an: idk i just rewatched the fallout and i was like wow i really like vada and mia as a couple. and i realized i haven’t written on here in a while, so just for fun. enjoy to whoever reads
mia lays on her bed, feet kicked up in short jean shorts, and a crop top, smoking a blunt. vada lays on her ass, wearing a simple boxers and tank top, pouting.
“i already told you vada, you didn’t listen to me, so you don’t get any attention.” mia scrolls on her laptop, watching dance videos.
“but i didn’t mean to drop the cup… i swearrrr babyyyy..” vada, faded as fuck, slurs her words, gripping on her girlfriends waist. “please, miaaaa.. just one kiss, hmmmm?” vada scoots next to the taller girl, attempting to go in for a little kiss, only to fail.
“vada. i told you, stop playing catch with the cup. you don’t listen, baby.” she pokes her nose, making vada pout loudly.
“i hate you.” vada slurs, grabbing the blunt out of mia’s hands. “you should be using those fingers for something else.” vada puts the blunt to her lips, taking a long pull. mia turns over, allowing vada to straddle her waist.
“oh yeah? what’s that?” she stares seductively at vada, who’s eyes were red as hell, low and hooded.
“fucking me.” she puts the blunt to mia’s lips, holding it for her. mia hums before taking a pull, inhaling, and blowing the smoke back out into vada’s face. “those pretty fingers of yours should be deep inside me..”
“you think just because i’m high as hell im gonna give in so easy?” mia smirks, dragging her nails across the strap of the boxers her girlfriend was wearing.
“please baby? i won’t not listen to you ever again.” vada slides mia’s hands down her boxers, the two shivering at her wetness. “please..”
“mmmmmmnnn…” mia ponders, and slowly slides a finger into vada, listening to her moan slowly.
“please, mia, don’t make me beg anymore..” she whines, placing her hands on her girlfriends chest.
“do it yourself.”
“what?”
“do it yourself, vada. ride my fingers.” mia slides another finger into her, making her shudder and moan quietly.
“but i want y-”
“either you ride my fingers or i leave you frustrated, high, and horny. you want that, baby?”
vada shakes her head, completely submissive at this point. she moves her hips slowly, letting out a quiet “fuck”. she starts into a rhythm, trying to push herself down onto her girlfriends fingers. “oh god, mia..” vada shuts her eyes tight, it just makes her dizzier. “mia.. fuck..”
“open your eyes baby. look at me.” mia sets the blunt in her ashtray, smacking vada’s ass. not hard, but hard enough to get her to whimper and open her eyes. “it’s nice to know i’m the only person you’d get like this for.” she curls her fingers, earning an almost pornographic like moan from vada.
“shit! oh my god, mia, you feel sososo good..” vada whines, rocking back and forth on her girlfriends fingers. mia slides her free hand up vada’s shirt, giving her one of her hardened nipples the attention it was asking for. “mia..mia mia mia..”
the girl curls her fingers at a slow pace, letting vada do most of the work. “ohohohfuckkkk mia! mia i’m gonna fucking come! ffffuckk!” vada slurs, increasing her pace, and finishing all over her girlfriends fingers. mia removes her fingers from her girlfriends soaked cunt, licking them clean.
“you taste so good, vada.” vada’s collapsed on mia’s chest, slightly satisfied.
“mmm..” vada whines, hugging her girlfriend and leaving kisses all over her neck. “love you..”
“you aren’t tired, baby?”
“i am… i just really wanted to give you a hickey.. to return the favor..”
mia giggles, rubbing vada’s back. “it’s okay baby, you did so good. let’s go take a nice bath, hm?”
vada nods and grins weakly, allowing herself to be picked up by the taller girl, as they walk off to the bathroom to pick up where they left off.
kinktober day 011 | cheerleader!natasha x player!reader
"don't you ever tame your demons
but always keep them on a leash"
— arsonist’s lullabye, hozier
summary. natasha gets more attached than expected after a one-night-stand with the college's infamous player, both on the field and with the ladies. however, she's always been good at getting what she wants.
rating 18+ | word count 7438 (shittt)
note. natasha is 18 and y/n is 19, y/n is described to be masc-representing (eg. cropped hair, compression tee + grey sweats, tattoos, piercings)
note ii. please please please please take your time to read it, you don't understand how long i've spent pondering over every intricacy in this fic.
note iii. drinking game: take a shot every time i say 'don't fall for the player'
kinktober masterlist || main masterlist
Don’t fall for the player.
This was a warning, circulating within the hallways of Avengers Institution, whispered under hushed breaths and divine lips.
Students in this renowned college came from all walks of life — from children of billionaires to self-made achievers, from prodigal minds to brilliant brains. One thing stood for certain, though, and that was the infamous Y/N L/N.
It was a rumour, tried and true, that every single girl — regardless of their sexuality, physical appearance, or social status — would all eventually fall under the spell of the school’s “player”. Try as they might, victim after victim fell helplessly for an effortless charisma and unstoppable magnetism.
The chase never lasted long, a one-sided apex predator hunt. Once you had your eyes set on someone, there was simply no escaping the undeniable fact that the following morning, that girl would wake up in bed next to you.
Problem was, you had this rule, written in stone: Never sleep with a girl more than once.
Alas came the cruel and vicious cycle of girls falling under your spell within milliseconds, only to have their heart shattered within the next twenty-four hours. Sometimes even less.
Boys looked on in jealousy, girls looked on in intrigue. (Or maybe jealousy, too.) The wiser ones kept a distance, but either way, one fact stood true, the moment one stepped into Avengers Institution.
Don’t fall for the player.
Little did you know, soon would arrive a thorn in your plans, an unwanted distraction, your ultimate downfall.
All due to an equally irresistible girl by the name of Natasha Romanoff.
***
“You’re fuckin’ impressive for a freshman, Natasha,” Pepper whistles, clapping her on the back. “Consider yourself a member of the Avengers Institution’s cheerleading squad.”
Natasha nods breathlessly, dropping the pom-poms onto the ground. She had just completed a complicated routine for the cheerleading tryouts, a rigorous one with flips and twirls that required pristine balance.
“I guess that’s expected from a girl who was with the Red Room,” Sharon adds, somewhat snidely. She was another freshman trying out for the cheerleading squad, with a snake-like smile that was coated with too much venom to convey any sort of genuineness.
Natasha returns the smile blankly, false emotions overtaking her face like second nature — propriety, expectations, rectitude. She knew what those words meant, when they put emphasis on the Red Room.
The Red Room, in question, was one of the highest-class organisations internationally that trained talented young female cheerleaders. With a near overly-daunting curriculum, payment fees so impossibly high, and only the most renowned instructors, the Red Room was essentially associated with filthy rich wealth and spoiled privileged kids.
And such comes the tragedy of warped views on capitalism and the unfairness of the world. Sharon leans next to Natasha’s ear in the false pretence of picking something up, but her lips move dangerously swiftly and whisper, “Daddy’s money lets you get everything you want, hm?”
It only takes a second, and then the faux-innocent perpetrator briskly moves away as if nothing had occurred. Natasha stands still, the gripe washing over her back like a cold shower. She steels her shoulders, refusing to be provoked. It wasn’t her fault she’d been born with a silver-studded spoon in her mouth.
Shrugging off the strange looks some of the other girls give her, Natasha hides her annoyance by fiddling with her short skirt. Alongside college came the novelty of less-strict clothing etiquette, and that resulted in the most miniscule cheerleading skirts Natasha had ever worn in her life.
“Ready on the count of three,” Carol announces, tapping her clipboard with a ballpoint pen, surveying the expanse of the wide field.
It wasn’t Natasha’s fault she simply got everything she wanted.
“One.”
An invisible force of magnetism pulls Natasha’s gaze to the bleachers above the field, unyielding and unstoppable. There stands a tall and dark figure in a relaxed position, looking directly at her with piercing eyes. A shiver of anticipation sweeps through the air, and Natasha feels goosebumps rise on her skin.
“Two.”
Aloof charisma exudes from the person’s very presence, so compelling and captivating that it takes Natasha a moment to realise that there’s another girl standing next to the enigmatic soul. She’s chatting animatedly, under a false belief that she’s got your attention, but Natasha knows better.
Her eyes travel over the person’s sculpted figure clad in a leather jacket, tacit confidence written in your lazy smirk and composed posture. Electricity erupts in Natasha’s bloodstream, sending shockwaves coursing through her mindwires, forcing her to look back up to your alluring, forsaken eyes.
“Three.”
Natasha’s body moves mechanically, practised and poised. The rhythm thrumming from the portable speaker seeps into her practised muscles without her brain actually registering it, still reeling from the sheer impact of you.
If there was a fracture in her composure, if her routine was ever-so-slightly off, if her legs trembled more than it normally would’ve, Natasha would blame you.
Natasha would blame you and your stupid smirk, your silly leather jacket, your sickeningly magnetic allure. How you made her feel unstoppable with that come-hither gaze, then left her so low when your eyes inevitably left her.
And suddenly, like a golden key slotting into place, the words Natasha had heard whispered in the hallways finally made sense. The coveted prayer that could only be spoken under hushed tones and divine lips.
Don’t fall for the player.
When Natasha finishes the series of tumbles that ignites impressed cheers from the senior cheerleaders, she lifts her lowered eyes back to the bleachers.
Only to find your lips locked with the blonde girl from before, your hands creeping dangerously low on her back. You move like a predator python, the silver piercings in your ears glinting in the light with every of your calculated moves.
A burning feeling courses through Natasha’s veins, like an ugly green monster unfurling gradually, indescribable anger making her jaw tick.
Don’t fall for the player? Well, now that just sounded like a challenge.
***
Natasha makes her way through the crowd of students filing out from the lecture hall. The chatter fades to a background buzz in her ears as she beelines towards a group of more bearable folks.
“No, they’re a sophomore,” Wanda explained, leaning against the locker door.
“Who’re we talking about?” Natasha intercepts with a curious gaze, slinging an arm around Clint lackadaisically. Professor Banner’s lectures were highly educational, but he tended to drone on a little, and she could feel the rising boredom making its slow crescendo into the back of her mind.
Clint raises his eyebrows amusedly, then lowers his voice in humorous dramatisation. “The player.”
Natasha’s face flashes in recognition at your title. Several things flit across her mind in rapid succession — a fetching character, a lofty smirk, and a pretty girl hanging off a forearm.
“So, this uh… What’s her name?” Natasha tries to ask subtly, faking an expression of indifference. Clint, as always, side-eyes her with a playfully accusatory glance. Natasha shrugs with an odd feeling of guilt.
“Well, I’m a sophomore too, so I do have the guilty pleasure of knowing Y/N L/N,” Wanda said with a bit of a grin.
“Knows her in more ways than one!” Sam cackles, ducking as Wanda swipes at him.
Natasha feels that burning feeling rising in her chest again, and perhaps it was due to the knowledge that someone else had experienced being in bed with you — which was arguably silly, because of course you slept with plenty of women, but that didn’t quell her growing unease.
“Was the sex really that good?” Clint asks bluntly, folding his arms as he leans against the locker next to Darcy. Natasha chokes on air.
Wanda only raises an eyebrow, as if to question the poor boy of his doubts of your sexual prowess. Her knowing smirk told a thousand tales, of your sentient being seemingly reincarnated from a Goddess of Sex, of your mighty skillset of lust, the ultimate sapphic enigma.
“You tryna pull a lesbian, birdboy?” Natasha asks dryly, nudging Clint in the rib. The jibe doesn’t even give her that satisfaction. Thinking about you again had unnerved her very skin, causing clammy hands and a dry mouth.
“She leaves all the girls the morning after, though, so don’t get your hopes up,” Wanda sighs wistfully, waving her hand in the air as if she prophesied of a legend. “It’s a one-night-wonder. Kind of like an eclipse. Only happens once, but when it does, it’s really astronomical.”
Natasha flexes her fingers to get her blood flowing. All this talk about your specialised skillset in bed was making her heart flutter, in the best way possible, but maybe that per se was the worst thing possible.
Because she might acknowledge that you were attractive, but that didn’t necessarily mean she wanted to sleep with you, right?
“And that’s why it's a common tongue around here,” Wanda concludes. “Don’t fall for the player. Simple as that.”
On cue, the noise in the hallway comically fades to silence. The gathered crowds of students make way for a quickly striding figure, clad in the same dark clothing Natasha thought about day and night.
Crossing the hallway with an easy purpose and confident composure, you walk past girls who could be seen swooning. Your gaze slides over them casually, sending small smiles here and there but never really quite focusing.
Until your eyes meet Natasha’s, of course. Like a love scene straight out of a drama, your composure cracks fractionally, and your loose confidence is subverted. It only takes a second before your persona snaps back into place.
“Hey, Natasha,” A smooth voice spills out from your angel-crafted lips. Your voice runs over her weak-willed skin, suddenly so vulnerable in your presence, and then you’re gone.
Natasha stills in place, staring after your disappearing figure. Your two words had left such a searing imprint into the front of her mind that it was honestly concerning. The chatter rises again, as if you were never there.
“Looks like you’re Y/N’s next conquest,” Wanda comments, mildly impressed. “Good luck, my friend. Just remember, don’t fall for the player.”
***
Why on earth there was a dorm party on the second day of school was a question that would forever remain unanswered.
Perhaps the adolescent spirit was the root cause of it, free and tameless and reckless, or maybe it was the temptation of alcohol and attractive folks, intoxicating and thrilling.
Either way, Natasha was here for a good time, not a long time.
Her short midnight dress flounces as she makes her way over to the partially occupied couch, the rather risky slit making its way up her thigh to reveal awfully beddable skin.
“Hey, babe!” Wanda calls enthusiastically, waving her over. There’s a Matrix movie playing on the screen, Natasha isn’t clear of which one, and there are students sprawled over the couch, the floor, and on each other.
She ends up playing a game of truth or dare with strangers, driven by warm bodies and the repetitive encouragement to indulge in a little bit of ‘fun’.
“Truth!” Darcy yells drunkenly, almost crushing her red solo cup of cheap alcohol.
“Jeez, woman,” Carol mutters, sighing at the tipsy girl’s antics. “So, truth— ever had a threesome?”
A bunch of ‘ooh’s wave like a ripple through the huddle of students, but Darcy answers with surprisingly quick coherence for a woman on her sixth cup of beer. “Hell yeah,” she drawls. “Y/N and Jane. Best night of my fuckin’ life.”
Natasha feels that wildly uncomfortable feeling of butterflies fluttering — no, thrashing, around in her stomach. It’s absolutely ridiculous that she’s so easily unsettled by you.
Said Jane Foster flushes in her seat, clearly embarrassed at having her sex life exposed. She waves a hand, trying to quiet down the growing hoots and whistles. “I mean, is it really that surprising, guys? I’m definitely not the only one! Okay, jerks, who else has laid with the famed Y/N L/N?”
Immediately, all eleven women in the dorm room have their hands raised. Well, all except Natasha, that is.
“Oh, she’s a free woman!” Valkyrie yells out, pumping her fist, and the crowd of women let out victorious cheers. “Our last standing soldier!”
Natasha smiles awkwardly in the limelight of all these older students, the strangling sensation in her gut growing stronger.
Seriously? ‘The Player’ has already slept with all these pretty girls in her second year? I would never sleep with someone who treats sex so meaninglessly…
Natasha refocuses on the game, dispelling all her thoughts that seemed to constantly circulate around you. In the bleachers, in the hallway, and now in a dorm party…
So why is Y/N L/N a muse in my mind? Why is she so inescapable?
After about six rounds of revealing shameful truths and accepting rather pointless dares, Natasha’s ready to ditch the scene altogether.
She’s barely touched any alcohol, but it was honestly a shame that her imagination was still so lucid. Getting some of that cheap beer into her system would probably help her to relax quicker, and to stop thinking about you.
“Hey, uh,” she whispers to Wanda. The older girl pulls her gaze away from the current life of the party to regard Natasha with a drunken smile.
“What’s up, Nat?” Wanda drawls, sprawling forward a little too close for comfort. Natasha cringes at her beer-tinted breath. Wanda murmurs softly, “Hey, you got a lil somethin’ in your eye. Looks like a little cloud… Oh, that’s just the light. Silly me, silly–”
“Wanda, I’m gonna head back now. Don’t worry about me,” Natasha says, slightly impatiently but affectionate nonetheless, patting Wanda’s head.
“Awh, okay,” Wanda responds drunkenly, breaking off into a little giggle as Natasha gets up. “Hey, Nat?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t fall for the player, yeah?” Wanda asks with an innocent smile, but her eyes are reminiscent of a ghost doing its last haunting. Then Wanda’s gone, gone with the wind, her attention lost to the exhilarating game of truth and dare.
There’s a moment of quiet in Natasha’s mind, save for the explicit Nicki Minaj song playing in the background with lyrics that would make a stripper blush.
She had heard that simple statement all too many times. Almost like she was meant to hear it. Like it was a premonition, a foreshadowing.
With the odd feeling of being defenceless, Natasha makes a beeline for the door. She’s had enough of silly conservations and awful thoughts; conversations that encircled around the subject of The Player, and awful thoughts of hers that always ended up being about you.
However, a shining bottle of cheap alcohol catches Natasha’s attention from the makeshift bartending station, essentially a kitchen counter. “Wouldn’t hurt, I guess,” she mutters under her breath, reaching out to grab a bottle for herself.
“Ah, that beer’s shite. The good one’s in the cupboard.”
Embarrassingly startled by the familiar smooth voice that greets her, Natasha jumps in her own skin. You again, she thinks with such indignation. What kind of sheer audacity did you have to approach her, after you were making out with another girl just the other day–
All coherent thoughts left Natasha’s mind when her eyes rake over your short-sleeve compression shirt that clung to your abdomen and arms like a vacuum-sealed package. Paired with grey sweats, it was such a beguiling mixture of taut muscles and casual wear that had Natasha growing hotter under her skin.
“I guess it’s alright for me to assume I’ve chosen the right attire for today,” you say, folding your arms in a little bit of satisfaction. That has Natasha staring at the black tattoos that decorate your thick forearms, and she’s half-crazed by the alluring sight.
Perhaps you’re showing off a little more than you normally would, but the girl standing before you was one that had invaded your mind for days on end, which was entirely uncharacteristic of your constantly horny brain.
“Can I ask you a question?” Natasha asks snarkily, returning your confidence with her very own crossed arms. Your eyes don’t miss the way her awfully kissable lips form the words on her tongue, and you certainly don’t miss the way her crossed arms push up her cleavage.
You lick your lips imperceptibly, and you notice the way Natasha’s eyes follow the movement with a hawk-like gaze. “Go ahead, sweetheart,” you respond easily, taking a single step closer to the object of your desires.
Natasha scoffs at the pet name, but you can see your close proximity subverts her composure in the slightest. Unable to keep your hands to yourself, you reach out to place your hands on her altar-like hips. She bristles under your touch, but she doesn’t move.
“Why’re you so fucking arrogant?” Natasha finally asks, hating how breathless she sounds, struggling to keep cool as your ring-adorned hands thumb the material of her short dress. You’ve got her entrapped between the kitchen counter and your sinfully sculpted body, with no way of escape. (Not like Natasha was looking for one.)
“Brat.” The dry laugh that sounds from your throat has Natasha’s heart pounding, a choked sound of pleasure caught in the back of her throat. Your big hands have moved to her sides, cradling her waist tenderly but withholding power, as if you’re ready to dig your fingertips into her soft skin at any given moment.
She thinks it’s unfair, the way your eyes are damn near psychedelic. They’re screens of mercury, smouldering and smoking with the way it trails over her body. If you’re a spark of fire, Natasha is a pool of gasoline that feeds your will.
Hot lips slant against Natasha’s ear lobe, taking it between your teeth as she shudders. Natasha’s breathy release of air as she fights to keep silent has you tugging on her earlobe with pure want.
“Can I ask you a question?” you ask, your voice a touch lower than it had been before, your hands tightening its grip on her deadly hips, the metal of your rings cool against her hot skin.
The overwhelming sensation of your big hands, hot lips and sharp teeth is enough to have Natasha’s eyes fluttering shut. She almost loses control of herself, almost lets herself fall victim to your hypnotic touch — But then you pull away, and a desperate little whine nearly falls from Natasha’s lips.
The cheerleader swallows as she stares at your crafted face, your eyes darkened with something far deeper than want, your lips tugged upwards into a devilish smirk.
“My room or yours?”
Natasha would like to say that the rest was a blur, and her alcohol-tainted memories got lost in translation — but it was a shameful and unequivocal statement that she had been entirely sober, and yet recalled every single detail of that night to vivid precision.
***
Natasha remembers you pressing her up against your door, a fervent urgency of lust unlocked within the confines of your dorm.
“So fucking desperate,” you grunt, hips knocking into Natasha’s front as you pin her against the door, lithe legs wrapped around your muscled torso.
“Shut the fuck up,” she spits, throwing her head back as your sharp teeth sink into the softness of her porcelain neck. The edge of your canines are hard and unforgiving, just how Natasha likes it, just how you scatter dark hickeys across her pale skin.
You smirk at her brattiness, finding it an exceptionally arousing trait of hers. “Pretty girl, you’re not the one in charge,” you tease, with your words and with your hands, dragging your fingertips up and under her short dress.
Natasha remembers her fingers twisting into your hair as you play her like a fiddle, teasing and edging and so blatantly talented like a prodigal concertmaster.
She whines as the cool metal of your rings nudges her nipples, her sensitivity skyrocketing with the shock. “More,” she tries to demand, but it ends up sounding like a helpless whimper and your hands move with such purpose.
You don’t help her cause by taking a hardened bud between two fingers and tugging, cries and whimpers following your fingers. Heaven is the way her breasts look all marked up by your mouth, hardened nipples and raw skin dancing in your vision.
Natasha’s nails dig into your hardened abdomen, scraping at your every muscle for all it was worth. It was something about you, something about the look in your eye, something about the way you commandeered her body with such precision and control like it was meant to be.
Natasha remembers her complete relinquishment of power, giving herself up for you, with a sick urge to be fucked within an inch of her life and then some.
Your right hand slides across her damp inner thigh to brush at her demesnes, and the sheer wetness that awaits your fingers makes you growl against her skin. “So fucking wet,” you grunt, peeling apart the thin material of her panties that cling to her sodden pussy with strings of slick.
Natasha wails, face completely flushed and so utterly gorgeous, and you can’t help but meet her lips with clashing tongue and teeth. She moans as your pierced tongue explores her mouth, and you drink up her cries of pleasure.
“Wanna fuck you silly,” you pant against her ear, fingers tracing the outline of her pretty pussy, dragging arousal along with it. Your knee keeps her legs spread nicely apart for the taking, and the vulnerability you bring out of Natasha is perhaps also the hottest thing.
Humiliation is the way Natasha agrees so quickly, nodding dumbly in acquiescence, thinking it would be nice to feel her brain melt to mush with your thick fingers and prodding tongue.
Natasha remembers the earth-shattering pleasure that wracks her body, as you divulge in providing, by leaps and bounds, the best sex she’s ever had.
Three fingers slide in and out of her dripping cunt at a phenomenal pace, and Natasha’s panting like a dog, tight velvet walls clenching around the thickness of your fingers for all it’s worth.
Finger-fucking her against the door like a heaven-descent, you bask in Natasha’s cries of pleasure. It’s never been like this, never been this heated. With Natasha, you felt like you were ascending.
“You’re gonna make a mess on the fucking floor,” you bite, a low gasp caught in the back of your throat. Natasha’s head lolls to the side, high-pitched whimpers making themselves known as she drips down your wrist and her thighs.
Natasha remembers the unravelling, the way her body seizes up out of its own accord, electricity erupting behind her half-lidded eyes.
Your hands dig into the plush of her thighs as you bring Natasha to a stupendous climax. Your fingers curl harshly, hitting her sweet spot and drawing out obscene noises from her.
“Fuck–” Natasha chokes out, high-pitched and breathy and absolutely delightful. Her hips jerk in your hands as your fingers move inside her.
“Another,” you grunt, not a request, and before Natasha can get ahold of her senses your fingers are thrusting again. She wails as your wrist jackhammers into her wet cunt, slick sounds echoing around the four walls of your room.
The second orgasm arrives even more harshly than the first, and Natasha clings onto the broad muscles of your back as you pin her against the door, toes curling and eyes squeezing shut.
She thinks she could find solace in the way your arms entrap her in a certain type of warmth, almost as if you don’t want to let her go.
But that would just be a hopeless fantasy, wouldn’t it?
Natasha remembers waking up the next morning to an empty bed.
The morning air is too cold on her bare skin. Your side of the bed isn’t even warm anymore. You must’ve left ages ago, in the dark of the night, and that thought in itself has Natasha choking on emotions she’d rather not feel.
Her clothes are still strewn on the floor and the furniture is a mess, a mockery of how far she’d let you go last night, driven by an inescapable high.
This is the game you play. Toying with girls' hearts like it was child’s play, making them feel like they were one in a million for one night only. All that alluring charisma was ugly and falsified, viewed through rose-tinted glasses.
This is the game you play, and Natasha Romanoff had fallen victim to it.
Don’t fall for the player.
Now, it was just another warning sign that she’d overlooked, and she was just like those other girls, stumbling into your open arms and cocky smirk.
Vehement fury slugs inside the cheerleader, as she forcefully picks up her strewn clothes.
Then she looks around the dorm room, your room, and time stills for a moment.
She’d expected it to be somewhat furnished, like all other dorm rooms were, maybe a cactus in the corner or a poster of a rockstar. Instead, your walls are blank and there isn’t a trophy or an award in sight.
You’re the captain of the football team, above average in academics, yet there isn’t a trace of the mark you’ve left as a student at Avengers Institution. There isn’t a trace that you’re a living, breathing human, with emotions that craft your very humanity.
Scarily enough, she feels like she’s laid in the bed of a complete stranger.
And suddenly, Natasha understands.
Don’t fall for the player.
Suddenly, everything feels a little too real, and Natasha comprehends that the statement holds far more depth than what your reputation suggested.
You were just fucking scared.
Scared of commitment, scared of growing attached, scared of being abandoned. You feared getting your heart broken, and thus you feared the longevity of relationships that involved love and romance.
As Natasha picks up her strewn clothes from the floor, with aching limbs and dishevelled hair, only one statement rings in her mind.
Don’t fall for the player.
“Maybe I will,” Natasha whispers to the ghost of your handsome, misunderstood self in the room. “But haven’t you heard I always get what I want?”
***
You couldn’t fall asleep.
You watch the empty sky as you sit on the empty rooftop of the school at four in the morning, a cigarette hanging limp between your lips. There’s an underlying anger bubbling beneath your skin, an itch that you can’t find, simply stewing there to your frustration.
Romance was bullshit.
It was plainly obvious from the way girls approached you. Flirty eyes and feather-light touches meant only one thing. And they were all so pretty, so who were you to complain, right?
All those girls always ended up in your dorm bed, sweaty and short of breath. Your heart would pound, and your mind would go wild with endless possibilities of what could happen if they just stayed.
“You can stay if you want,” you muttered off-handedly to one of your first few hookups in college. The look that the girl returned was so unimpressed that you never asked that question again.
But it was okay, because sex was something that you were good at, and those girls had their fun. It was okay, even if there was something missing. It was okay that your reputation preceded your identity. Even if those expectations spiralled far beyond your control.
With every passing girl you brought to bed, the gnawing hole in your chest only grew bigger. You craved something that you couldn’t obtain. Even if your heart was crawling out of its ribcage every time a girl breathed your name, every time she laid a hand on your chest.
Last night, Natasha Romanoff took that gaping hole in your chest and ripped it right open.
“Please, Y/N,” Natasha had whined, and there was reverent devotion in the way you held her hips, in the way you pulled her close.
“Stay,” you had wanted to whisper, so badly, so many times, but her hands were streaking red marks down your back and her body was shuddering under yours.
So you kept your forbidden mouth shut and continued to do what you did best. All the ‘what-ifs’ were just hopeless dreams. You couldn’t stay, you couldn’t commit. You weren’t allowed to, not after the expectations that had been set for you.
Romance was bullshit, after all.
“You seem troubled,” a female voice announces from behind you, but you don’t bother to turn back. Taking your silence as consent, the girl sits next to you.
“Give me a light,” the girl says, leaning closer to you, and only then do you turn to look her over. Blonde girl, 5’8, blue eyes. Freshman.
“Sharon Carter, right?” you ask indifferently, and the girl lets out a bemused huff as she makes her comfortable next to you.
“Wow, so you do know every girl in this school,” Sharon comments, and there’s a teasing lilt in her voice that hints at how this is going to end up.
You pull out a cigarette, passing it over to the blonde girl, noting how her fingertips brush over yours for a second too long. “Maybe I do,” you respond with false cockiness, the smirk overtaking your face almost unconsciously.
This is the right thing to do, you convince yourself, as Sharon’s hand creeps to your thigh. One girl after the other. You couldn’t get attached.
“Impressive. Put away your light. It’s healthier to destress in another way,” Sharon whispers, tossing her cigarette to the rough concrete.
What a waste, you think, but then the same could be said about a lot of other things in your life.
For a fraction of a second, you contemplate your existence. You wonder why you’ve ended up this way. What you’ve done to deserve girls throwing themselves at you when you began to despise all of them.
When Sharon brings her lips closer to yours, and you find yourself meeting her halfway, because you’ve done it so many times.
There’s this tugging of your heart that almost feels like guilt, but you shove it down and drag your tongue between a set of lips. All too easily, your hands draw patterns across her chest and her thighs, a mastered craft that came mechanically.
Even if it is the right thing to do, it doesn’t feel right.
Your head is swimming with unbearable thoughts of Natasha Romanoff, and you try to erase her on the tongue of another girl who could never compare.
It doesn’t feel right, but it’s the easy way out, and it’s what’s expected of you.
Always has been.
***
“Fuck, Y/N—” is the first thing Natasha hears when she meanders into the bathroom the morning after.
She had wanted to get an early start on the new morning, but alas, fate had it out for her.
For a while, Natasha is surprised that she isn’t surprised. You’ve got a pretty blonde girl on the bathroom counter, one hand up her skirt and the other twisted in her hair.
The girl throws her head back in a bout of pleasure, and Natasha’s thinking that maybe she looks a little familiar. It’s her cheekbones, strung high like a haughty prick. “Daddy’s money always gets what you want, hm?” rings in her head.
A spark of fire burns any ounce of indifference Natasha has to ashes. Sharon Fucking Carter.
Sharon’s painted nails were digging into the expanse of your shoulder blades, and it looked downright painful. Your dexterous fingers were plunging into her sodden cunt, rendering her barely coherent.
It all looks so wrong, and Natasha wants to crawl out of her skin before the jealousy eats her alive.
“Fucking hypocrite, aren’t you?” Natasha spits venomously, hands clenched into fists of fury, making her presence known.
When Sharon jumps away from you like she’s been burned, Natasha can’t help but let evil glee surge through her stomach. Serves you right, she thinks, staring at your dishevelled hair that somehow only made you look more handsome.
It’s different, this time, with your eyes darting as if you were unsure of yourself. (Astonishing, considering your mean streak of being cold as ice.) There’s resentment in the way your face sets, and a type of hurt that causes Natasha to falter.
“Daddy’s little bitch,” Sharon scoffs, fixing her skirt with no attempt to hide her disdain. “Why don’t you fuck off, huh?”
Natasha scoffs, eyes widening in fractional aggression. “I-”
“You should go, Carter,” you say monotonously, almost defeated but wavering on the edge of frustration.
The blonde girl whips her head around to stare at you with incredulousness written in her wide eyes. She lets out a dry laugh of betrayal. “Fuck, look at the two of you. Match made in hell.”
The bathroom door slams shut with a piercing thud. Both you and Natasha don’t flinch.
“You didn’t have to call Sharon a hypocrite,” you mumble, flicking your head back to look in the mirror.
There’s something off about you that no one else has ever had the privilege of seeing. It makes Natasha’s heart soar and her blood boil simultaneously.
“She wasn’t the one I was calling a hypocrite.”
A moment passes between the two of you where you flick an invisible switch.
“I’m the hypocrite, Romanoff?” you ask, evidently provoked. A crazed look in your eyes draws Natasha’s attention, because you’re putting on a false facade all over again.
“Am I the hypocrite for fucking another girl? It’s all I do, isn’t it? That’s what I’m known for. You don’t get to be so butthurt because you were just a one-night.”
A sickly sourness lines your mouth as you spew words that aren’t true, because your heart was fighting every battle to get to Natasha Romanoff.
“What you’re failing to realise,” Natasha begins stately. “Is that this isn’t about me. Fuck it if I’m just another girl on your ever-growing fuck list. Because maybe I am. But you’re lying to yourself if you think you’re happy.”
“Oh, so now you’re determining my emotions for me,” you retort with as much snark as you can muster. “You weren’t acting this high and mighty last night in my bed.”
“Quit the act,” Natasha scoffs, then letting a bittersweet smile cross her face. “You’re hiding behind weak retorts because you’re scared. Scared of being alone. But you don’t have to be anymore.”
Lost, your hands twitch, and you allow yourself to believe that maybe Natasha is your salvation. Defense mechanisms kick in, but you know you’re fighting a losing battle.
“Sorry to disappoint, Romanoff, but don’t try to play therapist. I’m not some kind of victim you’re going to diagnose,” you sneer. “I’m free to do whatever the fuck I want without your judgment.”
“Free?” Natasha asks, an incredulous look in her eyes. She laughs in mockery with an unwavering gaze. “You’re not free. You can’t go a day without fucking a girl. You’re a prisoner, and you’re shackled by your own desires and wants. Except this time, that luxury has become an addictive coping mechanism.”
Dark eyes flash with a glimmer of danger, and you’re so much like a trapped animal gone hostile that Natasha’s heart breaks a little.
“You’re wrong,” you answer, but your hands are shaking so violently that you hardly seem like the person she once thought you were.
Where complete equilibrium once was, a desperate frenzy of unease is what exudes from you now. Natasha feels a twinge in her heart when you whisper “You’re wrong,” again, this time substantially more quiet and resigned.
“Prove it, then,” Natasha challenges, bringing a hand up to cup the side of your face. Her eyes search yours so desperately, and you’ve stripped naked in front of a hundred girls, but you’ve never felt more vulnerable. “Prove that you’re more than whatever they say about you.”
With the strange urge of tears pricking at your eyes, you stare at Natasha with all the hopelessness any broken heart could muster, and for a moment you can see the doubt in her eyes. Like you’ve disappointed her, just like all the girls who’s hearts you’ve broken.
But when you first kissed Natasha Romanoff, it was never going to be just another one-night, was it?
With the final semblance of humanity in your burden-stricken mortality, you drag a shaky thumb along Natasha’s cheekbones like it’s the most delicate thing in the world, and the deeply-rooted self-loathing inside you fades away, just a little bit.
Your parted lips meet Natasha’s in a prologue to an unfinished symphony. You delve in like she’s your last lifeline, and maybe Natasha is, from the way she rests her fingers on your hips with a gentleness you’ve never experienced.
A carnal urge washes over you, because this time you’re not afraid to admit that you want Natasha Romanoff. You spread your hands, feeling up as much of her as you can, running it down her back then squeezing at her rounded ass—
And then Natasha’s pulling away, and only then do you hear the cluster of footsteps approaching the washroom.
“Tonight,” she whispers with a hint of smirk. Natasha goes on her tippy-toes to press a kiss on the tip of your nose, and then she’s gone.
You stand there with wide eyes, in the washroom where students filter in, lingering with the ghost of Natasha Romanoff’s lips and a piece of your heart melted onto the floor.
***
You were positive you were going to start ripping off your skin if you didn’t start fucking Natasha Romanoff in this exact moment.
But that would be a bad idea, because you were in the middle of a psychology lecture, and Professor Harkness probably wouldn’t appreciate that.
After a torturous hour of you shifting in your seat, you sprint out the lecture hall. Thanking the heavens that it was your last lesson of the day, you dodge and weave through the crowd of students in the hallway.
“Hey, Y/N,” A small group of sophomore girls call out, checking you out like a piece of meat. Normally, their flirtatious winks and little skirts would have you folded in an instant, but you couldn’t wait a moment longer.
You send them a polite smile and continue on your hasteful journey, missing the comical way their faces fall.
Upon your dutiful research, you knew where Natasha’s dorm was located, but you planned to stop by your own dorm to pick up a little something. (Okay, maybe the something wasn’t that little.) You yank open your door with purpose—
Only to find Natasha already sprawled out on your dorm bed, dressed in one of your shirts and nothing else. You almost pass out. Almost.
“Nat,” you groan, locking the door behind you. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“Not before I come, I’m afraid,” Natasha sighs with a pleased smile. She beckons you over with a come-hither motion, spreading her legs in invitation.
You bite back an affected noise in the back of your throat, pushing Natasha back down on to the bed with fervour. With a crushing sense of urgency, you slide your hand between her pretty thighs, not waiting a single moment.
“Slow down,” Natasha instructs, tilting your head up to stare at her blown pupils. “Take your time. Don’t just fuck me. Do it like you mean it.”
Upon hearing those words, a rush of pride washes over you and then you’re so eager to please, desperate to somehow prove yourself.
Your fingers find the hem of her shirt and tug it over her head, revealing the bare mounds that are Natasha’s tits. A shaky exhale leaves your lips as your fingertips experimentally brush over her hardened buds.
“God, you’re built,” Natasha moans, running her hands over the edges and curves of your muscle. It’s tight and taut under her touch, so defined and carved.
You shudder under her explorative touch, returning your attention back to the beautiful girl in front of you.
You were so used to hot, fast, explosive sex that turning back time was such a jarring awakening of everything that you were missing out on.
It put things into perspective, that you had never actually made love. And since this was your first time, you were determined to do it right, especially for Natasha.
You trail open-mouthed kisses down her sternum and stomach, savouring the taste of her skin. Your hands grasp at her tits, enjoying the feel of it in your hands.
You’re experiencing things you never got to experience, like the rise and fall of Natasha’s pale chest, the way her eyelids flutter gently.
Temporarily avoiding where she needed you most, you hear Natasha let out a whine. You tease her hole with your tongue, smearing her slick messily.
“Fuck,” Natasha curses, winding her fingers into your hair. “Please, I need it,” she whines, as you lick at her clit.
“M’kay, baby,” you mumble against her wet folds, because you could never deny Natasha of anything, could you?
You slide your tongue in her twitching pussy, and begin one of the most passionate love-making sessions
You listen out for when Natasha hitches her breath, when her hips stutter, when she mewls out. You learn the instrument of her body, understand and test out the different reactions you can draw out.
After minutes of what seem like pure bliss with erratic breaths and pleading keening, you speed up and the reaction is immaculate.
“Y/N,” Natasha cries, as your tongue goes in and out of her dripping cunt. Her slick goes down her thighs and your chin, making the most obscene noises.
It’s wet and squelching, and you proceed to devour Natasha’s pussy for everything it’s worth.
For a millisecond, Natasha wonders if anyone has ever died from being eaten out too passionately. Erotic Oral Overdrive, maybe.
Her first orgasm comes in a gradual crescendo, her hips rocking in waves as you dutifully match her unwinding.
Natasha lets her eyes flutter shut as the moment overwhelms her senses. Until the silence is finally broken by you.
“Got a little something for you,” you say with a quirked brow, sliding your hand into the bedside cabinet to retrieve that little something.
“Oh, fuck,” Natasha whines, upon seeing the biggest strap-on toy she’s ever had her eyes upon in her life.
You ease in the cock with no amount of trouble, through Natasha’s already slick cunt. You start with a gentle pace, because you’re trying to be slow.
Apparently, Natasha has different plans this time around.
“Harder,” Natasha growls, digging her nails into your muscled back. You let out a low gasp, because you’re already so deep inside her divine pussy, and you didn’t think you could go any deeper.
Gripping her thighs and spreading it as far apart as you can, you thrust impossibly deeper and your hips slap against Natasha’s.
Her eyes roll back, and she arches off the bed as you continue to thrust and make a nest for yourself inside her.
“Y/N, ungh– please, fuck—” Curled toes wrap around your back as she writhes against the bed.
With the way your cock bulges against her skin, you’re quite sure you could actually split Natasha in half. She’s clawing at your back, calling out your name to the ceiling.
When you pull out, Natasha whines, velvet walls clenching tighter around to keep you deep inside. But then you thrust all the way in again and a scream rings around your dorm room.
You don’t give a flying fuck about the noise level as you pound into Natasha, splitting open her pretty little pussy. “So fucking tight and wet,” you moan into her ear. “All for me, baby?”
It’s fucking possesive, the way you manhandle her to look at her rolled-back eyes and slack jaw.
“Mhm– yes! Oh God, yes, please, Y/N!” Natasha shrieks, clenching so tight you swear you can feel her wet pulse through the huge strap-on.
But it isn’t just any strap-on, and Natasha realises this with a breathy gasp, because it’s a squirting strap-on, and then you’re unloading into her ruined cunt with a deep growl.
Natasha wails, legs in the air, as you pump your seed into her pussy. It’s thick and flows out in pumps, and she milks your cock dry.
“Good girl, Nat,” you breathe, rocking in slow motions so she can recover from her high.
Finally, you collapse on top of Natasha as she lets out a breathy laugh. “What happened to not fucking the same girl twice?”
“You’re infuriating,” you grunt, rolling your hips once in retaliation. You delight the small victory of Natasha whimpering under you.
Natasha rolls her eyes at your impertinence, leaning up to press a small kiss on your forehead. “Infuriating? More like irresistible.”
It’s your turn to laugh, grasping her hips and pulling her impossibly closer. “You’re right,” you whisper truthfully. You think you could stay like this forever.
“Stay if you dare,” Natasha whispers, letting her hand trace over the curvature of your angled face. As you lay above her, you turn your head so that your lips brush against her palm.
Your warm lips are so delicate that Natasha could almost weep, and that’s all the response she needs before breathing a gentle sigh, hence letting sleep drift her consciousness away.
For the first night amongst many, a quiet calm settles in your dorm room ‘til the sun rises again.
***
Don’t fall for the player.
Once upon a time, that used to be a warning, circulating within the hallways of Avengers Institution, whispered under hushed breaths and divine lips.
Tried and true, was the rumour that every single girl in this school would eventually fall victim to The Player’s effortless charisma and unstoppable magnetism.
And this might be true, because whenever you strolled the hallways or scored a touchdown, you were bound to have admirers cheering your name or flirty winks thrown in your way — However, there was a catalyst. A change, if you would.
Boys looked on in jealousy, girls looked on in intrigue. (Or maybe jealousy, too.) What used to be a smooth mouth and wandering hands became a delicate kind of control, saved for only one particular student.
Gone was your blatant charisma and swagger in treating other girls, because now there was only one on your mind — Natasha Romanoff. Be it in on the bleachers, in the hallways, or during dorm parties, never were you seen without the girl who always got what she wanted.
And that included the very subject of the mantra that defined Avengers Institution:
Don’t fall for the player.
so... this was one full month of work. i've never been this dedicated to a singular project. wow. uh, please reblog. it's the only true way of supporting your little creators on this app, so help me out here. thanks for reading. out of curiosity, which part did you like the most?
warning(s): none. (i mean ig you can count kehlani as a faceclaim?? nr i j didn’t feel like blurring the face.)
summary: ❝ Yeah, you know I tried to stop
Yeah, you know I tried
I tried to give you a little less of my time ❞
masterslist.
part two. part three. part four. coming soon!
────────✬────────
last night, y/n y/l/n made her appearance at the oscar’s. she walked the red carpet and was seen mingling with a few friends, it seemed to be a normal event for the star…but the after the event is where things took a turn. the star was filmed in the back of venue, seemingly sharing a heated discussion with a pap before swinging on the man.
click to load more details…
arms crossed, you moved your body lightly side to side, swaying the rolly chair you were seated that was placed across your manager, publicist, and agent who were all on the opposite side of the meeting room table.
through your dark shades you could see mia, your agent, nervously chewing on her lip, for someone in the business she was never really good in under pressure situations. then there was your publicist, julia, who had the bitchy face and attitude to match with it. she always liked to make a point she was not happy.
no wonder all three of your husbands left you. you thought but you knew better than to say it.
lastly, there was you manager, robert, who dramatically had his head in his hands, while exhaling and inhaling extra loudly to let you know he was not happy.
“i don’t see why i have to apologize.”
with squinted eyes, rob looks up at you with a death glare. “because this is a bad image.”
“the public isn’t dumb tho’ they’ll know i don’t mean it. so why waste the time i could be spending in the studio or better yet, living my life.”
“it doesn’t matter if they believe it or not, and it damn sure doesn’t matter if you mean—it’s about the image.” this time, julia had something to bite.
behind your shades, your eyes rolled. “i have a perfectly fine image.”
“you? perfect image?” rob sarcastically laughs in your face.
“need i remind you, you’re the same person, who just last month got so drunk that you publicly urinated in a mop bucket and yelled ‘fuck bill clintion.’ you’ve never even met that man.”
mia nods in agreement, “you need to apologize, y/n. and you need to control your anger, it’s getting out of hand.”
“i don’t need to do shit! i’m the one who pays your bills! i make the money around here!”
“you sound like a brat!”
“yeah? julia, you’re fired! fuck you.”
rob, stands up, throwing his hands up in a stop motion. “ok, enough! julia and mia please give us the room for a minute.”
they all share a look, julia looking back at you with a devilish glare. (you giving her the same stare.)
once the two ladies exit the room, rob paces for a minute, giving himself time to collect him emotions.
“y/n, i’ve been managing you since you were fifteen years old….you’re twenty-three now, i’m gonna need you to act like it.”
this time you stand up, “rob, that pap had it coming!”
“don’t give me that, you deal with paparazzi everyday. i know this about jenna and seeing her with that guy last night.”
clenching you jaw, you look away silently.
“i’m sorry that happened, kid. i know it hurts and—“
“you don’t know shit, rob. that pap just annoyed me, that’s all. meeting dismissed.”
you harshly grab your phone from the table and move around it to exit the door, despite rob’s protest and julia asking where you were going you kept marching down the halls of your label.
“have a nice—“
“yeah, you too.” you cut off the receptionist as you continue out the front, glass doors where a black car awaited for you, with your usual driver standing outside of it.
“hey sean.” you utter to the smiling man as he shuts the door behind you, and making his way to the driver’s side.
“so where to, kid?” the man adjusts the rearview mirror to get better look at you.
licking your lips, you think for a second before pulling out your phone and going to the messages app.
can i come over?
don’t let the paps see you.
“drop me at jenna’s.”
“you got it.”
you utter a bland ‘thanks’ while laying your head against the tinted window.
warnings: drug + alcohol use, reader and jenna are cheating on their partners, public sex (sorta) switch!reader, switch!jenna, overstimulation, brat?reader, throat-fucking, drunk sex i think also pc + unexperienced writer and spelling mistakes probably and kinda short so sorry lolol
"y/n! over here!"
"y/n! are you and jenna still together?" you rolled your eyes at the comment, cameras flashing in your face. you had learned to ignore the comments and cameras, but that one question seemed to throw that away.
"no. we broke up." you responded, straight-forward.
"y/n, y/n! turn this way!" you stopped, fixing your suit a bit before smiling for the seemingly hundreds of cameras behind the ropes of the red carpet.
"i'll meet you inside." your manager whispered to you, patting you on the shoulder. you hummed in response, still posing for the never ending photos.
"jenna ortega! jenna, look here!" you watched as jenna posed for the cameras that were just focused on you, watching her silky black dress move perfectly against her thighs, ass, boobs, her whole body in general. she was fucking perfect.
"y/n! are you dating someone new now that you and jenna aren't together?!" you almost snarled at the comment, and felt jennas eyes on you, despite the fact she's still posing.
"yes. i've found another girl." with that, you turn on your heel, swooshing past jenna, already pissed even though you haven't even stepped into the place yet.
why were you here again? you sat backstage in a small room during the afterparty, door closed and no windows. there was no security, but some celebirities smoking weed and other shit you were too high to read.
"yo, y/n. you listening?" you stared at someone through the smoke, your chest burning.
" 'course i am." you slurred, taking a long swig of your alcoholic drink.
"so if you had to fuck anyone at this party, who- hic- who would it be?"
"bro, that's so fucking easy. sydney sweeny." you grinned, taking another hit off your blunt.
in the middle of your laughing and explaining why you'd hit sydney, a different girl walks in, grabbing your rough arm. you looked at the small hand, too high to identify who it was.
"god damn. did you guys really have to hotbox right at the start of the afterparty." the girl mutters.
"eyyy! be careful with y/n, she's gone deep." someone says.
"shhhut the fffuck up. dont- hic- listen to him, baby." you slur, snaking your arms around her, earning an eyeroll from jenna.
"sorry i had to disturb your little... party. we're leaving now." jenna announces, dragging you out of the smoke filled room.
"wwwhat the fuck you did that for? always ruining my fuckinnng funnn. you suck, emma." you allowed yourself to be dragged by the girl, brain too clouded to even comprehend lefts and rights.
"i'm not emma, y/n. i'm jenna." she sighs, leading you to her black car, putting you in the passengers seat and buckling your seatbelt.
"ohhh my goodness! jenna orrrtega?! i'm your huuuugest fucking fannn. i have a total crushhh on you." you fangirled, leaning back in the seat while giggling.
"drunk words are sober thoughts." jenna laughed to herself, starting the car. "you have a crush on me, hm? that's nice, love. drink that water." she points to an unopened water bottle, and you fumble with the cap, eventually whining to jenna for help, and you down half the water.
"eeee! jenna ortega called me love!" you blushed, giggling like crazy, with jenna chuckling next to you. "jennaaaaaa. i don't think my- hic- girlfriend would like me in your carr.. she doesn't like you."
"really? thank you for telling me, y/n." she squeezed your thigh while keeping her eyes on the road, and you felt your blood rush south quickly.
"m-mhm. no problem.. jenna, can you move your hand now?" you were starting to come back to your senses, little by little, and you were very aware about how hard your dick was at the little contact you hadn't had in ages. your girlfriend, emma, didn't really give two shits about pleasuring you. she'd only care about the media. she had gained way more fame from being with you, a widely known model and an up and coming actor.
jenna stopped the car at the red light, looking down at her hand and she immediately noticed the growing bulge in your pants. "you want me to move my hand, love?" you nodded, and she complied, moving her hands, but not to the place you expected her to. she moved her hand rigt on top of your hard-on, and you sucked in your breath, feeling yourself twitch.
"erm...j-jen- fuck!" jenna squeezed your dick harshly, making your back arch in the chair. she pulls away from your dick, killing the car engine completely. you look to your right, staring at the hotel. it was bigger than the one you were staying at. she opened the door for you after getting out, and you got out after unbuckling your seatbelt, stumbling around and grabbing jenna for support.
"careful, baby." jenna smirks at you, walking you into the hotel, and you both get bombarded by cameras.
"don't call me that. you're quite unprofessional, you shouldn't have- have let press know you were here." you muttered.
"y/n! are you and jenna back together?!"
"jenna! are you and y/n dating again?!"
you scoffed, ignoring all questions as security blocked the press off as you waited for the elevator.
"so no comment from either of you?!" someone in the crowd shouted, your headache growing.
"no. damn." you said, glaring at the reporters.
"but can we get a confirmation of your relationship?!" the elevator finaly arrived with a ding, and you grumble, slinging your arms around jennas waist as the door closes and she takes out her room key to have access to the buttons, pressing the very top one.
"i thought you found someone new? you shouldn't be on me like this." jenna mutters, letting you snake your hand down to her ass and your other hand down to her thigh.
"she's a dickhead. doesn't give a fuck about me, only the fame. i should've never left you baby, im so sorry." the elevator dings once again, and jenna ignores you, and you trail behind her like a stray puppy as she unlocks her door. the room was huge, no wonder it was on the last floor.
you took off your shoes, following behind jenna.
"jenna, baby, please." you got on your knees infront of her while she sat on her bed, slipping her heels off.
"you didn't beg like this when you cheated on me. didn't give a fuck then." she stares down at you, and you feel incredibly little.
"i know, baby. please-" you beg again. jenna smiles.
"i wonder how emma will take this?" she grins, stroking your hair.
"i don't care, baby, please. i love you so much, i should've never ever cheated. i regret it so much. just please, ma. let me make it up to you." you lowered your lips to her thighs, moving her dress up slowly. "may i?"
jenna hums a yes, and you start biting the soft flesh, sucking, licking, everything. you switched thighs when the other was littered with red hickeys. you licked up to her crotch, feeling wetness drip from her black panties. you kissed her thigh upwards, feeling her shiver and whine, making your dick twitch.
"please, angel. let me make you feel good." you push her dress up farther, tugging at her panties. "don't deny your pleasure." you look up at her, and the second she nodded, you got to devouring her pussy.
"ohhh, god. y/n. fuck." jenna moaned, her hands deep in your hair, pushing your face farther into her crotch, making her moan even louder.
you stuck your tongue up her, making her practically scream. "fuck! shit, y/n, right there! don't stop, please!" you continued your actions, and you felt jenna tremble over you. "y/n, i'm right there, fuuuckk! don't you dare stop!" you listened to her orders, and after less than ten seconds, your mouth was flooded with jennas come as you attempted to swallow everything she gave you.
"shit.." her body jerked, and you smiled, wiping your mouth.
"am i forgiven?" you asked as you switched spots, sitting on her bed as you watched jenna tie her hair up, giving you a 'you must be fucking stupid' look.
"you've gotta be dumb to think some good head will make me forgive you for literally cheating on me." she rolled her eyes, taking your hard dick out of your pants into her hands. she squeezed the shaft, and you watched her slowly lick the precum that came out as you groaned. she smiled at how sensitive you were, and she took your tip into her mouth, and you let out a low whine.
just then, your phone rang. "fuck." you muttered, looking at jenna.
"pick it up. now." she says, taking you whole, her eyes tearing up.
"agh!- fuck.." you shakily read the name on your phone. emma.
"h-hello? you said as you picked up, putting the phone on speaker.
"babe, where are you?" emma said, and you watched as jenna rolled her eyes while bobbing her head on your dick.
"fffuck- um- i left alrea- shit!" you cursed as jenna squeezed your dick, letting more precum drip down her throat.
"what? where are you, y/n?"
"i left already, e-emma. i'm at..um- fuck!... at a friend's place." you half lied.
"what are you doing?" she asked, suspicious.
jenna looked up at you, gagging on your dick quite loudly.
"what was that? y/n?"
"no-nothing, emma. look, ill- ughhh! fuck- i'll be back tommorow morning, bye-" you rushed to hang up the phone.
"wait- y/n, dont-" the hang up beeps sounded, and you groaned, pushing jennas head farther onto your dick, moaning loudly as tears dripped down jennas face.
her tongue swirled around your dick, making you groan. "fuck, jenna, just like that- im right there-" with that, she pulled away.
"yo, what the fuck?" you asked, watching as jenna stood up. pulling her dress all the way off, watching her.
"you don't deserve to come tonight. especially with the way you're speaking. who are you talking to like that?" she questioned, and you backed down.
"nobody." you muttered, earning a smile from jenna.
"good girl." the pet name made your dick twitch, letting saliva and precum drip onto the floor.
jenna laid on the bed, and you crawled ontop of her.
"y/n? you still love me, hmm?"
you nod like a puppy dog who was just offered a piece of meat. "of course, baby."
"then fuck me like you still do."
that was all you had to hear as you slipped your dick into jenna, making both of you moan.
"god, you're so tight, jenna. i missed your pretty pussy." you started thrusting into her, making her claw her nails at your back.
"shut up and fuck, y/n. ah-! god!" she demanded, moaning.
"of course, jenna." you smirked, placing your hands on her waist, letting your tip out and ramming back into jenna, making her scream.
"fuck, fuck! y/n- shit! you better not stop!" jenna dug her nails into your back.
"i wont, baby- god, you're so fucking tight. pussy taking me in so good. can i cum in you, angel? please?"
"hgnn- fuck! yes, y/n, just make me cum, pleasssseeee!" she begged.
"look who's beggin' now." you smiled, not letting up on ruining her pussy.
"fuck, please, y/n! im cummingg!" she moans in a high pitched voice, and you release inside her, collapsing on top of her.
"sooo..." you ponder.
"i'll think about it, love. for now, i think your girlfriend is worried." jenna grits her teeth, and you smile.
"don't be jealous, angel. i don't love her like i love you." you bit and sucked at her neck, leaving hickeys that were sure to grab the presses attention.
"of course you don't." jenna smiles, and you pull the blanket on top of you both, ending the night the best way possible, with your true love.
One of my professors told me recently “You aren’t in the drivers or passengers seat when you write a story. The characters are in the drivers seat and they’ve locked you in the trunk” and I mean he’s not wrong.
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