as you start to move your hips to match the movement of hers.
You can't wrap your head around the fact that you're fucking a member of one of the most famous girl groups in the world in a photobooth at a gala with hundreds of celebrities. Thankfully, you don't need to wrap your head around it, as long as you keep fucking her. With that in mind, you take control of the pace, gripping her waist and forcing yourself up into her. Each time you spear her pussy, it's like another piece of heaven. Her pussy is squeezing you like there's no tomorrow, only increasing the pleasure you get with each thrust.
"Shit, yes, yes! Fuck me," Rosé chants in a loud whisper as she puts her hand on the console to steady herself as you thrust up into her.
"God, you're fucking tight," you moan, continuing to pound her Australian pussy. "Someone could look in here at any second."
"Oooh, I know," she lets out a shuddering breath.
"You're getting off on that, aren't you?" you continue the dirty talk, sliding a strap off her shoulder so you can push her top down to fondle her pert breast.
"Yes, yes! It fucking turns me on," Rosé pants.
For a moment, you fear she has given you away, but you're too far gone to truly care at this point. Her hands slide down the console, and you're only aware of what happens when the shutter of the camera makes you look up. Looking over Rosé's shoulder as she bounces up and down, you see your photo displayed, Rosé's mouth opened in pleasure.
Grinning to yourself, you increase the speed of your thrusts, determined to get her orgasm face by the last photo.
"OH!" she squeals, surprised by your sudden turn of action. "Oh fuck, right there. Keep going," she pants, her hand covering yours and holding it firmly against her breast.
You squeeze firmly, shoving every inch of your meat deep into her snatch. Her lithe body arches back into you. She's panting heavily, each thrust causing her to take a sharp breath. You turn her head towards you and kiss her, her hand gripping the back of your head. It's sloppy and passionate, perfectly fitting the current heated moment that is occurring.
"I'm close. I'm so fucking close," Rosé chants, continuing to grip your head as she moves her hips to yours.
A few moments later, you have to cover her mouth with your hand as she shrieks her orgasm. Her walls clench around you as she comes, her juices flooding your cock.
"I'm going to cum," you warn, knowing you aren't going to last through her orgasm.
"Mmmph," Rosé says, until you remove your hand, "In me! Cum inside me!"
You don't take a second to question it, instead thrusting your hips upward, your cock pushing into her one last time as you empty rope after rope of your seed into her womb. You continue unloading into the star for what seems like eternity until you both finally collapse in the booth. Her body heaves on top of yours as she tries to catch her breath.
"I don't think I've ever cum that hard before," you pant, causing the Blackpink singer to giggle.
"Don't speak too soon," she says, leaning back and kissing you softly on the lips. Thinking of what she could have planned only causes your cock to twitch inside her with anticipation.
One thing is for certain: this girl certainly knows how to have fun.
BUY ME A COFFEE - if you enjoy my stories considering buying me a coffee! always appreciated, never required.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
When You're With Him Do You Call His Name? (Like You Do When You're With Me?) (Alex Morgan x Reader)
It was no surprise to you that after you hooked up with Alex Morgan once, that she wanted to do it again, what you expected was just sex, but in reality, something more was developing between the two of you, and neither knew how to handle it.
Disclaimer: This fic is a continuation of Hate Me, Hate Me (Chase Me, Chase Me) and is almost entirely smut with a g!p reader, so if this isn't your thing, feel free to skip, otherwise, please enjoy and let me know what you think! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
“Ah, fuck.”
You groan loudly your back arching as Alex rides you senselessly, her eyes squeezed shut, her brow furrowed.
As you’d expected, Alex had indeed wanted to have sex with you again, and again, and again, and again the woman seemingly unable to get enough of you and the appendage between your legs.
You pepper her breasts with kisses before sucking a pink nipple into your mouth, her back arching as her fingers tangle in your hair, the woman holding you in place.
Thankfully, you’d parked in the back of a secluded parking lot, the bouncing of your car and the foggy widows unnoticed by anyone around you.
“Fuck, Y/N, you’re so deep.” She moans, her back arching as she bounces on your cock.
“You can’t get enough of me, can you?” You ask, the woman giving your hair a rough tug.
“Shut up.” She growls, her growl turning into a guttural moan as you thrust up into her, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth.
Your own breath catches in your throat, the base of your member pulsing, your climax fast approaching.
Alex stiffens without warning, the woman moaning loudly, her walls clamping down around you as she orgasms, her body trembling wildly.
You groan, continuing to thrust up into her, her hands fisting your hair before she’s crying out even louder than before.
“Goddamn.” You groan through gritted teeth, your hips canting upwards as you come, your seed again spilling inside her, something you’d found out she craved the feeling of.
“Christ.” Alex pants, gently caressing your scalp as her hips still, the two of you panting heavily, the windows of your car completely fogged.
“Does your husband fuck you as good as I do?” You ask, snorting when she gives your head a shove.
“Shut up.” She growls, whimpering as she leaves your lap, your flaccid member slipping out of her, a literal mess in your lap.
“He must not, because you’re always coming back for more.” You smirk, the woman sending you a glare as she hastily puts her clothes back on and leaves your car, a grin stretching across your face as you watch her go, knowing full well that she would be back.
************************************************************************Unfortunately for you, Alex didn’t come back, at least not right away, your words striking a nerve in her.
In all honesty, her and Servando hadn’t been all that intimate in months, the woman unable to feel the way she use to feel when he was inside her.
Faking an orgasm wasn’t something Alex enjoyed, but here as of late, the only person who could make her orgasm was you.
You were absolutely right when you said she couldn’t get enough of you, because she couldn’t, the forward wanting to tear your clothes off every single chance she got.
It was almost as if she couldn’t help herself, she was addicted, addicted to you, and the way you felt buried inside her.
She absolutely couldn’t get enough.
That want was what lead her to your apartment nearly two weeks later, the woman knocking on the door gently, eager to have you buried inside her again.
The door swings open a moment later, your eyes widening when you realize who’s standing on the other side.
“I wasn’t expecting a house call.” You smirk, Alex rolling her eyes before shoving you into your apartment, her lips meeting yours the second the door is shut.
Her tongue pushes its way into your mouth flicking against and caressing your own, your hips arching when she rubs you through your sweats.
She backs you against a nearby wall, the two of you kissing wildly as she tugs your sweats down, along with your boxers.
She wraps her hand around your member, pumping it softly, your back arching as you lean heavily into the wall behind you.
“Fuck Al.” You moan as she relentlessly strokes you until you’re fully erect.
“There we go.” She whispers, guiding you down the wall before she’s shimmying out of her own bottoms.
She was embarrassingly soaked, her essence dripping down her thighs, a sight that made your smirk split into a cocky grin.
Alex lets out a yelp when you spring to your feet, grabbing her and placing her on the back of the couch, her legs wide.
“All that for me?” You ask, dropping to your knees, your tongue running through her folds.
“Oh my god.” Alex cries out, her back arched as you lick her wildly, your nose brushing her clit as you devour her.
Her fingers tangle in your hair as her thighs begin to quiver, her climax approaching embarrassingly fast.
“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.” She chants, her body already beginning to tremble.
“Y/N!” She cries out as she orgasms, her eyes rolling back in her head, her toes curling painfully.
You continue working between her legs, the woman unable to catch her breath before she whines loudly, her body again trembling.
You lick your lips, bumping her throbbing clit with the tip of your nose before you move to your feet.
“J-Jesus.” Alex pants, her chest heaving, her body twitching every so often.
“How was that?” You ask licking your lips as your eyes fall to the apex of her thighs.
“You’re WAY too good at that.” She sighs, still attempting to catch her breath.
You snicker, the woman whimpering when your fingers run through her folds.
“Have you even come that hard before?” You ask, teasingly brushing her clit with your fingertips, her breath catching in her throat.
“N-No.” She stammers, moaning when your finger dips inside her.
She swallows hard, her eyes running down your body before settling on your bare, hard cock.
Your eyes double in size when she wraps her legs around your middle, pulling you in, her blue orbs nearly black as she grabs your hardness before she sinks down onto it.
Your back arches as a throaty groan crawls up your throat, the sound making her clit twitch.
“A little warning next time?” You grunt, Alex smirking as she rolls her hips, your brows furrowing in pleasure.
“No.” She says, kissing your jawline as you start rolling your own hips, your member sliding in and out of her tight heat.
Your hips increase in tempo, her legs wrapped tightly around you, her arms hanging loosely around your neck.
She buries her face in your neck, attempting to stifle her cries of pleasure, knowing she would indeed be coming again very shortly.
Her hands splay on your back as you thrust into her, her nails prodding into your skin.
“Fuck, so good.” Alex moans against your neck, the sound coming from between her legs obscene.
You, meanwhile, are mere moments from a powerful orgasm, your thighs beginning to twitch.
“I’m gonna come.” You groan, your hips thrusting into her harder before you stiffen.
Your hips jerking upwards as you moan against her neck, her legs tightening around you as you explode into her your seed spurting inside her.
She shivers, the feel of your come inside her making her cry out, her third orgasm ripping through her.
You hiss as her nails dig ridges into your back, but you’re unable to stop yourself from moaning, the pain prolonging your orgasm, more of your release milked out before you still, your chest rising and falling rapidly.
You lazily kiss her collarbone, the woman grinning in pure satisfaction.
“God, that was so good.” Alex whispers, tangling her fingers in the fine hairs at the base of your neck, your locks dampened with sweat.
The woman whimpers softly as you slip out of her, a literal mess of your essence dripping from her core.
“Can you take any more?” You ask, the woman chuckling as she leans her head back, gripping the back of the couch so she doesn't fall.
“I don’t think so.” She says, breathing heavily and you snicker.
You take a step towards her, your lips brushing her earlobe as you whisper.
“We both know there’s only one person who can make your orgasm like you just did, and that’s me.” You whisper, nibbling on her ear lobe.
“Isn’t that right?” You ask and she sighs, her head lolling backwards as you draw slow circles against her overestimated clit.
“Y-Yes.” She whimpers and you smirk, her breath catching in her throat when the circles you’re drawing become smaller and faster, the woman shuddering in pleasure.
“Y/N…!” She moans, quaking seconds later, coming for a fourth time in the last few hours.
You pull back, your tongue flicking against her ear lobe before you pull back, your lips pressing against hers tenderly, the kiss catching her slightly off guard, but she kisses back, nonetheless.
Her fingers tangle in your sweaty hair as you kiss, the kiss not driven by lust or want, but by something else, something else entirely foreign to the two of you.
You part, your throat bobbing as your eyes catch Alex’s bright blues.
“Let me get you something to get cleaned up with.” You say as you hastily leave the room, Alex just now catching her breath, her heart fluttering, something she’d felt only once before, and that was with the man she was married to.
When Somebody Loved Me (Everything Was Beautiful) (Alex Morgan x Reader)
A reunion of childhood best friends would typically be a jubilant affair, but not in this case. No, because you were about to reunite with none other than Alex Morgan, the woman who left you behind when you were kids, the woman who'd broken not only your heart but your spirit as well.
I really want to thank @kingofmyheart-19, without them I doubt this fic would have gotten done, they helped so much and listened to my ranting on plot ideas and gave me some of their own, so thank you so, so much for the help, it was SO appreciated! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ They're also a writer as well, so feel free to go check out their page!
Disclaimer: This fic could be very triggering to some, it deals with abuse, speicifically child abuse, so if that's going to trigger you PLEASE skip this one. If you're still here, get ready for a 9K emotional roller coaster. As always, I'd really love to hear what you all think, this has been a fic I've been wanting to write for so long and I'm so happy it's done, so please, let me know what you think.
⚠️Trigger Warning: Child Abuse/Mentions of Child Abuse ⚠️
You closed your eyes, practicing the deep breathing you learned in therapy before your eyes open, the stadium where you would meet the USWNT looming overhead.
You knew you would see her, that you would have to see her, you were now working for her team after all, but the thought of your reunion made your stomach twist.
You could feel your chest tighten, a panic attack looming as you thought about your Y/E/C orbs meeting hers.
You wondered if they were still the same bright blues you remembered.
You shake your head rapidly, pushing those thoughts to the back of your mind.
Just because you were about to see each other again after so long, didn’t mean things were the same as they once were, she’d left you behind, and you didn’t think you could ever forgive her for that.
You didn’t know if you could ever forgive Alex Morgan for what she did, in all honesty, you weren’t sure if you wanted to.
With one final deep breath you slip out of your rental car and make your way towards the arena, mere minutes from reuniting with the woman that broke your heart.
************************************************************************If there was one thing Alex Morgan didn’t expect, it was to see you making your way across the field towards her and the team, Emma Hayes at your side.
Her throat bobbed as she took you in.
You’d gotten taller, easily towering over her.
Your jawline was much sharper, and visibly clenched, something she used to get on you about when you were growing up.
The second your eyes met hers, her heart stalled in her chest, the Y/E/C orbs that would once soften when they locked with her blues, were now cold and sharp.
“Y/N...” Alex whispers when you’re in earshot and you glance her way.
“Do I know you?” You ask, a harshness to your tone that takes her aback, she’d never heard you speak that way, especially to her.
Her mouth opens and closes rapidly, the woman searching for anything at all to say, but it’s as if her vocal cords had stopped working.
Her teammates eye her curiously, their eyes darting between the two of you.
“Well, this is Y/N Y/L/N, she’s going to be our new trainer, she comes HIGHLY recommended, so try to make her feel welcome, okay?” Emma smiles, in no way missing the way Alex stares pleadingly at your profile.
Eventually, your eyes catch hers, her orbs the same bright blues that you often found yourself getting lost in years ago.
Alex isn’t able to utter a single word before you’re turning on your heels and moving towards the sidelines, Emma Hayes in toe.
Alex jumps when a hand settles on her back, a hand belonging to her longtime friend, Kelley O’Hara.
“Are you okay Al? Is something wrong?” She asks, able to read the woman’s face easily, picking up on the fact that she was incredibly upset.
“Ye-Yeah.” Alex stammers, her blues orbs burning holes in your back as you move out of sight.
“Everything is fine.”
************************************************************************The second Alex saw you, all the emotions she tried so, so hard to bury came rushing back, hitting her like a tidal wave.
She wasn’t prepared for the way you looked at her, your eyes hard and icy, a look she vaguely remembered when she spotted you in the hallways of your high school, your books hugged to your chest and a new bruise gracing your face or your arms, the woman knowing full well that more bruises were hidden beneath your clothes.
She knew deep down she deserved it; she severed ties with you when you needed her the most, and she could never wash away the guilt she felt every time you passed her in the hallway, your face twisted in a pained grimace.
That night, she stares at the ceiling, her blue orbs glassy as she remembers the first time, she saw signs of the abuse you were enduring at home.
************************************************************************“What are those from?” A small Alex Morgan asks as she points to the circular marks dotting your forearm, the skin a bright and angry red, the wounds fresh.
You shake your head rapidly, pulling your arm away from her.
“N-N-Nothing.” You mumble, the girl scoffing as she gently takes your arm, her blue orbs zeroing in on the sores covering your arm.
“What happened?” She asks and you shake your head, tears glistening in your Y/E/C orbs.
“Y/N...” She whispers, gently rubbing your arm, careful not to touch the marks.
“You can tell me anything...” She says, frowning when she sees a tear streaming down your cheek.
“What happened?” She asks again and you swallow, your mouth opening and closing before you croak out a single word.
“Dad.”
************************************************************************Needless to say, Alex didn’t sleep well that night, her mind racing, wondering if the wounds on your arm had increased in number.
She honestly wasn’t sure if she wanted to know.
Eventually, Alex dragged herself onto the bus that morning, her blue orbs immediately finding your Y/E/C’s.
You almost immediately turn away, as if you’re unable to look at her for too long.
She pauses, attempting to find something, anything to say to you, but again, she finds herself unable to speak.
She sighs in defeat before making her way towards the back of the bus, unaware that your eyes are on her, your nostrils flaring.
She had no right to speak to you, no right to even look at you, not after the things she’d done, not after she’d left you behind to be abused and neglected.
You growl, turning towards the front of the bus, your fingers curling around the seat in front of you.
If you had anything to say about it, you wouldn’t speak to Alex Morgan ever again, in reality, it wasn’t that you wouldn’t it was that you couldn’t.
************************************************************************Unfortunately, you’re forced to speak to her, the forward seeking you out when you reach the hotel, pushing her way into the elevator with you.
Your throat bobs as you stare blankly forward, your foot tapping and hands trembling, something Alex notices immediately.
“Y/N.” She whispers, her voice cracking, the sound pulling at your heartstrings, that sadness ebbing away a beat later.
“Y/N, you can’t ignore me forever.” She sighs and you shake your head.
“I told you; I have no idea who you are.” You say, the woman growling as you hastily exit the elevator, her hand catching your wrist, something that noticeably makes you jump.
“That’s bullshit Y/N, and you know--
Your lip curls in a snarl as you jerk your arm from her grasp.
“I USED to have a friend named Alex Morgan, but that was a long time ago.” You say through gritted teeth before turning on your heels and marching down the hallway, leaving a crestfallen Alex Morgan behind.
*********************************************************************** Despite the fact that your last interaction didn’t go well, Alex continued to try and speak to you, popping up seemingly everywhere.
Unfortunately, you would be on the road for a significant amount of time considering it was She Believes Season, the entirety of the team together more often than not.
The close quarters resulted in early mornings, and one morning, you’d made the mistake of rolling up your sleeves to your elbows, revealing the multiple scars littering your skin.
Alex stiffened the moment she saw them, tears filling her blue orbs as she saw the massive number of burns on your skin, burns she knew were made by the end of a cigarette.
She’s unable to keep the tears in her eyes at bay, tears streaming down her cheeks.
You pick your head up, the feel of someone staring at you setting the hairs of your arms on end.
Your eyes catch hers and your brows furrow, following her gaze to the scars dotting your arms.
Your eyes meet hers before dropping to your marred arm, your nostrils flaring as you turn away, tugging your arm out of view.
“Alex...?”
Alex jumps, her eyes meeting Kelley’s concerned brown orbs.
“Are you okay? Why are you crying?” She asks, watching as Alex wipes her tears away with the sleeve of her sweater.
“It’s alright Kel, it’s nothing.” She sniffles, her eyes burning holes in the back of your head.
Kelley eyes her profile worriedly before turning away reluctantly, wondering what it was that was troubling her so.
************************************************************************“When did that happen?” Alex asks when she catches you in the hallway on your way to your hotel room.
You turn on your heels, coming face to face with the woman you’d been trying to avoid, her blue orbs zeroed in on your scarred arm.
You pull your arm out of view, tucking it behind you.
“Like you care.” You bite, turning on your heels to take your leave.
“Y/N, you can tell me anything.” She whispers, her words stopping you in your tracks, taking you back to the day on the playground when you’d first told her that your father had burned your arm, when you’d first told her your father was abusing you.
“Like you don’t know.” You mumble, unable to turn to face her, tears stinging your eyes.
Your breath hitches when she slips around you, gently taking your wrist and inspecting your arm closely.
You’re unable to stop your heart from skipping a beat when she brushes the scars, her touch light and tender.
The scars were generally perfect circles, aside from those that overlapped, forming random shapes along your arm.
Alex frowned as she caressed the lumpy and disfigured skin, her eyes glazing over.
“Don’t act like you care.” You mutter, the forward frowning.
“I do care, Y/N.”
You scoff, pulling your arm out of her grasp, briefly missing the way her fingertips felt against your skin.
“If you cared Alex, I wouldn’t have these.” You growl, her throat bobbing.
“You can’t blame me for that Y/N, it isn’t fair.”
You bark out a laugh, the sound taking her by surprise.
“I wouldn’t have half the scars I do if it wasn’t for you. You abandoned me when I needed you the most, and for what Alex!?” You yell, surprised by the sound of your own voice and the anger in your tone.
Alex’s mouth opens and closes rapidly, the forward unable to find her words, that being enough to send you shoving passed her, your shoulder knocking hers as you make your way down the hall towards your hotel room, leaving the woman behind, just as she’d done to you.
That night, you can’t help but stare at your shirtless self in the mirror, the scars typically hidden beneath your clothes revealed, of course, to your eyes only.
How could you ever forgive Alex when your skin looked like yours?
How could you ever forgive the woman that you’d blamed for receiving them in the first place?
************************************************************************It was unsurprising to Alex that you put so much pressure on her during practice, as if getting back at her for all the pain she caused.
“Pick it up Morgan!” You yell, Alex noticeably slacking considering you’d spent the practice already putting her through the ringer.
It’s only after her drills end that she comes to a halt, panting heavily, her hands on her knees as she attempts to fill her lungs with air.
You shake your head, making your way towards her and leaning down.
“You don’t just make the team because you’re a pretty face, you know that right?” You bite, the forward shooting you a glare.
Your brows furrow when the corners of her mouth tick upward.
“Did you just say I’m pretty?” She teases and you scoff, pinching the bridge of your nose.
“Of course, THAT’S what you take from that.”
Alex’s lips split in a grin, her smile just as bright as it always had been, your heart skipping a beat in your chest.
“Hey, you said it, not me.” She smirks and you roll your eyes, turning her towards the remainder of the team before giving her a light shove.
“Get your ass over there Morgan.” You grumble, her grin widening before she skips towards the others.
You roll your eyes, unable to hold back a small smile as you too make your way towards the team.
************************************************************************The distance between you and Alex was still massive, no bridge long enough to bring the two of you together.
It wasn’t for a lack of trying on Alex’s part, whereas she tried to reach out, you’d only pull back, unwilling to bridge the gap, in fact, increasing its size.
Alex watched as you focused your attention Lindsey’s knee, wrapping it gently, the blonde saying something to you she can’t quite hear, but whatever it was, it makes you smile, a smile that still makes her heart skip a beat after all these years.
You move to your feet, giving the midfielder a pat on the shoulder before she turns and jogs onto the field.
“Thanks Y/N!” Emily says patting your back a bit harder than intended, as she jogs passed following Lindsey onto the field.
You go ridged, your hands trembling as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly.
Alex jogs towards you, the emotional turmoil you were experiencing unnoticed by the remainder of the team.
“Y/N...?” Alex whispers as she gently takes your trembling hands in her own, stopping their quaking.
Your chest begins to rise and fall rapidly, an anxiety attack impending, something Alex had seen happen to you multiple times before.
“Y/N?” She says again, giving your hands a squeeze, this time however, you speak.
“I said I was sorry... Please don’t…” You mutter, Alex’s eyes widening before immediately filling with tears.
“Come on.” She whispers, silently guiding you away from the team, catching sight of Emma Hayes watching the two of you, the forward shaking her head rapidly.
When you’re in a secluded spot, Alex cups your cheeks.
“Y/N, it’s okay, it’s me.”
You squeeze your eyes shut even more so than they already were, your hands shaking violently.
The tears in Alex’s eyes begin to stream down her face as she tries to think of something, ANYTHING to get you out of the catatonic state you’re in.
Her eyes widen, a memory flickering in the back of her mind as she pulls you into her, one arm around you and the other resting on the back of your neck, her fingers tangling in the fine hairs there.
She remembered holding you that way in high school, before your friendship ended, a nightmare pulling you from your sleep one night as the two of you slept side by side.
“I’ve got you.” She whispers in your ear, drawing lazy circles against the nape of your neck.
“And I’m not letting you go, never again.” She whispers, cooing softly in your ear.
Your breathing begins to slow, the motion of her fingers against the nape of your neck lulling you into a sense of calm, something you hadn’t felt in a long time.
She knew when you realized it was her that was holding you, you’d pull away, and the thought tore her heart in two.
You begin to relax, your shoulders sagging as your eyes slowly flutter open.
Almost immediately you move out of Alex’s hold, the forward frowning, missing the way you felt against her, missing the way her fingers felt tangled in your hair.
“What the hell are you doing?” You snarl, putting as much distance as you possibly can between the two of you.
“I-I didn’t know what else to do, you were having a panic attack.” She explains, her voice quivering.
You scoff.
“I didn’t NEED your help, I would’ve been just fine without you, like I ALWAYS have been.” You bark out before hastily leaving the room, not even sparing a glance back at the woman whose shoulder you roughly knocked into on your way out.
************************************************************************ Even though you were angry at her, you knew you had to thank Alex.
You couldn’t imagine what would’ve happened if Alex hadn’t taken charge and took you to a secluded place to calm down, using a technique she became accustomed to using in your later high school years.
You could still feel her fingers gently drawing circles against the nape of your neck, something you longed to feel again, but you wouldn’t let her get that close again, you couldn’t.
You’re pulled from your thoughts when the very woman who’d been on your mind comes towards you, the woman silently shuffling from foot to foot as she waits to get her ankle wrapped.
You give Kelley a smile, the defender’s ankle wrapped in her own bit of tape before she jogs off, turning and giving Alex’s hand a squeeze on her way passed.
Alex comes to a stop in front of you, her throat bobbing as you gently take her ankle in your hands.
You’re silently wrapping her ankle in bright pink tape when you finally find your voice.
“I’m sorry.” You whisper, blue orbs widening as they meet your Y/E/C’s.
“You don’t need to be.” She smiles softly and you clear your throat, the sight of that smile effecting you more than you’d care to admit.
“I do." You sigh, the forwards cheeks flushing as you subconsciously caress her ankle.
“You...” You swallow hard, your throat bobbing.
“If you weren’t there for me the other day, I don’t know what I would’ve done, so... Thank you, Alex.” You whisper, clearing your throat, your eyes widening when you realize you’d been running your thumb gently back and forth along her ankle.
You give her a nod, reluctantly releasing her ankle, your old friend staring down at you for a moment before she smiles.
“You don’t have to thank me.” She mumbles softly, before her lips split in a grin.
“But you’re welcome.”
You watch as she makes her way onto the field, a smile stretching across your own face as you turn to Lindsey Horan, the blonde waiting for her knee to be wrapped.
However, you can’t help but look passed her, specifically at Alex Morgan, the woman beaming, wearing a smile you hadn’t seen her wear in a long, long time.
A smile that makes the butterflies in your stomach begin to stir, butterflies that died a long, long time ago, butterflies that were slowly coming back to life.
You didn’t like that the feelings you did your best to bury were resurfacing.
You blamed her, you were supposed to hate her, but the more she smiled your way, the more that anger and blame started to ebb away.
Your brows furrow as your phone again begins to ring, an unknown number stretched across its screen.
You shake your head, dropping your phone onto the top of a nearby bag.
Alex glances your way, smiling softly when your eyes meet.
The relationship between the two of you began to slowly change, you no longer looked at her with absolute disdain, instead wearing an expression she couldn’t quite place.
It’s when Emma Hayes blows her whistle that Alex sighs, making her way towards her bag, unaware that your phone had slipped inside.
She runs her hand through her sweat covered hair, catching sight of you out of the corner of her eye as you chat with Emma Hayes, a smile on your face.
She’d missed seeing that smile, mostly, she missed seeing that smile directed at her.
She turns away, reluctantly, unaware that your phone was buried deep inside her bag.
************************************************************************You growl, searching wildly through your bag in an attempt to find your phone, sighing when you come up empty.
You flop down onto your hotel room’s bed, your head in your hands.
The last thing you wanted to do today was lose your phone, but here you were, attempting to remember where you’d last seen the device.
A tentative knock on your hotel room door makes you jump, your brows furrowing as you make your way towards it.
You tug the door open, your eyes widening and brows knitting in confusion when you see Alex standing behind the door, the woman shuffling nervously from foot to foot.
“Uhhh, yeah?” You say, the woman nodding into your hotel room.
“Can I come in?” She asks and you hum, eyeing her intently before you step aside, uncertain why you’d allowed her into your room.
The door clicks shut behind you before you turn towards her, your arms crossed across your chest.
“What is it?” You ask, your eyes widening when you realize she was holding your phone.
“I found it in my bag.” She says, the look on her face telling you there was something more to the reason why she was in your room.
“Th-Thanks.” You stutter, taking it from her hand, the forward’s throat bobbing.
“It was ringing, and I answered it.” She says, your brows knitting, anger building in your chest at the thought of the woman invading your privacy.
“I’m-I’m sorry Y/N, I promise, I really didn’t know it was your phone.” She stutters, the anger you were feeling dissipating at the look on Alex’s face.
“There’s more to it, isn’t there?” You ask and she, sheepishly nods.
“It was your mother.”
Your eyes double in size, your body going ridged at the mention of the woman who’d done nothing, merely watching as your father abused and neglected you, a woman you hadn’t talked to since you were kicked out at 18.
You make your way towards your bed, taking a seat on its end, Alex making her way towards you, waiting until you give her a nod before she too sits down.
The room is enveloped in silence for a moment before you find your voice.
“Wh-What did she want?” You stammer, realizing the calls you’d been getting the last few days must have been from your mother.
Alex swallows hard, staring at her intertwined fingers, her mouth opening and closing.
“It’s your dad.” She whispers, noting the hitch in your breath, the woman unable to stop herself from reaching for, and covering your hand.
You find yourself taking comfort in her touch, something you thought you would never do again.
“What happened?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
Alex clears her throat, seemingly searching for what to say before she mutters.
“He’s dying.”
You snort, in a sick sense, happy that the man who destroyed your childhood was about to die.
“Your mom said, he wants to...” She pauses, staring at your profile as she speaks.
“He wants to apologize, for everything, before he passes.”
You stiffen, your hands balling into fists, Alex’s thumb delicately running along your white knuckles.
You chuckle.
“Of course he does. He wants to clear his own conscious before he dies.” You snarl angrily, the thought of calling your mother and ripping her a new one prominent in your mind.
Alex remains silent, your brows furrowing as you turn towards her, her mouth opening and closing rapidly.
“What?” You ask, the forward shrugging.
“I may have...” She stops mid-sentence, shuffling nervously.
“Said some things.”
Your brows arch, noting that she’s refusing to look you in the eye.
“Like what?” You ask and she clears her throat.
“I may have told her your dad was a piece of shit, and that you didn’t owe him anything, that he doesn’t deserve to see you after all he did, and that she was a bitch who doesn’t deserve to see you either because she was just as guilty. He abused you, and she just watched and did nothing about it.”
Your brows arch, your eyes burning holes in the side of Alex’s head before you laugh, her blue orbs widening as she turns towards you.
You wrap your arms around your middle as you’re overcome with laughter, the thought of the look on your mother’s face as Alex tore her a new one, and the look on her face when it was Alex that answered the phone making you laugh uncontrollably.
You knew her and your father weren’t her biggest fans, considering she treated you the way you were meant to be treated, and loved you in a way that they never did.
“I would’ve paid to see that.” You say, wiping a tear from your eyes, the forward beside you smiling, her lips splitting into a grin.
“I meant what I said, you don’t owe them anything Y/N, even if he’s dying, you don’t have to go to see him, unless you want to.”
You shake your head, your eyes dropping to your and Alex’s joined hands, the feel of her hand in your own making your heart skip a beat.
“I know.” You say, taking a deep breath before exhaling loudly.
“I kind of want to see him, to show him that even though he treated me the way he did, he didn’t break me, that I became successful, and I didn’t need him or my mother to do it.”
You swallow hard, your gaze falling to your lap.
“I suppose...” You pause, frowning, unable to stop tears forming in your eyes.
“I suppose he did break me, didn’t he?” You mutter, your eyes widening a gasp leaving you as Alex’s hand leaves your own, the woman instead wrapping her arms tightly around you.
The tears that formed in your eyes began streaming down your cheeks as she held you tightly, her cheek pressing against your shoulder.
“He didn’t Y/N.” She whispers, squeezing you gently, not wanting to throw you into a panic attack like you’d had the other day.
You close your eyes, sagging in her hold, the hotel room falling silent as you simply let Alex hold you in her arms, a feeling you didn’t realize you’d missed so much.
You’re unsure of what makes you say it, but before you can think your lips are moving.
“I don’t know if I can face them alone.” You confess, Alex turning her head and kissing your temple, the woman stiffening when she realizes what she did, though she in no way relinquishes her hold on you.
“You don’t have to Y/N.” She whispers, smiling when she feels your arm slip around her.
“What do you mean?” You ask, your heart lightening in your chest at the thought of the forward coming back to your hometown with you.
“I’ll go with you.” She mutters nervously, leaning heavily into you, her hold on you tightening.
You go silent before you rest your head against hers, a soft sigh leaving you as you give her side a squeeze.
“I think I’d like that very much.”
*********************************************************************** The relationship between you drastically changed after that, the bridge was all but mended, the two of you almost as inseparable as when you were kids.
And when the She Believes Tournament ended, with the USWNT as the victors, you and Alex decided it was time to prepare to head back to your hometown, a place that held so many bad memories for you.
It wasn’t long before there was a knock at your apartment door, your hand freezing on the doorknob as you take a deep breath.
Despite the fact that things were better between the two of you, you still got nervous, worried that she would disappear again and break your heart.
You pull the door open slowly, Alex smiling when your eyes meet hers, a duffle bag slung over her shoulder a suitcase in one hand.
“Are you ready?” She asks as you step aside, allowing her inside, the woman taking in your small apartment.
“Honestly, not really.” You sigh, leaning against the island in your kitchenette.
Alex makes her way towards you with a frown, taking your hands, the gesture making your cheeks flush.
“Well, you’re not going alone, I’ll be there every step of the way.” She whispers as she caresses your knuckles.
You couldn’t lie, the feelings you had for Alex had resurfaced, and the closer you became, the more you realized that the feelings you had in high school had come back, tenfold.
You were in love with the woman currently holding your hands, the woman whose blue orbs sparkled when she smiled, the woman who’d broken your heart all those years ago.
You give her hands a squeeze, noting the flush of her own cheeks.
“I know.” You whisper pushing yourself off the island and moving to your full height.
“And it means a lot to me.” You say, bashfully staring at the floor beneath your feet.
Alex smiles softly, turning your hands over in her own before intertwining your fingers.
“It’s the least I could do.” She says, giving your hands a squeeze.
Her hands leave yours reluctantly and you sigh, missing the feel of her smooth palms against your own.
“Well, let’s go.”
************************************************************************Alex’s fingers drum on the steering wheel, her eyes darting to the passenger's seat, where you're fast asleep.
She knew this journey would take a toll on you, she knew that this was one of the hardest things you ever had to do, and she was happy you’d allowed her to be along for the ride.
You mumble in your sleep, your brows furrowing as your head turns back and forth.
Alex reaches towards you, gently covering your hand with her own as she pulls into the tiny roadside hotel the two of you were planning on staying in for the night before you reach your hometown the following day.
“Hey.” Alex whispers, tenderly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
Your eyes slowly flutter open, your brows furrowing as you blink rapidly to clear your vision.
“Are we here?” You rasp, the sound of your sleepy voice making her smile lovingly.
“No, we’re at the hotel.”
You hum, stretching your arms above your head before you open the passenger's side door and slip out with a groan.
Alex slides out the driver’s side door, she too stretching.
“We had reservations, right?” You ask and she nods rapidly.
“I’ll go check us in.”
You watch her go with a small smile, the woman disappearing into the small hotel’s lobby, leaving you with the suitcases, which you didn’t mind.
You lean back against Alex’s car, staring up at the random hotel you’d decided to stop at on your way home.
You sigh, leaning your head against the car behind you.
You didn’t want to go home, you didn’t want to face your father and your mother, but you knew you had to.
You had to show them that you were well off, you had to show them that you’d made it without them, that you survived your father’s abuse and your mother’s refusal to do anything about it.
And having Alex Morgan by your side was just a plus, a major plus.
You remember your father taunting you, making comments about how Alex had finally learned how pathetic you were and made the right decision to distance herself from you.
Your throat bobs as you bite your bottom lip, staving off tears at the thought of your father’s harsh words.
Your mother wanted you to come home to hear their apology, but you had ulterior motives.
You were never going to accept her apology, and you were certainly never going to accept his, much like his apologies during your childhood, they meant absolutely nothing, and that wasn’t about to change.
“Hey.”
You jump, your eyes flashing open, immediately locking with Alex’s blue orbs.
“Are you okay?” She asks, concern evident in her tone.
You clear your throat, pushing off the car as you nod.
“Yeah, I’m just fine.”
************************************************************************It didn’t take long for the two of you to settle into your room, the pair of you flopping down onto the beds you’d be sleeping on for the night.
“I’m so tired.” You yawn, rolling off the bed and heading to your suitcase.
Before you realize what, you’re doing, you tug your shirt over your head, revealing your near bare back to the woman in the opposite bed.
“Oh my god.”
You twist on your heels, your eyes wide.
“What’s wrong? Are you alright?” You ask as you approach the forward, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“What is—
You pause your throat bobbing as you glance down at yourself, realizing your torso was bare, covered only by the sports bra you were wearing.
Meaning each and every scar that covered your flesh was revealed, scars dotting your arms, as well as covering your chest and back.
Alex’s hands tremble as she makes her way towards you, her eyes focused intently on your chest, a number of scars littering your skin, some from glass, some from a belt, and others you couldn’t really remember.
Lashes covered your stomach, as well as your back, red welts made mostly by your father’s favorite belt.
A wide array of cigarette burns covered your skin, mostly all over your arms, but some were on your chest and stomach.
“Jesus Christ.” Alex whispers, her voice cracking as she places her hands on your shoulders, taking in the destruction your father left behind on your skin.
“I-I...” She stammers, her bottom lip trembling as she turns you around, lash marks covering your back, overlapping into a mess of patterns.
Alex sobs, your breath hitching as she wraps her arms around you from behind, burying her face in the nape of your neck.
“I’m so sorry.” She cries, clinging onto you for dear life, her tears running down your scarred back.
You turn in her hold, wrapping your arms tightly around her, the woman burying her face in your neck as she cries.
“This is all my fault.” She sniffs, realizing that you hadn’t had the scars you do before the two of you had stopped being friends.
You shake your head, your chin resting on the top of her head.
“It isn’t. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that.” You whisper, ducking down to kiss her head.
Alex pulls back, her watery blue orbs locking with your equally watery Y/E/C’s.
“It is Y/N!” She cries, searching your face intently.
“You didn’t have these before we stopped being friends.” She says, whimpering as she takes in your scars again.
“I—
“No.” She says, shaking her head rapidly.
“If I would’ve just told you how I felt, you wouldn’t have these.” She sniffles, your eyes widening, and brows furrowing.
“What do you mean?” You ask, staring closely at the woman’s face, noting the way her throat bobs.
“Come on, Al.” You whisper, gently placing your hands on her waist.
“You can tell me anything.” You say, repeating the words she’d said on the playground so long ago.
Much to your surprise, she stares at you blankly for a moment before leaning in, your breath catching as her lips meet yours.
The butterflies that recently began to stir, burst to life as you kiss your childhood best friend, something you’d wanted to do for so long.
Your lips lock, the kiss stimulating every one of your nerve endings.
You never wanted it to end, you never wanted to stop kissing Alex Morgan.
She sighs against your lips as you kiss passionately, feelings the two of you had for so long now revealed.
Reluctantly, you part, Alex’s forehead resting against yours as you catch your breath.
“Wow.” You whisper, smiling when Alex leans in for another kiss, this one softer, and shorter than the one you’d just shared.
Alex’s mouth opens and closes for a few seconds before she clears her throat.
“I didn’t know how to tell you back then how I felt, I was scared, I thought if I pushed you away, the feelings would go away, but they didn’t.”
She cups your cheeks, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
“They never went away, because I love you, Y/N.” She confesses, your eyes doubling in size, your heart skipping a beat.
“I always have, I just never knew how to say it...”
She licks her lips, inhaling deeply before continuing.
“When I saw you walking across the field, those feelings came flooding back.”
She rests her forehead against yours.
“I love you Y/N, I always have, and I always will.”
The room falls silent, the woman in front of you baring her entire soul to you, the knowledge that she’d felt the same making your stomach lurch with excitement.
You lean in, pressing a feather light kiss to her lips.
“I love you too, Al.” You whisper, Alex smiling against your lips as she throws her arms around your neck, kissing you passionately, the feel of her lips against yours something she couldn't get enough of.
The kisses remain tame, the urge to turn them into something more not present in any sense, the two of you catching up on the tender and loving kisses you’d missed when growing up.
You again, reluctantly part, your arms wrapping tightly around Alex, the forward burying her nose in the crook of your neck.
Unfortunately, your lips part in a lengthy, and loud yawn, the woman in your arms giggling as she leans back, leaning in to peck your lips before stepping out of your embrace.
“We should get some sleep, huh?” She asks and you nod, making your way towards your suitcase and grabbing the shirt you’d first intended to put on.
“Wait.” Alex whispers, placing her hand gently on your back so as to not scare you.
You turn to face her, a single brow arched as she motions to the shirt in your hands.
“Keep it off.” She says your throat bobbing as your eyes dart from Alex’s blue orbs to the shirt and back.
You hum, dropping the shirt before grabbing a few things from your suitcase and nodding to the bathroom.
“I’ll be right back.” You smile, pecking her lips before disappearing into the bathroom.
Alex, meanwhile, makes her way towards her own suitcase, slipping into a pair of shorts and a tank top just as you’re moving out of the bathroom.
She turns towards you, noting the way you shuffle on your feet, a sports bra covering your upper torso and a pair of sweats hugging your hips.
She holds her hand out, motioning towards one of the beds, your cheeks flushing at the silent invitation.
Nervously, you make your way towards her, her hand immediately settling on your bare stomach before she nods towards the bed.
“Do you want to share?” She asks in an uncertain whisper.
You gently take her chin between your thumb and index finger, tilting her head upwards until her blue orbs meet your Y/E/C’s.
“I’d love nothing more.”
Eventually, you turn the overhead light off, and shuffle into bed, the flickering TV the only thing bringing some source of light to the room.
Alex leans back, her blue orbs dragging down your front, taking in the scars covering your chest.
Your breath hitches in your throat when she ducks down, gently kissing a long scar running along your collarbone before turning her attention to the others she can reach.
Your eyes flutter shut, the feel of her lips a complete contrast to what it felt like to get the scars in the first place.
You can feel the tears streaming down your cheeks before you realize you’re crying.
Alex pulls away from you, tears forming in her own eyes when she sees you’re crying.
She cups your cheeks, pressing a tender, and loving kiss to your lips.
“Shhhhh.” She coos, her fingers running through your hair as you bury your face in her neck.
It isn’t long before you fall silent, falling fast asleep, tear tracks visible on your face as your childhood best friend holds you tightly.
She ducks down, kissing the top of your head, a hum leaving you as you snuggle closer.
“I love you Y/N, and I’m not going anywhere, no matter what.”
************************************************************************The remainder of the journey is uneventful, Alex’s hand in yours more often than not, the woman kissing you tenderly any chance she got, realizing how much the feel of her lips against yours calmed you.
Before you realize it, you’re passing the sign informing you that you’d made it, you’d made it to the place that held so many awful memories for you.
You cling to Alex’s hand tightly, the woman noting the feel of your clammy palm against hers.
“We’re here.” She whispers and you nod, your chest tightening.
“Y-Y-Yeah...” You stammer, the air within the car becoming less and less until you feel as if you’re unable to breathe.
Alex almost immediately pulls to the side of the road, gently cupping your cheeks, her forehead resting against yours.
“It’s alright.” She whispers, taking your hand and pressing it against her own chest.
“Try to match me.”
You whimper, tears running down your face, but your breathing halts entirely when you feel Alex’s lips pressing against yours.
You slowly part, noting the fact that your anxiety attack had been stopped dead in its tracks, your breathing slowly returning to normal.
“Are you okay?” She says softly, her lips brushing yours as she whispers.
Your eyes flutter shut, the tightness in your chest ebbing slightly, but not entirely going away, you knew what you had to do to get it to go away, and that was to confront your father.
“I have to confront him before I’ll be okay.” You confess, Alex kissing your lips again before turning her attention to the road.
“Well, let’s go do that.”
Alex takes your hand, her fingers intertwining with yours as you stand outside the hospital where your father and mother are, the aforementioned woman making her way towards you, tears in her eyes.
“Y/N...” She says, opening her arms, but quickly realizing the last thing she’d get was a hug from you, especially considering Alex had stepped partially in front of you, her protective side warming your heart considerably.
Your mother comes to a stop, her throat bobbing.
“I understand.” She says and your nostrils flare.
“Where is he?” You say curtly, Alex gently squeezing your hand, earning a squeeze in return.
Your mother frowns before nodding to the hospital.
“This way.”
************************************************************************Your mother didn’t even attempt to make small talk on the way to the room, she knew you weren’t there to embrace her and forgive her for everything she didn’t do when you were growing up.
Alex’s hand remained in yours, even as your grip on her hand became painful, she didn’t let go.
You needed an anchor, and she would be that anchor, for as long as you needed and as long as you would let her.
Your mother comes to a stop outside one of the many hospital rooms before turning towards you, her hands clasped in front of her.
“He’s in here.” She says, unable to look you in the eye.
“Please, try not to upset him, he doesn’t have much time left.”
Your lip's part, your nostrils flaring angrily, before you can speak however, Alex beats you to it.
“Yeah, because he cared so much about not upsetting Y/N when she was growing up.” She bites, your mother having the decency to look remorseful.
She didn’t abuse you, she never hit you, but she allowed it, and it was that thought that made you keep distance between the two of you, you weren’t about to forgive the woman who stood aside while your father scarred your body and beat you senseless.
She simply nods before stepping aside, motioning towards the room, knowing full well that the visit wasn’t going to go how your father expected.
You come to a stop, your chest tightening at the thought of seeing the man again, your free hand beginning to shake.
Alex turns you towards her, the woman cupping your cheek with her free hand, the other in a vice grip.
“I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.” She whispers, resting her forehead against your own.
You nod, your throat bobbing.
“Promise?” You whisper, your voice noticeably cracking.
Alex smiles, closing the distance between you, her lips lightly meeting your own.
Your mother meanwhile is unable to keep herself from smiling, happy in the knowledge that you had someone to care for you, unlike she had when you were growing up.
You give Alex a barely visible nod, the woman taking your hand and stepping through the doorway with you, partially in front of you in a protective gesture.
“There she is.”
You come to a screeching halt, your eyes darting towards your father who’s resting in the hospital bed, looking much smaller than he did when you were growing up.
“Well, aren’t you going to give your old man a hug?” He asks, his eyes still holding a hint of the anger you saw all the years ago.
“No.” You say curtly, leading Alex further into the room, your hands now full-on sweating, your face flushed.
“Why not?” He asks, his voice having an edge to it.
“Why?” You ask, laughing humorlessly.
You stare at the man blankly, realizing he had deluded himself into thinking you had no reason for not coming over and hugging him.
“Are you kidding me?” Alex snarls, the woman taken aback when you move towards his bed.
“Maybe because you spent my childhood beating the hell out of me?!” You roar, knowing your voice could be heard rooms away.
His lips part, the man about to say something but you don’t care, rolling your sleeves up and showing him the scars on your arms.
“Maybe this is why?” You yell, unbuttoning your shirt hastily, uncaring that you were basically standing in the hospital room wearing only a sports bra.
Your mother is unable to stop her breath from hitching when she sees the scarred flesh of your torso.
“Maybe this is why, DAD.” You say, your voice dripping with contempt.
Your father remains silent, the anger you’d typically seen burning in his eyes still there growing.
“I just wanted to see you before I go.” He growls, and you scoff.
“Well, here I am.” You say, throwing your hands in the air, Alex watching in something akin to awe as you confront your abuser.
“I’m not going to give you a big hug, and I’m not going to tell you I’ll miss you, because I won’t.” You bite, noting the jumping in your father’s jaw.
“How dare you—
“How dare I?” You bark out a laugh.
“How dare you think I should come here and just forgive you, just forget what you did to me growing up, how dare YOU.” You yell, cut off by a nearby nurse.
“Is something wrong?” She asks, her brows knitted in confusion.
Alex turns to her.
“This has been a long time coming, she needs this, let it happen.” She whispers, the woman shaking her head.
“I never said I was sorry.” Your father mumbles and you’re unable to stop yourself from laughing.
“Of course you didn’t, because you never felt bad for beating me.” You shake your head, the nurse, surprisingly, backing out of the room.
“Well, you didn’t break me, you didn’t win.” You say, your hands balling into fists.
“I came here to tell you that, and now that I did, I can move on with my life.” You say, turning towards Alex before leaving the room hastily, leaning against the wall outside of the room.
Alex turns to your father, the man shooting her a glare, a glare she returns, her blue orbs smoldering.
“You tried so hard to break her, but it didn’t work. She’s one of the best women I know, and I love her, more than you ever did, more than either of you ever did.” She snarls angrily, glancing at your mother who’s staring at the floor.
“She’s better than either of you, she rose above your abuse and became an amazing and talented woman, someone I’m proud to call my girlfriend.” She says confidently, your eyes widening when you realize what Alex had just said.
“Of course, as if she couldn’t disappoint me more.” Your father growls in reference to the fact that you and Alex were together.
Your hands ball into fists, the thought of walking in and jacking his jaw prominent.
“We don’t need your approval; we don’t want it.” She says, walking closer to the bed, the nurse who’d come in earlier coming towards you along with another nurse.
“Y/N is a better person than you could ever hope be.” She growls, turning to make her way out of the room, shooting a glare over her shoulder.
“I'm proud of her for coming here, for saying what she needed to say, and I know I put distance between the two of us growing up, but I’m going to be there for her no matter what, more than you ever were.” She says before making her way out of the room, zeroing in on where you were leaning against a nearby wall.
She hastily makes her way towards you, throwing her arms around you, squeezing you tightly.
Unbeknownst to you, your mother had followed you out, wearing a frown.
“I asked you not to upset him.”
Alex relinquishes her hold on you, the two of you sending the older woman a piercing glare.
“Well, I asked you to be there for me growing up, and you weren’t. Looks like neither of us got what we wanted.” You say, taking Alex’s hand, the nurses making their way towards you coming to a halt.
“Don’t worry.” You say, glancing at the women.
“We’re leaving.” You say, turning towards your mother.
“The only reason you need to call me again is to tell me he’s dead.” You say, turning on your heels, and making your way down the hallway, Alex’s hand holding yours tightly.
It’s only when you’re walking out of the hospital’s entrance that you break down, falling to your knees, your body wracked with sobs.
Alex drops down beside you, wrapping her arms tightly around you as you sob loudly against her chest, the relief of finally telling your father how you felt, making you emotional.
“You did it, Y/N. I’m so proud of you.” Alex whispers, running her fingers through your hair as she coos softly in your ear.
You sniffle, tears streaming down your face, your nose running as you cry against her chest.
Eventually, you fall silent, your body twitching every so often as you sniff.
You pull back, your bloodshot Y/E/C orbs meeting Alex’s red rimmed blues.
She cups your cheeks, leaning her forehead against your own.
“How do you feel?” She asks as you breathe in deep, filling your lungs with air, your chest no longer feeling as tight as it did.
You sigh, cupping her cheeks, wiping the tears Alex didn’t realize were streaming down her cheeks away.
“Lighter.” You say softly, bumping your nose against Alex’s.
You fall silent before your lips split in a grin.
“Girlfriend, huh?” You tease, her cheeks flushing.
“I-I mean...” She stutters, cut off by your lips meeting hers in a tender, chaste kiss.
“I do like the sound of that.” You smile, Alex throwing her arms around you, giving you a tight squeeze.
The two of you eventually make your way towards Alex’s car, your chest feeling lighter than it ever had before.
“I’m so proud of you.” Alex says as she slips into the driver’s seat.
You turn back towards the hospital, staring up at the hospital where your mother and father currently were, an abusive man you’d finally told how you felt, a demon from your past that you’d finally faced and conquered.
You smile, slipping in the passenger's seat beside Alex, the woman immediately taking your hand.
“You know.” You pause, turning towards Alex who’s wearing a tender smile.
Your own lips split in a grin.
“I’m proud of me too.”
************************************************************************It’s nearly two years later that you find yourself back in your hometown, rain pouring down around you as you stand at your father’s grave.
You stare down at the stone stoically, noting the fact that it doesn’t say anything about being a loving father, but only a loving husband.
Your eyes widen when a dark shadow falls over you, a shadow belonging to an umbrella, an umbrella Alex Morgan is currently holding.
You take her hand, your fingertips brushing the ring wrapped around her ring finger, a ring you’d proposed to her with not that long ago.
Life had torn you apart, creating a distance between you so vast that you were not sure if the gap would be bridged, but it was also life that brought you together again.
It was life that led Alex to confess her feelings for you, and life that led you to where you currently were now, standing in the middle of the graveyard, your hand in Alex’s, the band of her engagement ring cold against your palm.
You turn towards her, smiling softly.
“Are you ready?” You ask, her brows arching when she turns towards you.
“Are you?” She asks, squeezing your hand as you turn back to the stone, nodding.
“Yeah, I am.”
Alex turns, her fingers intertwining with yours as you make your way back towards her car.
You chance one last look over your shoulder, staring at your father’s stone again before turning away, eager to start your life with the woman currently holding your hand, your chest feeling lighter than it ever had before.
After all these years, you were finally free, and you were free to live your life with the woman you loved, and that woman was your childhood best friend, and fiancé, Alex Morgan.
