#High-End Packaging Design

[craftingbeauty]

High-End Packaging Design That Defines Luxury

High-End Packaging Design

In luxury beauty, high-end packaging design plays a critical role in creating powerful first impressions. It’s not just about aesthetics—it's about reflecting a brand’s values, uniqueness, and status. Custom, elegant packaging developed by professionals helps ensure your product stands out on shelves and online platforms alike.

Sustainable Beauty Packaging

As eco-consciousness continues to rise, sustainable beauty packaging has become a must for modern brands. From recyclable components to biodegradable materials, beauty companies are prioritizing sustainability. Crafting thoughtful, green solutions doesn’t just help the planet—it builds brand loyalty among mindful consumers.

Fragrance Manufacturing

Behind every successful perfume is expert fragrance manufacturing. It takes specialized knowledge, access to high-quality ingredients, and technical precision to craft memorable scents. From the initial concept to final production, the right partner ensures your fragrance aligns with both brand identity and customer desires.

Perfume Manufacturing

Complete perfume manufacturing services are essential for beauty brands looking to grow in a competitive industry. This includes everything from fragrance development to bottling and compliance. Working with a reliable manufacturer streamlines the journey from idea to shelf-ready product.

Beauty Product Manufacturing

Today’s consumers expect innovative, safe, and high-performing beauty items. Efficient beauty product manufacturing includes research, formulation, testing, and scalable production. Whether it’s skincare, makeup, or body care, your products should meet high standards while staying true to your brand voice.

Fragrance Manufacturing USA

Choosing fragrance manufacturing USA allows brands to benefit from domestic production, faster lead times, and compliance with FDA guidelines. It also opens up local distribution networks, which is vital for brands looking to scale quickly in the U.S. market.

Fragrance Manufacturing France

Known as the perfume capital of the world, fragrance manufacturing France combines centuries-old techniques with modern innovation. French perfumers bring heritage, artistry, and unmatched expertise to your product, enhancing its appeal and authenticity on the global stage.

Olfactory Brand Experience

Creating an olfactory brand experience helps brands connect with customers on a sensory level. Scents evoke emotions and memories, making fragrance an essential part of brand storytelling. A signature scent can differentiate your brand and create long-lasting consumer loyalty.

Brand Extension

Expanding your product line through brand extension is a strategic way to grow. Whether it’s moving from fragrance to skincare or makeup, maintaining brand consistency is key. With the right guidance, extension becomes a powerful tool for increasing market share and recognition.

Turnkey Beauty Solutions

Speed, efficiency, and quality define great turnkey beauty solutions. From concept development and formulation to packaging and logistics, a full-service partner can manage every stage of your beauty product’s lifecycle—saving time and reducing risk.

Conclusion Success in the beauty industry depends on more than just a great idea—it demands flawless execution across every touchpoint. From high-end packaging design to turnkey beauty solutions, working with an expert like Crafting Beauty ensures your brand delivers exceptional products with impact.

Let your beauty brand begin its next chapter—partner with Crafting Beauty today.

[dennis-wisser]

Luxury Packaging Boxes: Trends, Colors & Custom Finishes

In the world of high-end products, packaging is just as important as what's inside. Luxury packaging isn't just about protection - it's about elevating the customer experience, reinforcing brand identity, and creating an unforgettable first impression. From foil-stamped logos to debossed details and on-trend color palettes, the latest innovations in luxury packaging are setting new standards in elegance and exclusivity.

If you're looking to design or invest in luxury packaging boxes, here's what's trending in 2025.

1. Trending Materials for Luxury Packaging Boxes

The material of a packaging box plays a crucial role in aesthetics, durability, and sustainability. Brands are moving toward:

Rigid Boxes - A favorite for luxury goods like jewelry, cosmetics, and high-end gifts. They provide a premium feel and strong protection.

Eco-Friendly Materials - Sustainability is a major trend, with brands opting for recycled cardboard, FSC-certified paper, and biodegradable alternatives.

Textured Paper & Fabric-Wrapped Boxes - Adding texture through linen, silk, or embossed paper gives packaging an elegant, high-end finish.

2. Popular Colors in Luxury Packaging

Color psychology plays a big role in luxury branding, and the latest trends reflect a mix of classic elegance and modern sophistication.

Top Color Trends for 2025:

Matte Black & Gold - Timeless, sophisticated, and associated with premium quality.

Champagne & Soft Neutrals - Understated luxury that works well for weddings, perfumes, and skincare.

Deep Jewel Tones (Emerald, Burgundy, Sapphire) - Adds a regal, rich feel, perfect for high-end accessories and holiday packaging.

Pastel Luxe (Blush, Mint, Lavender) - A modern, soft-touch luxury palette ideal for boutique brands and feminine products.

Metallic Accents Are Key

Luxury brands are incorporating gold, silver, and rose gold foiling into packaging designs for a polished, high-end look. These accents elevate even the simplest packaging into a premium experience.

3. Foil-Stamped Logos: Adding Elegance & Brand Recognition

Foil stamping is a signature element of luxury packaging. It involves applying metallic or pigmented foil to a surface using heat and pressure, creating a reflective, high-end finish.

Why Use Foil Stamping?

Enhances brand visibility with a striking logo impression

Creates an elegant, shiny metallic effect that catches the light

Works well with black, deep colors, and velvet-finished boxes

Ideal for cosmetic packaging, premium chocolates, jewelry boxes, and wedding gifts

Common colors for foil stamping include:

Gold Foil - Classic luxury, often paired with dark backgrounds

Silver Foil - Modern and sleek, great for tech and beauty brands

Rose Gold Foil - Feminine, soft, and perfect for boutique packaging

4. Debossed & Embossed Logos: A Premium Touch

Adding depth and texture to packaging is another luxury trend. Debossing and embossing create tactile branding that makes a product feel even more exclusive.

Debossing vs. Embossing - What's the Difference?

Debossing - The logo or design is pressed into the surface, creating a subtle, sophisticated indentation.

Embossing - The logo is raised above the surface, adding a 3D effect that's visually striking.

Where to Use These Techniques?

Rigid gift boxes with luxury finishes

High-end invitation boxes and wedding packaging

Corporate gift boxes & brand presentation kits

5. Personalization & Custom Luxury Packaging

Customization is one of the biggest trends in luxury packaging. Consumers expect packaging that feels exclusive and tailored.

Ways to Customize Luxury Packaging Boxes:

Monogramming & Initials - Perfect for wedding keepsakes and VIP gift boxes

Magnetic Closure Boxes with Hidden Messages - Adding a personalized touch inside the lid

Bespoke Inserts & Compartments - Custom-molded interiors for perfumes, watches, and delicate items

Interactive Packaging

QR codes & NFC tags embedded in packaging to provide an interactive brand experience

Personalized thank-you notes inside premium gift boxes

Final Thoughts: Elevating Packaging with Luxury Details

Luxury packaging is more than just a box - it's a statement of quality, sophistication, and exclusivity. With high-end materials, rich color palettes, foil stamping, and embossed logos, brands can elevate their packaging to a premium level.

As trends continue to evolve, sustainability, personalization, and interactive elements are shaping the future of luxury packaging. Whether you're a brand owner, designer, or event planner, investing in custom luxury boxes is a surefire way to enhance customer experience and brand perception.

Would you consider adding foil stamping, embossing, or custom packaging to your product line? Let us know in the comments!

[audeyu888]

Well-defined taste

[eraserbread]

testin out the new lipstick your older boyfriend, nanami, bought u ✧ ୨୧ - based off this fanart by ayushnz

→ afab fem!reader, implied age-gap, pillow talk, teasing, sfw but suggestive

he drops a little shopping bag in front of you, mentioning, "i'm sorry."

"seems like you're always apologizing." you're digging in your gift before he even lets it go, recognizing the high-end makeup branding on the side.

"seems like you're always yelling and calling me an asshole."

"because you are a capitalistic asshole, but I can't blame you." you're gasping like a kid in a candy shop, pulling out a single box of your favorite designer lipstick. the shade marker on the bottom reads 'for the roses', and when you dig it out of its packaging, it swatches on your hand in a deep red. kento watches you over your shoulder.

"thought it'd be flattering on you."

"did you? or did your assistant?"

"give me a break."

you're breathing in the fluster he hides so well whenever he's not around you. now, out of the job, hair loose, and glasses off, he's yours to the core.

"there is a strange lack of mirrors at your place. here, hold it." you're pushing a pocket mirror you keep in your bag into his big hand, turning around in your chair to face him. he's towering, unimpressed when you boss him around, but too polite to tell you no.

so, right now, he'd be your mirror holder. he does want you to wear the lipstick—this'll have to be his sacrifice. he watches you pull the cap off the gold tube, marveling at the luxurious shade of red it holds before posing in the mirror, concentrated as you smear the color on.

he watches—no, marvels at you. the subtle grace, the unwavering beauty. it makes him smile. "I was right... it's stunning."

"mm, you're just tryna get in my pants."

kento tosses his head back in a sigh, pressing the compartment shut. "will you keep this up all night? pretending to be mad at me?"

"if it gets me what i want," you sit back in the plush rolling chair, skirt hiked up, hair mussed, and lips red. his amber eyes burn as they skate over your body. you bite your lip, staining your teeth as you nod. "...mhm."

"brat."

you laugh, leaning forward to catch the hang of his tie. you hate this one—the yellow-dotted one he swore was his favorite—but you love him, and you love the look on his face as you pull him down into a kiss. it's all lips, no tongue, but when ken pulls away, he's red-faced and red-lipped. your lipstick has transferred all over him.

"fuck. you're soooo cute." using that leverage you have on his tie, you pull yourself up. he doesn't even stumble, but he is reaching out to grab your ass. "I wonder how many lipstick stains I can leave all over you."

"one hundred, maximum. though, you'll hardly get to fifty before complaining about lip cramps."

"let's test it out, " you smirk deviously, turning him around in your arms and pushing him into the warm chair. he looks up at you with a gaze only you could read, teasing, telling you don't try anything.

you reach to reapply your lipstick, running a free hand through kento's tossed locks. he catches your wrist, pulling your hand to his lips to kiss. "might not let you get to a hundred."

"challenge accepted." you lean forward, snatching your hand away from him. starting at his face, you're kissing his nose, cheekbone and forehead, lingering over the top of his lip.

then they trail to his jawline, four kisses all smooshed in the area around his ear. he's purring, puffing out laughs when you hit a ticklish spot. you're at his neck, then to his clothed chest staining the blue fabric in waxy red.

and when you're standing up straight, admiring your handiwork, you've got him by the tie. "so fucking sexy."

he chuckles, head tilted to the side so you can see the number you did on his thick neck. "ha, don't be crude."

[jupiterpilgrim]

Funny Games

Kim Chaewon x male reader

word count: 18K

commissioned fic

Okay, focus. Your phone is practically glued to your ear, the receiver getting uncomfortably warm as you pace the slightly-too-fancy hotel lobby. Papers rustle under your other arm—passports, flight itineraries, customs forms, a goddamn novella of logistical bullshit required to move four international superstars and their entourage across the planet for the next leg of this relentless promotion cycle. The air buzzes with the low hum of pre-travel anxiety, staffers murmuring into radios, security personnel scanning the perimeter with bored professionalism. Luggage carts glide silently across the polished marble floor, piled high with designer cases stickered with airline priority tags. Everything is accounted for, every contingency planned, every single detail triple-checked… except one. One small, perpetually infuriating, five-foot-four package of pure chaos currently MIA.

You check your watch for the tenth time in as many minutes. Twenty minutes past the absolute latest departure time for the airport run. Twenty minutes closer to missing the check-in window for a private charter, something the label definitely wouldn't appreciate footing the bill to reschedule. You end the call with a clipped, "Yeah, confirmed. Vans are waiting. Just… give us five," and shove the phone into your pocket, resisting the urge to hurl it across the lobby. Yunjin catches your eye from where she's lounging on a velvet armchair, scrolling through her phone.

"Still no sign of the princess?" she calls over, not bothering to lower her voice.

Sakura, seated beside her looking effortlessly chic even in comfy travel sweats, sighs dramatically. "Honestly, you'd think after all this time, she'd learn what a schedule is." Kazuha, ever the quiet observer, simply sips her bottled water, a tiny, knowing smile playing on her lips as she watches you practically vibrate with contained stress. Eunchae is the only group member not participating in the tour; she got stuck filming a TV reality show (lucky her, to be honest). You just shake your head, struggling to maintain control of the situation. Dealing with airline regulations and grumpy customs officials is one thing; managing Kim Chaewon's unique brand of calculated tardiness is a whole different level of managerial hell. Or heaven, depending on the day. And the context.

Right on cue, as if summoned by the sheer force of your frustration, the elevator dings softly. The doors slide open, and there she is. Kim Chaewon. Sauntering out like she hasn't a care in the world, let alone a plane to catch. She's dressed in ridiculously oversized, ripped jeans slung low on her hips, a cropped white tank top that barely covers the essentials, and a pair of chunky sneakers. Sunglasses are perched on her head, pushing back her perfectly styled, slightly messy brown hair. There's a lollipop stick poking jauntily from the corner of her mouth, and a smirk plastered across her face that says she knows exactly how late she is and gives precisely zero fucks. She doesn't even glance at the waiting staff or her bandmates, her eyes landing directly on you, challenge glinting behind the playful facade. No apology, no hurried explanation, just a slow, deliberate stroll towards the assembled group, hips swaying just enough to be noticeable.

You feel a familiar vein start to throb in your temple, a mix of pure exasperation and that other, much less professional feeling she always manages to stir up, even when she's actively sabotaging your carefully laid plans. She stops right in front of you, tilting her head, the lollipop stick rotating slowly between her lips. "Problem?" she asks with a feigned innocence. You have to physically restrain yourself from grabbing her by the shoulders.

"Problem? Chaewon, the problem is we were supposed to leave twenty-five minutes ago. The flight crew is waiting. The plane is waiting." Your voice is low, tight, trying desperately to maintain a semblance of authority despite the fact that everyone within earshot knows the score. She just shrugs, popping the lollipop out with a wet little smack.

"Oops? Lost track of time." The smirk widens. "Was busy." Doing what, you don't even want to imagine, though a few possibilities immediately spring to mind, each less appropriate than the last. Yunjin snickers softly from the couch. Sakura just shakes her head, a silent told you so in the gesture.

"Right," you say, your tone flat, promising retribution. "Well, get your ass moving. Now." You turn, expecting her to follow, ready to start barking orders to get everyone loaded into the waiting vehicles. But she doesn't move. You glance back. She's still standing there, that defiant little pout on her lips now.

"Or what?" she challenges, voice low, but loud enough for you, and probably the girls, to hear.

There it is. That flicker of challenge, the testing of boundaries that's as much a part of her personality as her talent. You meet her gaze, letting the professional mask crack just enough for her to see the warning underneath.

"Or," you lean in slightly, lowering your voice even further, pitching it just for her ears, ignoring the nearby staff pretending not to listen, "you and I are going to have a very detailed discussion about punctuality and following instructions later. Somewhere private. And loud." Her eyes flash, the corner of her mouth quirks up. That's the reaction you were looking for. Not fear, never fear, but that little thrill of anticipation, the promise of consequences she secretly craves.

She finally breaks eye contact, rolling her eyes dramatically, but there's no heat behind it now. "Fine, Dad," she drawls, grabbing her small carry-on bag from a nearby bellhop with maybe a bit too much force. She brushes past you, her shoulder deliberately bumping yours, her fingers trailing almost imperceptibly across the front of your jeans as she does. A jolt goes through you, a stark reminder of just how thin the line is between manager and… whatever the hell this is. You watch her swagger towards the exit, the sway of her hips definitely more pronounced now, a silent fuck you directed straight at your rapidly fraying composure.

Kazuha catches your eye again, that small smile widening slightly before she stands up smoothly. Sakura pushes herself up with a groan. "Come on, lovebirds, plane won't fly itself," Yunjin chirps, slinging her own bag over her shoulder and giving you a knowing wink as she follows Chaewon out into the bright morning sunlight towards the waiting black SUVs. You take a deep breath, smoothing down your shirt, trying to regain control.

Right. Airport. Focus.

The ride to the private airfield is a blur of logistics and barely contained annoyance simmering just beneath your professional exterior. You're in the lead SUV with some core staff, phone pressed back to your ear finalizing gate access and confirming the flight plan one last time. Through the tinted windows, you catch glimpses of the second vehicle carrying the girls, a sleek black Escalade gliding smoothly through the early morning traffic heading towards Narita. Japan first, a whirlwind of promo and a high-profile music show appearance, then onto LA for the US leg.

The schedule is brutal, relentless, and your brief, desperately needed month-long vacation already feels like a distant dream. You try to focus on the call, nodding along to the pilot's confirmations, but your mind keeps flashing back to Chaewon’s deliberate touch, the heat in her eyes when you issued that warning. Damn her. Damn this whole fucked-up dynamic you can't seem to escape, not that you entirely want to.

In the other car, Yunjin leans back against the plush leather seats, stretching languidly. She glances over at Chaewon, who's staring out the window, humming softly to herself, that infuriating lollipop stick back between her teeth.

"So," Yunjin starts casually, scrolling through Instagram, "you doing okay there, Chae? Seemed a little... wound up back at the hotel." Chaewon turns, pulling the lollipop out with a soft pop.

"Wound up? Me? Nah." She flashes a grin that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Just excited for Japan. It's been a while since we've been there."

Sakura snorts softly from the other side. "Right. Excited to go to Japan. That's definitely what had you practically vibrating out of your skin." Kazuha just adjusts her noise-canceling headphones, opting out of the incoming drama she can sense brewing.

Chaewon rolls her eyes. "Whatever. I don't know what you guys are talking about."

Yunjin just smiles knowingly. "Mmhmm. Sure you don't." She goes back to her phone, letting the subject drop. She knows Chaewon too well; pushing now won't get her anywhere.

The airport procedures are surprisingly smooth, a testament to the efficiency of the ground crew and the perks of private travel. No lines, minimal fuss through security and customs, just a swift walk across the tarmac under the surprisingly warm morning sun towards the waiting Gulfstream jet. It gleams, sleek and white, promising pressurized comfort and relative privacy for the next few hours. The girls board first, Yunjin offering a cheerful wave, Sakura a polite nod, Kazuha a quiet smile. Chaewon hangs back, deliberately letting you pass her on the boarding stairs. As you step onto the plush carpet of the jet's interior, she follows close behind, close enough that you can feel the faint warmth radiating off her skin, smell the sickly sweet cherry scent of her damn lollipop mixed with her expensive perfume. She bumps your arm "accidentally" as she moves past you towards the main cabin seating area, settling into a window seat without a word. You watch her go, jaw tight, before turning to have a final word with the flight attendant about the service schedule.

Once airborne, the atmosphere shifts. The low rumble of the engines becomes a background drone, the city shrinking below as you climb through the clouds. Staff keep to the forward galley, the flight attendants are discreet, and the girls mostly settle into their own routines; headphones on, tablets out, naps commencing. It’s quiet. Too quiet. The simmering tension from the hotel lobby, the car ride, the boarding process, it hasn't dissipated. It's coiled tight in the pressurized air, centered entirely around the small girl pretending to be engrossed in the view outside her window. You catch her reflection in the polished wood trim. She's not looking outside; she's watching you.

Waiting.

Testing.

Fine. Game on. It's been over an hour, you're at cruising altitude, and most people seem settled. Time for that "detailed discussion." You casually stand up, stretching as if heading for a drink, and make your way towards the rear of the plane, towards the surprisingly spacious lavatory. You slip inside, leaving the door deliberately unlocked, just cracked open a sliver. Pulling out your phone, you fire off a quick text, fingers tapping the screen with purpose: Bathroom. Now.

You don't have to wait long. Maybe thirty seconds pass before you hear the soft click of the cabin door opening and closing further down the aisle, followed by light, quick footsteps on the carpet. The bathroom door pushes open silently, and she's there, filling the small space, her presence immediately dialing up the intensity. That bratty smirk is back, but there's a nervous energy flickering underneath it now, a thrill chasing the defiance. She glances back down the empty aisle quickly before stepping fully inside and clicking the lock firmly behind her. The sound echoes slightly in the confined space. She turns to face you, leaning back against the locked door, crossing her arms over that cropped tank top. Her eyes challenge yours.

"Yeah?" she asks, voice low, trying to project nonchalance. You don't crowd her immediately, just hold her gaze, letting the silence stretch, amplifying the low hum of the engines vibrating through the floor.

"You've been pushing it, Chaewon," you state, keeping your voice level, pitched just loud enough for her over the engine noise. "All morning. Back at the hotel, on the stairs, just now. What the fuck is your deal?"

She shrugs, a deliberately dismissive gesture. "Don't know what you're talking about. Just excited for the trip." That smirk again.

God, you want to wipe it off her face. Or kiss it off.

You take a step closer, closing the small distance between you until you're invading her personal space, forcing her to tilt her head back slightly to maintain eye contact. Bullshit. You reach up, your hand gently but firmly closing around the column of her throat, thumb resting just under her jawline, fingers applying just enough pressure to make her breath hitch. Not painful, just… possessive. Controlling.

You watch her eyes darken slightly, the pulse jumping beneath your thumb. Her skin is so soft. You let your gaze drift over her face, taking in the sharp line of her jaw, the slight flush rising on her cheeks, the way her impossibly brown, perfectly cut bob frames her face. She’s stunning, even when she’s being an absolute menace.

"Don't lie to me," you murmur. "Is this because I was gone?" Her gaze flickers away for a fraction of a second before snapping back to yours, defiance warring with something softer, needier. She doesn't answer, presses her lips together stubbornly.

But you know. Of course, that's what it is.

A whole month you were off-grid, a proper vacation, sun, sand, zero work calls, zero idol drama, zero her. You needed it. Your sanity depended on it.

"Look," you sigh, loosening your grip slightly but not letting go, stroking your thumb along her jaw instead. "I needed that break, Chae. This job… it’s fucking insane. Managing schedules, dealing with labels, fixing fuck-ups… it’s non-stop. And you," you give her neck a tiny squeeze, "you don't exactly make it easy sometimes, do you? Acting out isn't going to help anything." Her eyes flash again, the bratty spark returning full force. She lifts her chin, straining slightly against your hold.

"Oh yeah? So what are you gonna do about it, boss?" she challenges, her voice laced with that familiar, infuriating blend of provocation and invitation.

A slow smile spreads across your face. You lean in until your lips are centimeters from hers, your breath mingling.

"I'm gonna start," you whisper, the words brushing against her mouth, "by shutting that pretty, bratty little mouth of yours." And then you crush your lips down on hers. It’s not gentle. It’s hard, possessive, a reclaiming. You tangle one hand in her short hair, tilting her head back, deepening the kiss, your tongue demanding entrance, tasting the lingering cherry sweetness from her lollipop mixed with her own unique flavor. She gasps into your mouth but kisses back just as fiercely, her arms coming up to wrap around your neck, pulling herself tighter against you. The small space seems to shrink further, filled with the heat radiating between your bodies. Your other hand slides down her back, over the curve of her waist, down to her ass.

You grab a handful, squeezing her tight, ripped denim digging into your palm, feeling the firm muscle beneath.

God, her body.

Tight, toned, compact perfection pressed flush against you. You grind your hips against hers reflexively, letting her feel exactly how much her little games, her proximity, affects you. You break the kiss, both of you breathing heavily, foreheads resting together. Her eyes are hazy, lips slick and slightly swollen.

"Fuck," she breathes out, a satisfied little smirk playing on her lips now. "Took you long enough."

You chuckle darkly. "You wanted attention, didn't you?" You slide your hand from her ass around to the front, pressing your knuckles against the apex of her thighs through her jeans. She lets out a shaky breath, her hips twitching against your hand.

"Always," she admits. "Especially yours." You meet her gaze, seeing the raw need there now, the bratty facade momentarily forgotten.

"Yeah?" you murmur. "Think you earned it?" She nods eagerly, biting her lower lip. "Okay then," you say, stepping back just enough to create a sliver of space, your hand dropping to the waistband of your own jeans. "Get what you came for. Unbutton my pants. Show me how much you missed me while I was gone." Her eyes light up, that mischievous, filthy smile spreading across her face, erasing any trace of vulnerability.

"Gladly."

Without hesitation, she sinks to her knees in the cramped space, the motion fluid and practiced, her gaze locked on yours as her nimble fingers go straight for the button of your jeans, popping it open with practiced ease.

That filthy little smile doesn't leave her face as her fingers deftly work the zipper down, the metallic rasp sounding obscenely loud in the confined space. She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of your jeans and boxers, pulling them down just enough, freeing you into the cool, recycled air of the lavatory. Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly for a second, a flicker of genuine appreciation crossing her features before the bratty confidence slams back into place. You're hard already, straining against the sudden freedom, the head slick with precum from the kiss and the proximity.

She doesn't dive right in, though. Oh no, that wouldn't be her style. This is part performance, part genuine reverence, all designed to drive you absolutely insane. She leans forward, her bob falling forward, curtaining her face slightly as she just looks for a moment, her gaze tracing the length of you, thick and ready. Her breath hitches audibly, warm air ghosting over your sensitive skin. You grip the edge of the small vanity counter behind you, bracing yourself, watching her. This part, the anticipation, the way she draws it out, is almost as potent as the act itself.

"Fuck," she breathes out, the word a reverent whisper against your cockhead. Her eyes flick up to meet yours, dark and dilated, full of undiluted want. "God, I missed you.” She reaches out a hesitant finger, tracing the prominent vein running down the shaft, a feather-light touch that sends a shiver straight up your spine. "Really fucking missed this." Her fingers wrap around the base, gently testing your weight, her touch surprisingly cool at first before her body heat starts to transfer. You watch her lower her head slowly, her nose practically brushing against you. She inhales deeply, deliberately, her eyes fluttering shut for a second. "Mmm, missed your smell," she murmurs, almost purring the words. It’s ridiculous, performative, and yet undeniably hot.

She knows exactly what she’s doing, playing up this devoted sub angle she slips into when she truly wants something. She presses a soft, closed-mouth kiss right to the sensitive tip, then another just below it, her lips incredibly soft. "Missed your taste," she whispers against your skin before flicking her tongue out, tasting the bead of precum, humming her approval. "So fucking good." Another slow lick, this time circling the head, deliberate and agonizingly slow. She looks up at you again through her lashes, a challenge in her eyes now. "You know nobody makes you feel this good, right?" she states, not asks, her fingers tightening slightly at your base. "Nobody gets to have this but me."

You don't answer, just watch her, your breath coming faster, the low hum of the Gulfstream's engines fading into a dull roar in your ears. She seems to take your silence as confirmation, a smug little smirk touching her lips before her focus returns entirely to your cock. She showers the head with tiny, wet kisses, murmuring praises, telling you how perfect you are, how hard she’s making you, how much she loves knowing she’s the only one who gets you like this. It’s a litany of filth and adoration, custom-designed to stroke your ego as much as your cock. Her hair brushes against your inner thighs as she moves.

Then, finally, she opens her mouth. Her lips, slick with spit now, close around the head, engulfing the most sensitive part of you in wet heat. A low groan escapes your throat, involuntary, and you fist your hand tighter on the counter edge. Her tongue immediately goes to work, swirling, flicking, teasing, while her lips maintain that perfect pressure. She bobs her head slightly, taking just the tip into her mouth, sucking gently, testing your reaction. Her eyes are fixed on yours, watching every micro-expression, gauging your pleasure. Seeing your jaw clench, your eyes darken, only seems to spur her on. The bratty challenge morphs into focused determination, the determination to absolutely wreck you right here, thirty thousand feet above the Pacific, in a bathroom barely big enough for one person.

She changes tactics, her mouth sliding further down, taking more of you in. Jesus, she’s good. So fucking good. Her throat muscles work, creating an incredible suction as she slides down, then eases up, her lips and tongue creating friction on the way back. It’s slow, deep, worshipful, completely at odds with the frantic energy she displayed just moments ago. One of her hands rests on your thigh, fingers digging in slightly for balance, while the other continues its gentle stroking at your base, coordinating perfectly with the rhythm of her mouth. She varies the pressure, sometimes sucking hard enough to make you see stars, other times easing off, teasing the underside with her tongue, finding that sensitive ridge and working it relentlessly. You let your head fall back against the cool bulkhead, eyes closed now, just focusing on the overwhelming sensations radiating from your groin. The tight heat of her mouth, the slick glide, the slight scratch of her teeth now and then—carefully controlled, just enough to illicit a gasp.

You can hear her little contented hums around you, the wet sounds of her work echoing slightly off the walls. She knows exactly how much you love this, how much you need it, especially after being away. This is her reclaiming you, marking her territory in the most intimate way possible. The plane hits a patch of minor turbulence, a slight jostle that makes her pause for a second, her grip tightening on your thigh. She looks up, eyes wide for a moment, before a wicked grin splits her face. The added element of risk, the thinness of the locked door separating you from discovery, clearly just makes it hotter for her. She lowers her head again, her pace picking up slightly, getting sloppier, faster, sucking harder, her head nodding with increasing urgency as she feels you twitching in her mouth, reacting to her skilled attention.

That wicked grin doesn't fade as she dives back down, the brief pause and jolt of turbulence seemingly flipping a switch in her. The slow, almost reverent pace vanishes, replaced by something frantic, greedier. Her head bobs faster, much faster, taking you deeper, almost gagging on your length but pushing through it, her throat muscles working overtime. The sounds are wetter now, louder, sloppy sucking noises mingling with her quickened breaths through her nose.

She knows exactly where you're heading, can feel the tension coiling tight in your hips, the way your breathing has turned ragged. She wants to push you over the edge. Her free hand leaves your thigh and joins the other at your base, both thumbs pressing firmly against your perineum. She pulls back just enough to dart her tongue out, licking down the entire length in one wet stripe before taking you back in just as quickly. Then, without warning, she shifts her attention lower. Her hot mouth slides off you momentarily, leaving you exposed and hypersensitive in the cool air, before closing firmly around your balls.

"Fuck," you gasp out loud this time, your hips bucking involuntarily off the counter. The sensation is intense, shocking; the wet heat engulfing you there, the gentle suction, her tongue swirling against the tight skin. She takes one, then the other, into her mouth, sucking gently, flicking her tongue, paying devoted attention while her fingers still expertly work your shaft. She alternates, mouth on your balls, fingers stroking, then mouth back on your cock, faster, sloppier than before, driving you absolutely insane. She glances up, eyes glazed but focused, seeing the loss of control blooming on your face. A tiny, triumphant smirk plays on her lips around you.

"Like that, huh?" she manages to mumble, the words distorted. "Want me to suck your fucking soul out through your balls?"

God, yes.

You can't even form words, just groan, a raw sound torn from your throat. The combination is too much; the relentless friction on your shaft, the dizzying attention to your balls, the tight confines of the bathroom, the constant hum of the engines a vibration deep in your bones, the sheer fucking audacity of doing this right now.

Control snaps.

Your hands shoot out, burying themselves in her silky brown bob. You grab two handfuls, tilting her head back slightly, forcing her mouth wider around you. Her eyes widen in surprise, a small, muffled gasp escaping around you, but there's no fear there, only widening pupils filled with manic excitement.

"Yeah," you grit out, your voice rough, barely recognizable. "Fucking take it. All of it." You start to move, thrusting your hips forward, fucking her face, setting a harsh, driving rhythm. No more gentle give and take, just pure, selfish need. You drive into her mouth, pushing past her limits, feeling the resistance at the back of her throat, pushing through it anyway. Her hands fly up, gripping your thighs, holding on as you use her mouth relentlessly.

Her head nods back and forth with each rough thrust, her hair tangling in your fingers. You look down at her, at her beautiful face, cheeks flushed, eyes watering slightly from the force, spit shining on her chin where it escapes the corners of her mouth. She’s trying to keep up, trying to match your rhythm, muffled sounds of pleasure and choked effort escaping her. But this isn't about her pleasure anymore, not entirely. This is about yours. About the overwhelming, crashing need to come that's consuming every thought.

Each downward stroke of your hips forces a deeper groan from your chest, the pressure building unbearably. You pull back slightly, almost out, just to slam back in, burying yourself deep in her throat, feeling her gag reflex kick in, hearing the choked sound she makes. You do it again, harder, faster, chasing that release, feeling it clawing its way up your spine, tightening everything inside you into one unbearable knot of pure sensation as you fuck her pretty, willing mouth like it owes you everything.

Each thrust is deliberate now, a punctuation mark emphasizing your ownership in this moment, right here, miles above the earth in this ridiculously small, vibrating metal tube. You drive deep, pulling back just enough to hear her ragged gasp for air before slamming back in, pushing the boundaries, treating her mouth like nothing more than a tight, wet hole designed solely for your pleasure. And fuck, she takes it. Her eyes, slightly teary now from the force and the gag reflex you keep triggering, are locked on yours, wide and impossibly dark, reflecting a mixture of overwhelmed submission and pure, unadulterated adoration.

She loves this.

Loves being used, pushed, treated like your personal plaything when the mood strikes. Loves knowing she’s the only one you’d ever do this to, the only one who could take it and still look up at you like you hung the goddamn moon. Her hands are still gripping your thighs, knuckles white, anchoring herself against your relentless assault. Muffled whimpers and choked sounds escape around you, sounds of effort, of pleasure pushed right to the edge of pain, sounds that only fuel the fire roaring through your veins.

"That's it, baby," you rasp out. "Take it all. Fucking earn it." Your thrusts become less rhythmic, more frantic, chasing that final, explosive release that's clawing its way up from your balls. You can feel the orgasm building, an unstoppable surge coiling low and tight, demanding release. "God, Chaewon, fuck..." You look down at her, at the beautiful mess she is beneath you; spit slicking her chin, hair mussed and tangled in your grip, eyes glazed over but still fiercely focused on you.

This image, her complete surrender mixed with that inherent bratty defiance simmering underneath, is the final push. With a guttural roar that seems to vibrate through the thin walls of the lavatory, you come. Hard. Your hips stutter, pulsing uncontrollably as thick ropes of cum shoot deep into her throat, spasm after spasm racking your frame. You feel her choke, her body tensing instinctively as she struggles to swallow the sudden, huge flood. Her eyes squeeze shut for a second, a single tear finally escaping, tracking a path through the faint sheen of sweat on her cheek. But she swallows. God damn her, she swallows every last drop, her throat working convulsively, taking all of it down like the devoted little slut she is when you push her this far.

The intensity drains out of you almost as quickly as it came, leaving you momentarily boneless, breathing heavily, forehead pressed against the cool metal wall above her head. Your grip on her hair loosens, fingers automatically smoothing the strands you were just gripping so tightly. You stay there for a long moment, embedded deep within her, your rapidly softening cock still held snugly by her lips and throat.

The only sounds are your harsh breaths gradually evening out and the faint, wet noises as she finishes swallowing, clearing her throat delicately. It’s strangely intimate, this quiet moment after the storm. Finally, slowly, you pull out, your cock sliding free with a soft, wet sound. She stays kneeling, looking up at you, her lips plump and red, slightly glistening. There’s a smudge of her mascara under one eye, and her cheeks are flushed a deep pink.

She looks thoroughly wrecked. And impossibly beautiful. Leaning down, you gently cup her cheek with your hand, thumb stroking softly across her flushed skin, wiping away that single tear track. Her eyes flutter slightly at the tenderness, a stark contrast to the rough handling moments before.

"Fuck, Chae," you murmur. "Missed you too, brat. So fucking much."

A small, genuine smile finally touches her lips, tired but satisfied. She leans her cheek into your palm for just a second, a silent acknowledgment. You grab a couple of paper towels, dampen them slightly, and gently wipe her mouth and chin, cleaning her up. She takes them from you wordlessly and finishes the job herself, quickly fixing her hair in the small mirror, smoothing her tank top. The transformation back to idol Kim Chaewon is swift, though the flush on her cheeks and the slightly dazed look in her eyes might linger.

"Okay," you say quietly, checking your own appearance quickly. "Give it five minutes. Then head back out like nothing happened." She nods, her gaze meeting yours in the mirror, a shared spark of conspiracy and satisfaction flashing between you.

"Five minutes," she confirms. You unlock the door, peek out quickly; the aisle is still clear, the cabin quiet, then slip out, leaving her alone in the small space, the scent of sex and cherry lollipop hanging faintly in the air. You walk back to your seat, sinking into it, feeling utterly drained but deeply satisfied, the earlier stress replaced by a languid sense of calm as you wait, counting the minutes until she rejoins the world as if nothing had happened.

—

The touchdown at Narita is smooth, the private jet taxiing to a remote stand far from the commercial terminals, a small bubble of privileged quiet before the storm. But even before the engines fully spool down, the energy shifts. Phones reappear, makeup is touched up, professional smiles click into place. You’re already on your feet, coordinating with the ground crew via headset, confirming vehicles, security perimeter, and the route to the hotel. The brief, intense intimacy of the lavatory encounter feels like it happened in another lifetime, shoved firmly back into the mental box labeled 'Later'. Right now, you're Manager-nim, orchestrating the intricate ballet of moving four global stars through a country.

The jet door opens, revealing the crisp Tokyo air and a phalanx of serious-looking Japanese security personnel alongside your usual team. You step out first, surveying the scene, giving clipped instructions. Then the girls emerge, blinking. And Chaewon… fuck, the transformation is always jarring. One moment she was kneeling on a bathroom floor, looking wrecked and sated; the next, she's Kim Chaewon of Le Sserafim, waving brightly, a picture of sweet, bubbly professionalism. Her brown bob is perfect, her smile dazzling, her energy infectious as she greets the ground staff with polite bows and cheerful "Ohayou gozaimasu!" greetings.

The walk through the designated private channel towards the waiting vehicles is a controlled chaos you know well. Muffled screams and frantic chanting of "Le Sserafim! Le Sserafim!" echo from somewhere beyond the security cordon, a testament to their massive popularity here. Camera flashes strobe intermittently from permitted press areas, capturing their every move. You stick close, scanning the surroundings, murmuring directions into your radio, occasionally guiding one of the girls with a light touch on the back (purely professional, of course). But your eyes inevitably find Chaewon. She's interacting effortlessly with her members, laughing at something Sakura says, adjusting Kazuha’s collar playfully.

To the world, she's an adorable idol, the charismatic leader. But then, amidst the flashing lights and the buzz of the crowd, her eyes find yours across the short distance separating the group from the security detail. It’s just a flicker, barely a second long, but it hits you like a physical jolt. There’s no sweetness in that glance. It’s pure, unadulterated knowing. A glint of challenge, a silent reminder of exactly where her mouth was just a couple of hours ago, a promise of unfinished business.

Her lips quirk almost imperceptibly, a shadow of that filthy smirk, before she turns back to wave at a particularly loud group of FEARNOTs, the idol smile firmly back in place. You quickly look away, refocusing on the path ahead, feeling a familiar heat crawl up your neck. Yeah, keeping control around her is a constant battle, a tightrope walk between your responsibilities and the raw, magnetic pull she exerts.

—

The days that follow blur into a relentless cycle of promotion. Early morning call times for music show pre-recordings, interviews with Japanese magazines, high-energy fan meet-and-greets, rehearsals, sponsor events. You're constantly in motion, managing schedules, liaising with local teams, troubleshooting inevitable hiccups, ensuring the girls are where they need to be, looking and sounding perfect. You operate on caffeine and adrenaline, maintaining a professional buffer zone around yourself. Mostly. But she’s always there. A constant presence, radiating that dual energy. On stage, during interviews, she’s flawless. Charming, witty, hitting every mark, captivating everyone with her charisma. She signs albums for fans, her eyes crinkling in a perfect crescent moon smile, head tilted attentively as she listens to their excited chatter. You watch from the wings, clipboard in hand, discussing logistics with a stage manager, and you have to admire her professionalism. She’s damn good at her job.

But then, during a brief water break backstage, tucked away from most of the crew, she catches your eye again. She's leaning against a roadie case, pretending to stretch, but her gaze is locked onto yours. She slowly, deliberately runs the tip of her tongue across her upper lip, mimicking the action from the plane, before taking a long, slow sip from her water bottle, her throat working. It’s blatant. Provocative. A silent dare right there in the middle of the professional chaos. You just glare back, shaking your head slightly, trying to convey 'knock it off' without drawing attention. She just offers a tiny, almost invisible shrug, a silent 'make me,' before Yunjin calls her over to look at something on her phone, breaking the connection.

The tension is a constant hum beneath the surface, especially when you're confined in the same space for extended periods; dressing rooms, rehearsal studios, vans during transit. The other members notice, of course. They're not blind, they are already very familiar with this twisted dynamic. Yunjin occasionally throws amused, knowing glances between you two. Sakura sometimes sighs with theatrical exasperation when Chaewon gets particularly “energetic” (read: subtly provocative towards you) during downtime. Kazuha remains the serene observer, missing nothing but saying little.

During one rehearsal for a demanding choreography piece, the instructor is giving notes. You're standing off to the side, watching intently, making mental notes about stage positioning. Chaewon is front and center, sweat glistening on her forehead, breathing heavily but focused. The instructor praises her intensity. As the group resets for another run-through, Chaewon turns, ostensibly to grab her water bottle from near where you're standing.

She meets your gaze directly, her chest still heaving slightly.

"Hard work, right Manager-nim?" she asks innocently, but her eyes hold that familiar, challenging heat. Before you can respond with a noncommittal professional grunt, she adds, quieter, almost under her breath, "Makes me thirsty." She grabs her bottle, takes a long drink, and turns back to the formation, leaving you standing there, jaw tight, feeling thr unspoken meaning.

Yeah, you think grimly, watching her perfectly execute the next sequence. Keeping things under control around Kim Chaewon is going to be the hardest part of this entire goddamn tour.

—

The fan meeting is a sensory overload, bright lights everywhere, cheerful music blasting from speakers, and the high-pitched buzz of hundreds of excited FEARNOTs packed into the event hall. Rows of fans clutch albums and gifts, shuffling forward patiently for their brief, precious moments with the idols. You’re stationed near the side of the stage area, ostensibly overseeing the flow, liaising with security and event staff, but your attention keeps getting snagged by Chaewon. For the first hour, she’s perfect. Idol Chaewon in full effect: adorable aegyo, attentive listening, dazzling smiles, expertly signing albums, making every fan feel like the center of the universe. She laughs, she jokes, she poses for photos with peace signs and hearts. Standard procedure.

But you know her.

You see the restless energy simmering beneath the surface, the way her eyes occasionally flick towards you when she thinks no one is looking.

She’s bored.

And when Chaewon gets bored, she gets mischievous.

It starts subtly. A slightly longer hand-hold with a particularly handsome fanboy. Laughing just a bit too loudly, head thrown back, at something another fan says. Small things, easily deniable. But then comes a fan near the end of the line, maybe early twenties, clearly nervous but trying to be cool. He says something, probably complimenting her, and Chaewon leans way forward across the table, elbows planted, chin resting on her hands, giving him her undivided, intense attention. Her smile turns from sweet idol to something… sultry. Predatory. "Oh really?" you hear her say, voice pitching slightly lower, playful but undeniably flirty. "Tell me more about that." She bats her eyelashes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers lingering near her collarbone. The fan turns beet red, stammering.

And Chaewon?

She glances sideways, directly at you, a tiny, triumphant smirk flashing across her face for a nanosecond before turning back to the flustered fan, completely ignoring the staff member gently trying to move the line along. You feel your jaw clench so hard your teeth ache. That little shit. She’s doing it on purpose, pushing your buttons in front of hundreds of people, knowing you can’t react.

The moment the last fan is gone and the doors close, before the girls are even fully off the stage platform and heading towards the backstage waiting room, you're moving towards her. She sees you coming, that bratty, challenging glint back in her eyes, though she pretends to be engrossed in conversation with Kazuha. You don't wait until you're fully backstage.

"What the hell was that, Chaewon?" you demand, keeping your voice low but harsh, stopping right in front of her, forcing Kazuha to awkwardly sidestep around you.

Chaewon blinks, feigning innocence. "What was what? I was just being nice to the fans. Isn't that my job?" The saccharine sweetness in her voice makes you want to throttle her.

"Don't play dumb with me," you hiss, leaning in slightly. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Leaning across the table like that, practically purring at the guy. You trying to start something?"

Her eyes flash. "Maybe I was just appreciating a compliment," she shoots back, crossing her arms. "Is that against the rules now, Manager-nim? Or are you just jealous?"

That does it.

"Jealous? I'm pissed off because you're playing stupid, risky games in public when you know better!" Your voice rises slightly, catching the attention of the other members who are just entering the waiting room, looking utterly drained. Sakura groans, dropping onto a nearby couch.

"Oh my god, are you two seriously doing this now? We just finished a three-hour fan meet." Yunjin collapses next to her, pulling off her shoes. "Seriously. Can you guys just... not? Fight on your own time. Some of us want to go back to the hotel and pass out." Kazuha just shakes her head silently, already pulling out her phone, tuning out the familiar drama.

Chaewon ignores them, her gaze locked on yours, a thrill dancing in her eyes as she sees the anger simmering there. She loves this. Loves seeing you lose control, even just a little.

"Maybe I like playing risky games," she says softly, defiantly. You look at her, really look at her; the flushed cheeks, the challenging glint, the slight pout of her lips, and a wave of conflicting impulses washes over you: pure rage, and an equally potent desire to throw her over your shoulder, take her somewhere private, and show her exactly what happens when she pushes you too far. You want to punish her, break down that bratty defiance until she’s begging, but you also just want to have her, right now.

You take a deep, steadying breath, shoving the unprofessional thoughts down. Work first.

"Fine," you say curtly, trying to keep your voice flat and cold now, which you know unsettles her more than shouting. "We'll discuss your... appreciation... later." You turn away from her, clapping your hands together, shifting back into manager mode. "Alright everyone, good work today. Vans are waiting outside. Let's move, quick." You avoid looking directly at Chaewon as you herd the exhausted group towards the exit, focusing on coordinating with security for the departure.

The ride back to the hotel is thick with silence. The earlier exhaustion is now overlaid with the residue of your argument. Chaewon stares out the window, pointedly ignoring you, though you can feel the nervous energy radiating off her. She knows she crossed a line. She also knows retribution is coming. As the vans pull into the hotel's underground parking garage, and the girls start gathering their belongings, Chaewon makes a move towards the elevator with Sakura and Yunjin, maybe thinking she can slip away to the safety of her own room. No chance. Before she can take more than two steps, your hand shoots out, fingers wrapping firmly around her wrist. Her head whips around, eyes wide with surprise, maybe a flicker of apprehension mixed with the underlying excitement.

"Not so fast," you say. The other girls pause, exchange weary glances, but don't intervene. They know this dance.

"Where are we going?" Yunjin asks tiredly, already pressing the elevator button. "You three, head up. Get some rest," you instruct, your gaze fixed on Chaewon. "She's coming with me." You tug gently but firmly on Chaewon’s wrist, pulling her away from the group, towards the opposite elevator bank that leads to a different wing—your wing. Her eyes search yours, the earlier defiance replaced with a hesitant, almost breathless anticipation.

"With you?" she echoes, her voice small. "To your room?" You start walking, pulling her along beside you. She stumbles slightly but keeps pace, her wrist still captive in your grip.

"Yeah," you confirm, punching the button for your floor. As the elevator doors glide open, she looks up at you, a nervous smile playing on her lips, that familiar bratty spark returning.

"Are you… are you gonna punish me?" she asks, a kind of silly, almost happy tone in her voice. She already knows the answer. You meet her gaze, letting her see the banked anger, the possessive intent, the promise of exactly what she's been provoking all day.

"What do you think?"

The path there is filled with silence and tension for what you both know is to come, the heavy hotel room door clicks shut behind you, the sound sealing you both in, cutting off the outside world and unleashing the tightly coiled tension that’s been vibrating between you all damn day. You don't waste a second. Before she can even process the surroundings (the king-sized bed dominating the space, the generic hotel art, the city lights filtering through the sheer curtains), you've got her backed against the door, your mouth crashing down on hers. It’s not like the possessive claim on the plane; this is pure, unrestrained frustration bleeding into raw hunger. Your lips move roughly against hers, demanding, punishing, tasting the lingering sweetness of whatever lip tint she wore for the fans.

Your hands are everywhere, tangling in her hair, cupping the back of her neck, pressing her impossibly closer against the solid wood. She makes a surprised noise deep in her throat, her hands flying up to your chest, pushing slightly at first, more out of reflex than resistance. But you don't relent. Your kisses trail frantically across her cheekbones, her jawline, down the elegant column of her neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin just below her ear. You feel her resistance melt away, replaced by trembling anticipation.

"Fuck… you're crazy," she gasps out between kisses, a breathless sound that’s half sigh, half suppressed giggle. Her hands fist in the fabric of your shirt now, holding on. "Absolutely fucking insane." She tilts her head back, granting you better access to her throat, a silent offering.

And yeah, she loves it.

Loves seeing you like this: completely undone by her, control shattered, driven solely by the need to have her. It feeds that bratty ego, confirms her power over you, even as you’re physically dominating her. That thought just fuels your frustration further. You pull back just enough to meet her eyes, seeing the amusement warring with rapidly escalating arousal in their dark depths.

"You think this is funny?" you growl. "You think pulling that shit back there was funny?" Before she can answer, you're attacking her clothes. There's no finesse, no gentle undressing. Your fingers fumble impatiently with the buttons of her stylish blouse, frustration mounting until you just rip it open, sending small pearl buttons scattering across the plush carpet. She gasps, a genuine shock this time, but doesn't stop you. You tug the ruined fabric off her shoulders, revealing the simple black bra underneath.

Next are her jeans, the zipper comes down with a harsh rasp, the button popped, and you're shoving them down her hips, impatiently tugging until they pool around her ankles. You force her to step out of them, nearly tripping her in the process. Now she stands there in just her black lace bra and matching panties, looking slightly disheveled, breathless, and utterly fucking delectable. Her body is exactly as you remember; compact, toned, dancer’s muscles defined beneath smooth skin. Tight little stomach, lean thighs, those perfect handfuls of breasts barely contained by the flimsy lace.

This body, this fucking perfect, infuriating body, drives you to the brink every single time.

With another low growl, you scoop her up, she yelps in surprise, take two strides across the room, and unceremoniously dump her onto the center of the massive bed. The mattress bounces, jostling her. Before she can react, you're following her down, crawling onto the bed, pinning her beneath your weight. One knee nudges her thighs apart slightly, settling comfortably between them, while your hands trap her wrists loosely above her head against the pillows. She stares up at you, her breathing quick and shallow, eyes wide, that familiar mixture of challenge and submission swirling within them.

"Answer me," you demand, leaning down close. "Who do I belong to?" A slow, infuriatingly bratty smile spreads across her face. She licks her lips deliberately.

"Hmm, let me think," she teases, tilting her head slightly. "Maybe that cute fanboy from earlier? He seemed pretty appreciative." Your grip tightens instinctively on her wrists, and your free hand shoots to her throat, fingers wrapping around it, applying firm, steady pressure. Not enough to truly hurt, never that, but enough to make her breath catch, enough to steal the bratty smirk right off her face, enough to demand her full, undivided attention.

Her eyes widen, the playfulness vanishing. "Don't," you squeeze slightly harder, feeling the frantic pulse jump beneath your thumb, "fuck with me right now, Chaewon. Answer the question. Seriously." You watch her pupils dilate, watch her swallow nervously against your grip. Her voice is husky, slightly strained when she finally speaks, all traces of laughter gone.

"You," she breathes out. "I belong to you." Her gaze locks with yours, raw desire blazing there now, open and undisguised.

That’s the answer you needed. You lean down and capture her mouth in one last bruising kiss, pouring all your possessive anger and overwhelming need into it, before abruptly pulling away. You slide off her, off the bed, standing beside it as you take off your own clothes with shaking hands. Shirt, jeans, boxers, discarded onto the floor without a second thought, leaving you completely naked, hard and aching, your arousal throbbing in the air between you. She watches you from the bed, propped up slightly on her elbows now, her gaze tracking your every move, her lips slightly swollen, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

You stalk back towards the bed, your eyes fixed on the flimsy black lace barely covering her small, perky breasts. Reaching her, you don't bother with the clasp. You hook your fingers under the front strap of her bra and just yank. The delicate fabric rips with a satisfying tearing sound, the strap snapping near the cup. You toss the ruined garment aside, exposing her completely. Her breasts are perfect; small, perky, round, with tight, rosy nipples already pebbled hard from the cool air and anticipation.

"Fuck," you groan, reaching out, cupping one breast, thumb immediately finding the nipple, rubbing, teasing, rolling it between your fingers. She gasps, arching slightly off the bed, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Your other hand isn’t idle. It slides down her flat stomach, over the waistband of her black lace panties, fingers dipping beneath the damp fabric. Just as you suspected. She’s soaking wet. Your fingers find her clit immediately through the slick folds, pressing down, starting a slow, firm rubbing motion. A choked moan escapes her lips, her hips twitching uncontrollably against your hand.

"Been thinking about this all day, haven't you?" you murmur against her ear, your breath hot on her skin as your fingers continue their relentless friction. She nods frantically, eyes still closed, biting down hard on her lower lip.

"Since… since the fan meet," she confesses. "Knew… knew you’d be pissed. Knew you’d… fuck… do this… Knew I’d get you back here… make you punish me…" Her hips buck harder against your hand as you increase the pressure, rubbing faster now, feeling her slickness coating your fingers, knowing she’s already close, exactly where you both want her to be.

"Fuck, yes," you groan against her skin, your lips leaving her nipple momentarily to press against the soft swell of her breast. "You knew exactly what you were doing back there, didn't you? Playing the innocent little idol while planning this whole damn thing." Your fingers don't stop their relentless friction against her clit, pressing down harder now, rubbing faster through the soaked lace of her panties.

The fabric is practically useless, just a thin, wet barrier between your touch and her desperate core. She whimpers, a high, strained sound, her hips lifting off the bed, trying to meet the pressure of your hand. "Wanted… wanted you angry," she gasps out, eyes squeezed shut tight. "Wanted you… like this… losing control… for me."

Her honesty, even now, is breathtakingly audacious. She orchestrated this, provoked you deliberately, just to get this reaction, to have you looming over her, naked and furious and hard, touching her exactly like this. That knowledge, instead of cooling your anger, twists it into something sharper, hotter. Possessive satisfaction wars with the lingering irritation.

Fine. If she wanted you to lose control, you'll show her exactly what that looks like.

Your mouth latches back onto her nipple, sucking hard this time, drawing the peak deep into the heat of your mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive nub while your teeth graze lightly, sending jolts straight through her. She cries out, louder this time, her back arching dramatically.

"Ahh! Fuck… yes, there…"

Her fingers, which were lying limply by her sides, clench into fists, gripping handfuls of the bedsheets. You switch breasts, giving the other nipple the same harsh, demanding attention, lavishing it with bites and sucks that border on painful, but you know it's the edge she craves.

Meanwhile, your fingers below continue their merciless rhythm, circling, pressing, sometimes slipping just inside her wet folds to tease the entrance before returning to that hypersensitive nub hidden beneath the lace. You feel the muscles in her thighs quivering, her whole body trembling under your touch.

"Look at you," you murmur, pulling back slightly to look down at her, taking in the sight. Flushed chest marked faintly by your mouth, nipples tight and glistening, hips twitching uncontrollably, that little patch of black lace soaked dark with her arousal. "Such a fucking mess for me already. Was flirting with that fanboy worth this, Chaewon?"

Her eyes snap open, blazing with a mixture of pleasure-fueled haze and defiance. "Yes," she grits out, panting heavily. "Knew you'd… knew you'd make me pay. Make it… good."

Oh, you'll make her pay, alright.

You slow the rubbing motion of your fingers, shifting to a teasing, agonizingly slow circle, barely applying pressure. Her hips immediately still, a frustrated whine escaping her lips. "No… don't stop… please…" she begs, the word torn from her throat. Her eyes plead with you, the earlier challenge momentarily eclipsed by raw, desperate need. "Please, I need it…" You lean down, capturing her lower lip between your teeth, biting gently before soothing it with your tongue.

"Need what?" you whisper against her mouth. "Use your words, baby. Tell me exactly what you need me to do to that wet little cunt of yours." Her breath hitches, a full body shudder running through her.

"Need you… need your fingers… harder," she gasps, bucking her hips again, trying to create the friction you're denying her. "Please, I'm so close…"

You chuckle. "Close? We just started." You resume the faster pace for a few moments, feeling her immediately start to unravel again, moans spilling from her lips, before slowing down once more, dragging out the torture. "You wanted my attention," you remind her as you lave attention back to her straining nipple, sucking gently now, contrasting with the denial happening below. "You pulled that stunt at the fan meet, made me watch you flirt, knowing it would drive me insane. Now you've got my undivided attention. Every second of it focused right here." Your fingers press down hard again, eliciting another sharp gasp. "And right here." Your mouth closes over her nipple again, sucking strongly.

"Fuck… yes… please, please don't tease," she whimpers, tears starting to well up in the corners of her eyes; tears of frustration and overwhelming sensation, not sadness. "I can't… can't take it…" Her hands release the sheets, reaching for you, fingers digging into your biceps. "Touch me properly… please… I'll be good…" That last part, the promise to be good, makes you pause.

You lift your head, meeting her tear-filled, desperate gaze. "Be good?" you repeat, raising an eyebrow. "Where's the fun in that, Chae? I seem to recall liking it when you're bad. When you push my buttons. When you make me angry enough to do this." Your fingers slide fully under the wet lace now, pushing the fabric aside, finally making direct contact, skin on slick skin. Her breath catches in a strangled sob as your thumb finds her clit directly, pressing down with bruising force. "Isn't this what you wanted? Punishment?" You start rubbing again, faster, harder than before, no more teasing, just relentless friction directly on the nerve center of her pleasure.

Her head thrashes against the pillows, coherent words dissolving into ragged moans and cries. "Yes! Yes… punish me… fuck… please, please make me come…" she begs brokenly, her body bowing off the mattress, completely consumed by the sensations you're creating.

Your thumb works relentlessly, rubbing that swollen nub of flesh with a speed and pressure that has her completely unraveling. Her hips jerk frantically against your hand, chasing the friction, chasing the release you’re holding just out of reach. Moans tear from her throat, incoherent and raw, her head tossing back and forth against the pillows, brown hair sticking to her sweat-slicked temples. You lean down, your mouth finding hers again, kissing her deeply, swallowing her desperate sounds as your fingers continue their merciless assault below.

She kisses you back with a frantic energy, biting at your lip, her tongue tangling with yours in a desperate dance. You feel the tell-tale clenching deep inside her, the tremors intensifying, she’s right there, teetering on the very brink. That’s when you slow your hand, easing the pressure almost entirely, though you don’t stop touching her, just letting your thumb rest against her throbbing clit. The abrupt change rips a choked sob from her lips, her eyes flying open, wide with frustrated tears and disbelief.

"No! Why—why did you stop?" she cries out. "Please… I was so close… fuck, please…" Her whole body seems to hum with frustrated energy, like an engine revved too high and suddenly stalled. You lift your head slightly, meeting her desperate gaze.

"Close to coming?" you ask, voice deceptively soft. "Is that all you want, Chaewon? Just to get off?"

Her brow furrows slightly, confusion warring with the overwhelming physical need. "I… yes… no… I need…" she stammers, unsure how to answer, her body still trembling violently.

You slide your thumb deliberately, agonizingly slowly, across her clit again, eliciting another full-body jolt and a sharp intake of breath. "Tell me," you command softly, leaning closer, your breath warm against her ear. "Tell me what you really want inside you right now. What you’ve been thinking about since you decided to pull that stunt today. What you were thinking about on the plane." Her eyes squeeze shut again, a fresh wave of heat washing over her face.

"You," she whispers. "Need you. Please… God, just… just fuck me already. Please, I need your cock. Need it inside me now."

There it is. The desperation. The specific begging. The complete surrender hidden beneath the demand. A slow, satisfied smirk spreads across your face. You lean down and press a hard, possessive kiss to her lips.

"Finally," you murmur against her mouth. "Took you long enough to ask properly." You pull your hand away from between her legs, ignoring her immediate whimper of protest. Supporting yourself on one arm, you shift your position, moving down her body slightly, nudging her legs further apart with your knee. Her soaked black panties are still there, tangled and pushed mostly to one side, framing the slick, pink folds they barely conceal anymore. You hover over her, letting her feel the heat radiating off your body, letting her see the thick, rigid length of your cock, slick with precum, poised right at her entrance. Her eyes are glued to you, wide and hungry, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Your free hand drifts down, tracing a path from her collarbone, over her still-pebbled nipple, down across her trembling stomach, fingers dipping briefly into her navel before smoothing lower. You pause, your palm resting flat against the slight curve of her lower belly. "God, you're beautiful like this," you say, your tone thick with genuine awe, momentarily forgetting the anger, the punishment, just lost in the sight of her beneath you: utterly wrecked, flushed, trembling, and completely open for you. "So fucking beautiful when you finally drop the act and just want."

Her breath hitches at the unexpected tenderness in your voice, her eyes softening for a fraction of a second before the overwhelming physical need takes over again.

"Then please," she whispers, voice trembling, her hips lifting instinctively off the bed, trying to meet you, "Just… do it. Fill me up."

That’s all the invitation you need. You adjust your angle slightly, guiding the thick head of your cock against her slick entrance. She gasps as you press forward, the blunt tip nudging, pushing against her folds. She’s so wet, so ready for you, there’s almost no resistance as you slide in. Inch by agonizing inch, you fill her, stretching her, embedding yourself deep within her tight heat. Her eyes roll back in her head, a long, keening moan tearing from her throat as she takes all of you.

Fuck, she feels incredible.

Tight, hot, slick, clenching around you instinctively. You pause there for a moment, buried deep inside her, letting you both savor the feeling of connection, of being fully joined. Her hands come up, gripping your shoulders tightly, nails digging in slightly. You look down at her face, flushed and beautiful, lips parted, eyes hazy with pleasure. Then, slowly, deliberately, you pull back, almost all the way out, before thrusting back in with a smooth, powerful stroke that sinks you back to the hilt. Her head slams back against the pillows, another loud moan ripped from her lips.

"Yes! Fuck… like that…" she pants.

You start to move, establishing a rhythm, slow and deep at first, each thrust deliberate, possessive. You watch her face, watch the waves of pleasure washing over her features with every push and pull. The bedframe begins to protest subtly beneath your combined weight, the only sound in the room besides her increasingly loud moans, your own grunts, and the wet, slapping sound of your bodies colliding as you start to fuck her properly, giving her exactly what she begged for.

You settle into a deep, driving rhythm, fucking her with a steady power that has her completely losing herself. Her legs instinctively wrap around your waist, pulling you deeper, locking you in place. Each thrust forces a breathy moan past her lips, her head thrown back against the pillows, eyes half-lidded and hazy with pure, unadulterated pleasure. She meets your rhythm, hips lifting off the bed to take every inch, her body moving in perfect, desperate sync with yours. Remembering how she reacted earlier, you slide one hand down between your bodies, fingers easily finding her slick folds again. She gasps as your thumb presses firmly against her clit, resuming that relentless rubbing motion even as you continue to pound into her tight heat.

"Oh god! Fuck, yes... there!" she cries out, voice high and strained. "Don't stop… don't stop touching me… please…" Her back arches impossibly high, pushing her cunt harder against your relentless fingers, her core muscles clenching tightly around your cock with each pulse of pleasure radiating from her clit.

You watch her face contort, watch the cords in her neck stand out, watch her bite down hard on her swollen lower lip to stifle a scream. She’s so close, right on the precipice, vibrating like a live wire beneath you. "You like that, huh?" you grunt out, speeding up your thrusts, driving into her faster, harder, while your thumb circles mercilessly. "Like me fucking your tight little cunt while I rub you raw?" Her answer is a broken sob, a frantic nod, eyes squeezed shut.

"Yes! Please… fuck… I'm gonna… I'm gonna—!"

And just like that, you stop. Everything halts. You freeze mid-thrust, deep inside her, your fingers still pressing against her clit but ceasing all movement. The sudden absence of friction, of motion, is like hitting a brick wall at full speed. Her eyes fly open, wide with shock and disbelief, her body locked in that pre-orgasmic tension. A strangled, frustrated cry rips from her throat.

"No! What— Why?!" She writhes beneath you, hips bucking uselessly, trying to recreate the movement, the friction, anything to push her over that agonizing edge you left her dangling from. "Don't stop! You can't stop now!!" she pleads, glaring up at you, frustration warring with the lingering haze of pleasure in her eyes. Her whole body is trembling, desperate for the release you just snatched away. A slow, cruel smirk spreads across your face.

You love this. Love seeing that bratty confidence dissolve into pure, frustrated need. Love knowing you have complete control over her pleasure, giving and taking it away at will.

"Why not?" you ask innocently, withdrawing slowly, deliberately, until you're almost completely out, letting the air hit her sensitised flesh before sinking back in just an inch, a torturous tease. "Thought we were taking our time. Making you pay for being such a brat earlier, remember?"

She lets out another frustrated scream, pounding her fists lightly against your shoulders. "You asshole! I hate you!" she spits out, though there’s no real heat behind it, only the desperate edge of denied pleasure. "I was right there!"

You chuckle darkly, leaning down to kiss her forehead, a mocking gesture of affection. "I know," you murmur against her skin. "Wanted to see that pretty little look of desperation on your face. Wanted to hear you beg." You pull out of her completely then, ignoring her sharp gasp of protest. The sight of her lying there, flushed, panting, legs still slightly spread, slick with her own juices and utterly frustrated, is exactly the reward you were looking for.

"Now," you say, your voice dropping back into that low, commanding tone, tapping her thigh lightly. "That was fun, but I think I want a different view. Get up." She stares at you, confused for a second, still reeling from the denied orgasm. "Get up," you repeat firmly. "On your hands and knees. Now." You watch as the understanding dawns in her eyes, followed by a flicker of renewed anticipation mixing with the lingering frustration.

She slowly, deliberately pushes herself up, arranging herself on her hands and knees on the vast expanse of the hotel bed, her back arched slightly, presenting herself exactly as you commanded. Her breathing is still ragged from the denied orgasm, her body trembling slightly. You stay standing by the bed for a moment, just looking.

"You know," you say conversationally, though your voice is low and carries an edge, "putting up with your bullshit all day… dealing with your little games, your provocations… it's not easy, Chae." You walk slowly around the side of the bed, approaching her from behind. "Think I deserve a little reward for my troubles, don't you?" Her head is bowed slightly, dark hair falling forward, obscuring her expression, but you see the way her shoulders tense almost imperceptibly. You stop right behind her, your gaze fixed on the perfect curve of her ass, cheeks flushed pink, held high in the air. The sight is fucking perfect. Pure temptation, deliberately offered yet radiating a nervous energy.

This view alone is almost reward enough. Almost.

You reach out, placing both hands firmly on her hips, fingers digging slightly into the soft flesh above the hip bones. She flinches slightly but holds her position. Then you slide your hands down, cupping the full weight of her ass cheeks, squeezing possessively. They’re firm, toned from hours of dancing, yet incredibly soft beneath your palms.

"Yeah," you murmur, leaning down close to her ear, your breath ghosting over her skin. "Definitely need a reward." You give her left cheek a hard squeeze. "And I know exactly what I want." You feel her tense up immediately, a silent don't you dare vibe radiating off her. "Think I'm gonna use this pretty little asshole today," you state matter-of-factly, your thumb pressing pointedly right near the tight pucker nestled between her cheeks. She flinches violently this time, trying to pull away slightly, her head whipping around to glare at you over her shoulder.

"Like hell you are!" she snaps, the bratty facade slamming back into place hard. "Forget it! No-fucking-way!" It's cute, her defiance, especially when you can feel the nervous tremors running through her body beneath your hands. You know this is more about the shock, the boundary pushing, than actual refusal. You just need to nudge her past the initial fear.

So you act. Your open palm connects sharply with her right ass cheek, the sound echoing loudly in the quiet room. A startled cry bursts from her lips, followed immediately by a low, involuntary moan of pleasure that betrays her true feelings. The pink flush on her cheek deepens instantly to a bright red handprint.

"See?" you say softly, leaning close again, stroking the stinging flesh gently now with your fingertips. "Your body doesn't lie, even when your mouth does." You slide your hand down between her legs from behind, your fingers brushing against her still-damp cunt lips, making her gasp and squirm. "Stop acting like you don't want this just as much as I do."

She shakes her head stubbornly, though her breathing is noticeably faster now. "I don't..." she starts, but her voice lacks conviction. "Be nice," she adds quickly, almost a plea, shifting her weight nervously. "If you're... if you're gonna do it, at least be gentle." A negotiation.

Progress.

"Gentle? After the stunt you pulled today? After making me chase you down, deny you…" Your hand slides slowly up her back, tracing the delicate knobs of her spine, sending shivers across her skin. "…I don't know if you've earned gentle, baby girl." You pause, letting the implication hang in the air, feeling her tremble beneath your touch. "But maybe," you continue, "maybe if you admit you want it. Admit you want my cock stretching that tight little hole. Tell me you want me to use your ass."

She stays silent, chewing on her lower lip, clearly warring with herself. The idea excites her, you know it does, but the vulnerability, the submission required, still makes her hesitate.

Fine. You lift your hand again.

This time on the other cheek, just as hard, leaving another matching handprint. She cries out again, louder this time, arching her back, her hips pushing back against you reflexively.

"Okay! Okay!" she gasps out, desperation tinging her voice. "Fuck! Just… just make me come! Please! If you… if you do that… just promise you'll make me come after. Properly this time!"

Ah, framing it as a means to an end. Her way of conceding while still maintaining a sliver of control, linking it back to the orgasm you denied her. Clever little brat.

"Oh, I'll make you come, Chaewon," you promise darkly, sliding your hand back down to cup her stinging ass cheek. "Believe me. You'll be screaming before I'm done with you." You lean forward, pressing your hardening cock against the cleft of her ass, letting her feel your intention. "But first," you growl possessively, "Daddy gets his reward." You pull back slightly. She stays frozen, hands planted firmly on the mattress, ass still high, waiting. You bring your fingers to your mouth, wetting them thoroughly with spit, before reaching down again. She flinches as your wet fingers make contact with her tight, wrinkled anus, smearing the slick saliva around the delicate opening. She whimpers softly, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Relax," you murmur, though there’s no real gentleness in your tone. You spread her cheeks slightly with the fingers of one hand, exposing the tiny, dark pucker fully. Then, you lower your head. Her whole body tenses, anticipating penetration, but instead, your tongue darts out, flicking directly against the tight knot of her asshole. She cries out, a sharp, shocked sound, her hips jerking violently.

You ignore her reaction, pressing your mouth firmly against her, your tongue swirling, licking, probing relentlessly at the forbidden flesh. You taste the faint saltiness of her skin, mixed with the slight sweetness of your own spit. You lap at the entrance, circling it, teasing it, dipping the very tip of your tongue against the resistant opening, making her gasp and squirm, her knuckles white where she grips the bedsheets as you begin to meticulously, thoroughly rim her perfect little asshole.

Your tongue works relentlessly, meticulously exploring every fold and crevice of her tight little asshole. You lap and swirl, sometimes flicking the tip directly against the stubborn pucker, other times applying broad, wet strokes that leave glistening trails of saliva on her flushed skin. Her initial violent flinch gives way to a series of involuntary shudders and twitches.

Her hips jerk sporadically, little uncontrolled movements that betray the intense, unfamiliar sensations overwhelming her system. Muffled sounds vibrate through the mattress as she presses her face into the pillows: strangled gasps, low whimpers, sounds that are halfway between protest and burgeoning pleasure. Her knuckles are bone-white where she grips the hotel sheets, her only anchor in this storm of forbidden stimulation. The bratty defiance she tried to cling to just moments ago is dissolving rapidly under the sheer focused intimacy of your mouth on such a taboo part of her body.

Satisfied that you’ve thoroughly worshipped, teased, and prepared her with your mouth, you lift your head slightly. Her skin is flushed a deep red where your mouth was, glistening with spit. You bring your hand back up, spitting generously onto your fingers again, ensuring they’re thoroughly slick. She must sense the shift in intent because she tenses again, her whole body going rigid beneath you.

"Easy now," you murmur. You place the tip of your middle finger directly against her entrance. It’s incredibly tight, clenched shut reflexively. "Just breathe for me, Chaewon. Relax that pretty little ass." You apply steady pressure, not forcing, but firmly pushing against the resistance. She lets out a sharp, choked gasp, her breath hitching, her hips trying to buck away instinctively.

"No… wait… fuck, that's…" she whimpers into the pillow, the words barely coherent. You hold the pressure steady, not pushing further yet, just letting her feel the blunt intrusion pressing insistently against her unwilling muscle. Your other hand comes up, splaying across her lower back, pressing down gently but firmly, keeping her in place, preventing escape. "Shhh. Just relax. Let it happen," you command softly, continuing to push with infinite patience.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the tight ring of muscle begins to yield. You feel the initial, intense resistance lessen almost imperceptibly as she forces herself to unclench, perhaps driven more by your command and the inevitability of the situation than actual desire at this point. You push your fingertip just inside, breaking the seal. She cries out again, a sharp, wounded sound this time, her whole body shuddering violently. You pause immediately, letting her adjust to the strange, invasive fullness. Your finger is only partially inside, but it’s enough. Enough to stretch her, enough to make her acutely aware of the intrusion. You keep your hand steady on her back, murmuring low words of encouragement mixed with possessive praise.

"That's it… good girl… taking it for me…"

After a long moment, her ragged breathing starts to even out slightly, the violent trembling lessening, though she still feels incredibly tense beneath your hands. Carefully, you push your finger deeper, sliding it slowly all the way in until your knuckle rests against her slick flesh. Her reaction is less sharp this time, more of a long, low groan that vibrates deep in her chest. You start to move your finger inside her, just a slight curl, a gentle probing, exploring the tight, virgin passage. The inner walls clench around your digit instinctively, hot and incredibly snug.

You add more spit to your thumb and forefinger, then bring your forefinger up to join the middle one, pressing the second tip against her opening alongside the first. This renewed pressure makes her gasp and tense all over again, her head lifting slightly from the pillow to look back at you, eyes wide and pleading.

"Too much… please…" she whispers, her voice strained. But beneath the fear, beneath the discomfort, you see something else flickering in those dark eyes. A spark of intense, almost horrified arousal. The taboo nature of it, the slight pain mixed with the undeniable intimacy, is starting to override her fear, starting to tap into that deeper, darker well of desire she tries so hard to keep hidden behind the bratty facade.

"You can take it," you state calmly, confidently, leaving no room for argument. You push again, slowly, relentlessly, working the second fingertip past the resistant ring of muscle. She cries out again, arching her back, her knuckles white on the sheets. But this time, there’s a different quality to the sound; less pain, more overwhelmed sensation. You finally slide the second finger all the way in beside the first. Two fingers filling her tight asshole, stretching her significantly. You keep them still for a moment, letting her body accommodate the increased fullness. Then, slowly, you begin to flex them, scissoring them slightly, putting pressure on the thin wall separating her ass from her cunt.

That does it. A low, guttural moan rumbles up from her chest, completely involuntary. Her hips, instead of trying to pull away, give a small, tentative push back against your fingers. Just a slight pressure, but it’s unmistakable.

Acceptance.

Desire overriding discomfort.

The bratty idol is gone, replaced by pure, raw lust responding to the intense, forbidden stimulation. Her moans become lower, throatier, less about protest and more about the overwhelming sensations flooding her body. Her breathing quickens again, turning into shallow pants. She’s melting. Unraveling. The careful walls she maintains crumbling under the focused pressure of your fingers buried deep inside her ass, stretching her, prepping her, making her body betray her mind as pure sensation takes over.

Your two fingers move inside her tight passage, flexing, stretching, exploring the surprisingly yielding muscle deep within. It's fucking mesmerizing, watching your own fingers disappear inside her asshole, feeling the intense, almost suffocating heat clenching around them. You work them slowly at first, a gentle scissoring motion, letting her body grow accustomed to the feeling of being filled in such a forbidden way. Her initial panicked tension gradually bleeds away, replaced by something else entirely. The moans vibrating up from her chest lose their edge of fear and discomfort, deepening into low, guttural sounds of pure, overwhelmed sensation.

Her hips start to move, not pulling away anymore, but rocking back against your hand in a slow, tentative rhythm, chasing the pressure, seeking more. The bratty facade, the nervous fear—it’s all gone now, stripped away by the raw intensity of the taboo act, leaving only base instinct and burgeoning lust. She’s completely lost in the feeling, face pressed into the mattress, ass high, body trembling not with fear, but with sheer, unadulterated arousal.

"Fuck, Chae," you grunt, watching the way her muscles clench and ripple around your fingers. "You feel so fucking good like this. So tight." You slide your fingers out slightly, then push back in deeper, eliciting another long, throaty moan from her. Yeah, she's enjoying this now, whether she fully admits it to herself or not. The proof is in the way her body responds, the way her sounds have turned undeniably hot, the way she’s unconsciously pushing back against your touch.

Time to push her a little further.

You draw your fingers almost all the way out, the wet sucking sound loud in the room, making her whine in protest. "Think you're ready for a third?" you ask, already reaching to slick another finger with spit. You see her head lift slightly, enough to glance back at you over her shoulder, eyes wide and dark. Panic flickers there again, but it's mixed with something else now, a desperate, almost frantic need.

"No!" she gasps out, shaking her head frantically. "No more fingers! Please! It's… it's too much!" Her voice trembles, on the verge of tears again, but not from pain. It's the overwhelming stimulation, the feeling of being stretched, filled, pushed towards an edge she’s never experienced before. "Please," she begs, "just… just use your cock now. Please! I need… I need you. Not more fingers. Fuck me. Just fuck me now!"

Hmm. She wants the real thing now, the thick fullness of your cock replacing the probing intrusion of your fingers. You pause, holding her gaze.

"You sure about that?" you ask, testing her resolve one last time. "It's gonna be tight, baby girl. Tighter than you can imagine."

She nods frantically, tears finally spilling, tracking paths down her temples into her hair. "Yes! Yes, I'm sure! I don't care! Just… please! I need you inside me. Need you to make me cum. Fuck me!"

Alright then. If she’s begging for it…

Slowly, carefully, you withdraw your fingers from her tight, stretched opening. The slick flesh puckers slightly as your digits slide free, leaving her momentarily empty, whining softly at the loss of sensation. You shift your weight, getting into position behind her, grabbing your already hard cock, thick and throbbing, slick with precum. You add a generous amount of spit to the head and shaft, then reach down and smear more onto her abused, glistening asshole, ensuring the entrance is as slick as possible. You position the thick, blunt head of your cock right against the opening, the very same spot your tongue and fingers were just moments ago. She feels the pressure, the heat, and lets out a shaky, anticipatory breath, her whole body tensing like a drawn bowstring.

"Okay," you murmur, placing your hands firmly on her hips again to steady her, and yourself. "Easy now. Just breathe. Take me."

You push forward slowly, incredibly slowly. The head of your cock meets the fierce resistance of her virgin sphincter. It’s unbelievably tight, a tiny, stubborn ring of muscle determined to deny you entry. Much tighter than your fingers, much tighter than her cunt ever was. You push harder, steadily, feeling the muscle fight back, refusing to yield easily. Chaewon cries out, a sharp, high-pitched sound of intense pressure bordering on pain, her nails digging crescent moons into the mattress.

"Fuck! It… it hurts…" she gasps, trying to pull forward slightly.

"Shhh, I know, baby. Just for a second. Breathe," you command softly but firmly, holding her hips steady, preventing her escape. You maintain the pressure, unwavering, feeling the tiny muscle begin to stretch, to quiver, to finally, reluctantly, give way just enough. With a final, determined push, the wide head of your cock pops through the resistant ring, burying itself just inside her asshole.

She screams, a raw, torn sound muffled by the pillow, her entire body locking up, rigid with the shock and intense stretching sensation.

"FUCK!! Oh god…" she chokes out, trembling violently. You immediately still, holding yourself there, just the head buried inside her scorching heat, letting her body adjust, letting the initial sharp pain subside into an intense, overwhelming fullness.

"You okay?" you ask. She doesn't answer verbally, just gives a jerky little nod, her breathing coming in harsh, rapid pants.

After what feels like an eternity, but is probably only thirty seconds, you feel the iron clench of her inner muscles ease almost imperceptibly. The violent trembling lessens slightly. Taking that as your cue, you start to push again, millimeter by agonizing millimeter, sliding deeper into the incredibly tight, virgin passage. It’s like pushing through hot, wet velvet lined with steel. Every inch is a battle, stretching muscles that have never accommodated anything like this before. She groans continuously now, low, guttural sounds ripped from her throat, her hips twitching uncontrollably.

You push until you’re buried halfway inside her, the sheer friction and tightness almost unbearable for you both. You pause again, letting her adjust.

"That's it… taking my cock in your tight little ass… fuck, you feel so good, Chae… so fucking tight…" Slowly, tentatively, you begin to move, just a slight withdrawal, then a slow push back in. Not thrusting yet, just… moving. Letting her feel the friction, the fullness, the strange intimacy of being fucked in her tightest, most forbidden place. Her groans start to change subtly. The edge of pain is still there, but it's being overlaid with something else now. A lower, throatier sound. A gasp that sounds suspiciously like pleasure. She pushes back against you slightly, a tiny, almost involuntary movement.

"Oh… fuck…" she breathes out, the words shaky. "That… feels…" She doesn't finish the sentence, but you can see it in the way her body is starting to subtly respond, the way her tension is morphing into something else. Despite the intensity, despite the initial pain, despite everything… she’s starting to enjoy it. The slow, careful invasion, the anal sex she begged for, is starting to ignite a different kind of fire within her.

You continue to move with excruciating slowness, each careful slide in and out a deliberate exploration, a gradual claiming of this new, incredibly tight territory. Your cock feels ridiculously thick, almost too big, encased in her scorching, virgin heat. The muscles inside her clench and flutter around you with every subtle shift of your hips, involuntary spasms that betray the intensity of the sensations bombarding her system. You withdraw further than before, pulling almost completely out until just the swollen head remains inside, stretching the abused opening, before slowly, inexorably pushing back in, sinking deeper this time, aiming for the hilt.

She cries out at the renewed pressure, the feeling of being stretched further than before, her hands gripping the sheets so tightly her knuckles are bloodless. But the sound is different now. The sharp edge of pain is still there, undeniably, a high-pitched whine woven through the sound, but it’s underpinned by a lower, throatier moan that speaks of something else entirely. Pleasure. Dark, unexpected, overwhelming pleasure rising up to meet the pain.

"Fuck..." she groans into the pillow, the word drawn out, husky. "It's so… so full…" Her hips give another tentative push back against you as you slide deep, a movement that’s clearly instinctive now, her body seeking more despite the intensity.

"Yeah?" you grunt, keeping your pace slow, torturous. "Feeling good now, baby girl? Starting to understand why I wanted this so bad?"

She shakes her head, though the movement lacks conviction. "It… hurts," she gasps, but then immediately contradicts herself with another low moan as you grind down slightly, putting pressure on her prostate through the thin rectal wall. "But… fuck… don't… don't stop."

There it is. The admission.

The confusion melting into need.

You oblige, continuing the slow, deep strokes, focusing on stretching her, letting her body acclimate, letting that strange, addictive ache build within her. You watch the muscles in her back ripple, the way her ass cheeks clench with each deep invasion.

Gradually, tentatively, you increase the range of your motion, pulling further out, thrusting deeper in, the pace quickening almost imperceptibly. With each slightly faster, slightly deeper stroke, her reactions intensify. Her moans become less inhibited, louder, echoing slightly in the luxurious hotel room. Her hips lift higher off the bed, pushing back against you with more force now, actively meeting your thrusts, demanding more. The initial discomfort seems forgotten, burned away by the sheer intensity of the friction, the feeling of being filled so completely, so tightly, in a way she’s never experienced before. It’s pushing buttons she didn’t even know she had.

"More," she suddenly gasps out, the word sharp, desperate. You pause fractionally, surprised by the sudden demand.

"More what?" you ask, pulling back slowly again, teasing her. "More pain? More pleasure?"

She twists her head to look back at you, eyes wild, glazed over, pupils blown wide. The bratty defiance is completely gone. "Both!" she cries, her voice cracking. "Fuck, just… go deeper! Harder! It hurts, but… I need it! Please!"

Her plea, her sudden craving for the intense mixture of pain and pleasure, sends a jolt of dark satisfaction straight through you. She’s finally letting go, embracing the anal, embracing the intensity she secretly craves.

"Oh?" you say, a low chuckle rumbling in your chest as you oblige, slamming back into her with more force than before, burying your cock to the root. She screams, a raw, unfiltered sound this time, her back bowing violently.

"FUCK YES! LIKE THAT!" she pants, already pushing back against you as you withdraw slightly.

"Knew you had this twisted little streak in you," you growl, picking up the pace now, fucking her with more purpose, less caution. The slow stretching phase is over. Now it’s about feeding that burgeoning need she just confessed. Your thrusts become faster, harder, driving into her tight asshole relentlessly. The wet, slapping sounds intensify, mingling with her increasingly frantic moans and gasps. Each impact resonates through her body, through yours. It's still incredibly tight, the friction almost overwhelming, but her body is accommodating you now, slick juices mingling with your spit, easing the passage just enough for the rougher pace.

"Deeper!" she demands between ragged breaths, bucking her hips back against you violently with each thrust. "Harder! Don't be gentle anymore! PUNISH ME!”

Her words, her explicit begging for a rougher fucking, for the punishment she initially resisted, push you closer to your own edge. You oblige her demands, your thrusts turning punishing, slamming into her without reservation, your hips colliding with her stinging ass cheeks. You reach down, grabbing her hips firmly again, controlling her movements, angling her body perfectly to take the full force of your assault. She’s crying out continuously now, a litany of "fuck," "yes," "more," "harder," interspersed with high-pitched keening sounds as you hammer into her relentlessly. The pain is definitely still there, you can see it in the way she grits her teeth, the tension in her shoulders, but it’s being consumed by the pleasure, by the sheer overwhelming intensity of your cock violating her tightest passage, stretching her, filling her, driving her absolutely insane, exactly the way she just begged you to.

You continue hammering into her tight asshole, the pace relentless now, feeding off her desperate pleas for more, for harder, for deeper. Each thrust slams your pubic bone against her stinging ass cheeks, the impact echoing the sharp smacks you start delivering again with your free hand. Another bright red handprint blooms on her flesh. She cries out, a raw sound that’s equal parts pain and pure, unadulterated ecstasy.

"Look at me," you command, then you give another violent slap. "Turn your fucking head and look at me while I fuck your ass!"

She hesitates for only a fraction of a second before obeying, twisting her neck, her sweat-dampened dark brown hair falling across her face as she forces herself to meet your gaze over her shoulder. And fuck… the look in her eyes. It hits you like a physical blow. Gone is the idol, gone is the brat, gone is even the desperate negotiator from moments ago. What’s left is pure, raw submission. Her eyes are wide, hazy, pupils blown so wide they nearly swallow the brown irises. They’re swimming with a potent cocktail of pleasure so intense it borders on agony, mixed with a dawning awareness and acceptance of her role in this moment. She looks utterly debased, completely wrecked, like a used little whore feeling nothing but the overwhelming pleasure of having her tightest hole brutally claimed.

Seeing her like that, so beautifully broken and openly craving the degradation, sends a fresh wave of scorching lust tearing through you.

Your cock pulses inside her already impossibly tight sheath. "Fuck, yes," you hiss, your pace increasing further, turning frantic. Your thrusts become punishingly deep, aiming to bruise, to overwhelm. More slaps rain down on her already vividly marked ass, the sharp sounds punctuating your relentless rhythm. "That's what you are, isn't it?" you sneer, leaning close to her ear again. "Just my dirty little whore. Taking my cock up your ass like you were born for it."

Instead of flinching or protesting, a broken sob escapes her lips, quickly followed by a breathless affirmation. "Yes! Yes… I am… your whore…" she chokes out. "Please… Master… make me cum! Please, I need it!" Hearing her call you Master, hearing her own the degrading label while begging for release… it’s almost enough to make you lose it right then and there. But not yet.

She needs to cum first.

"Oh, I'll make you cum, slut," you promise her. "You'll fucking scream for me."

You start pounding her then, truly pounding, all semblance of control dissolving into pure, animalistic need (yours and hers). You fuck her asshole with a brutal intensity that borders on violence, each thrust seemingly aimed at rearranging her insides. She screams, raw, throat-tearing screams that are muffled slightly as she buries her face back into the pillows, unable to maintain eye contact under the sheer force of the assault. Her body convulses around your cock, muscles clenching desperately, threatening to tear under the strain. Your handprints stand out starkly against her flushed skin, angry red marks blooming across her perfect ass, a visible testament to the punishment she craved.

"Yes! Punish me! H-harder! Plea—!" she manages to scream between ragged gasps, her words barely coherent but her intent crystal clear. She’s reveling in it now, chasing the overwhelming sensation, the pain amplifying the pleasure into something almost transcendent. As you continue your relentless assault, feeling her inner muscles clench tighter and tighter, signaling her own approaching climax, she suddenly cries out again, a different note in her voice. "Wait! Please… touch me! Touch my pussy… need it… please, while you fuck my ass!"

Without missing a beat, your free hand dives down between her legs, fingers easily finding her soaking wet cunt. She’s dripping, slick juices coating her inner thighs. Your fingers slide inside her effortlessly, finding her G-spot almost immediately while your thumb presses hard against her throbbing clit.

"Like this, whore?" you growl, starting to finger her rhythmically, matching the brutal pace of your cock pounding her ass. "Want me to fuck both your holes at once?"

The combination is instantaneous and explosive. Her screams turn into high-pitched, incoherent shrieks. Her whole body locks up, seized by tremors.

"YES! FUCK! I'M GONNA CUM! I'M FUCKING CUMMING!"

You look down at her writhing form, at your fingers buried in her slick cunt, your cock buried deep in her violated ass. "That's right!" you roar, feeling your own climax roaring up your spine, hot and unstoppable. "Fucking whore! Cumming with my cock rammed up your asshole!"

She screams back, delirious, "I AM! I AM YOUR WHORE! FUCK!" Her inner muscles clench violently around your cock and fingers as her orgasm rips through her, a massive, shuddering wave that seems to go on forever.

Seeing her come apart like that, screaming your name, calling herself your whore, completely shattered by the pleasure and degradation, is the final trigger. Your own control snaps completely. With a final, guttural roar, you pound deep inside her one last time, your hips slamming against her ass as your balls tighten, unleashing a thick, heavy torrent of hot cum deep within her ravaged asshole. You feel the pulsing release flood her tight passage, filling her completely. You keep thrusting even as you come, maybe three or four more deep, shuddering strokes, chasing that incredible friction, milking every last drop of seed into her.

Finally, utterly spent, you collapse partially on top of her, your cock still buried deep inside her, both of you panting heavily, drenched in sweat, the room thick with the smell of sex and spent exertion. You stay like that for several long moments, your chest heaving, feeling the residual spasms of her orgasm clenching weakly around your softening cock. She feels completely boneless beneath you, utterly fucked out.

Slowly, reluctantly, you pull out of her asshole. The withdrawal creates a wet, sucking sound, and immediately, thick, creamy white ropes of your cum begin to leak out from the abused opening, running down between her ass cheeks onto the already stained sheets. You watch it for a second, a possessive satisfaction settling deep in your gut. Then, leaning down, you dip two fingers into the warm, sticky puddle leaking from her. You straighten up slightly, reaching forward. She stirs slightly as you gently turn her head to the side. Then, deliberately, you smear the sticky mixture of your seed and her slickness across her cheek, leaving a glistening, pearly white streak from her cheekbone down towards her kiss-swollen lips.

A final, degrading mark of ownership.

Your reward.

You stay poised over her for a long moment, watching the faint tremor that still runs through her exhausted limbs, listening to her ragged breathing slowly, gradually evening out. The harsh lines of anger and possessive fury on your own face soften as you take in the aftermath. Her cheek glistens obscenely with the mark you left, her ass is a canvas of angry red handprints, her body utterly spent beneath you. The primal urge that drove the last hour begins to recede, replaced by a wave of something softer, more protective. This is the other side of the coin, the necessary balance to the intensity you both crave. Gently, carefully, you slide off the bed, the movement pulling your still-softening cock fully free from her abused asshole with another wet sound. You ignore the mess on the sheets for now, rounding the bed to where she lies, still mostly curled on her front, face turned away.

You reach down, placing a hand softly on her shoulder. She flinches almost imperceptibly, a lingering echo of the tension, before relaxing slightly under your familiar touch.

"Hey," you murmur softly, your voice returning to its normal timbre, stripped of the earlier harshness. You gently nudge her, encouraging her to roll onto her side, facing you. Her movements are slow, sluggish, her limbs heavy with exhaustion. Her eyes flutter open, meeting yours. They’re still hazy, but the wild, desperate look is gone, now you can see a profound weariness and a soft vulnerability that always tugs at something deep inside you.

Carefully, you slide onto the bed beside her, gathering her limp body into your arms, pulling her close against your chest. She sighs, a long, shaky exhalation, melting into your embrace, burying her face against your shoulder. You hold her tight, just letting her feel your solid presence, your warmth. After a few moments of silence, punctuated only by your steady breathing, you press a soft kiss to her sweat-dampened forehead.

"You okay, Chae?" you whisper against her skin. She nods weakly against your shoulder, not speaking yet. Just taking comfort. You smooth her tangled hair back from her face, taking in the sight of her; wrecked, yes, utterly ruined from the intensity of your fucking, makeup smudged, lips swollen, cheek marked… but still breathtakingly beautiful.

"How's… how's your ass feel?" you ask quietly, your hand drifting down to rest gently on her lower back, careful not to touch the still-stinging handprints yet. She shifts slightly in your arms, a soft wince crossing her features.

"Burning," she mumbles, her voice muffled against your chest, slightly hoarse. She pauses, then adds, almost shyly, "But… but it felt good. Really good. Eventually." A small, tired smile touches her lips, a flicker of the satisfaction beneath the exhaustion and soreness.

You smile back, tightening your hug fractionally. "Yeah?" you murmur. "You were fucking amazing, baby girl. Took it all like a champ." You pull back just enough to look at her face again, gently tilting her chin up with your finger. "Still so beautiful," you whisper, meaning it with every fiber of your being. "Even now. Especially now."

Her eyes soften further, a genuine warmth filling them, chasing away the last shadows of the intense scene. "You mean so much to me, hope you know this," she whispers, the words soft but clear, carrying the weight of everything that exists between you; the chaos, the intensity, the darkness, and this quiet tenderness. Leaning down, you press the tip of your nose gently against hers, an eskimo kiss, intimate and sweet.

"You mean a lot to me too, Chaewon," you reply sincerely.

You start peppering little kisses across her face; her eyelids, her temples, the tip of her nose, her other cheek, carefully avoiding the cum-smeared one for now. You kiss her shoulders, the curve of her neck, lingering wherever she sighs softly or leans into the touch. Your hands stroke her back gently, soothingly, tracing patterns on her skin. You feel the tension slowly seeping out of her muscles, her body relaxing fully into yours, seeking comfort and reassurance after the storm.

She nuzzles closer, sighing contentedly. "Okay," she murmurs after a while, her voice stronger now, though still laced with exhaustion. "You punished me." It’s a simple statement of fact, acknowledging the preceding events without judgment. "Now I need affection," she continues, tilting her head back slightly to look up at you, a familiar glint of demanding expectation returning to her eyes, though softened by vulnerability. "Need you to make me feel better. Fix me."

It’s her way of asking for aftercare, framing it within the dynamic: the punishment phase is over, now comes the reward, the recovery, the gentle attention she craves just as much as the roughness.

You nod, understanding completely. "Yeah?" you ask softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek. "Gonna take care of you." You punctuate the promise with another soft kiss, this time on her lips, slow and tender, a stark contrast to the bruising kisses from earlier. She sighs into the kiss, melting completely, ready to receive the gentle care she needs, and that you’re more than ready to give.

—

The next few days are a whirlwind of tightly packed schedules as the Japan promotion continues its relentless pace. You move between cities—long car trips, followed by the familiar routine of hotel check-ins, venue walkthroughs, rehearsals, and performances. Amidst the controlled chaos you orchestrate, you find a private, ongoing source of amusement: watching Kim Chaewon navigate the lingering aftermath of your intense "punishment" session.

It’s subtle, mostly. She’s a professional, pushing through the demanding choreography with her usual fierce energy, hitting every mark, captivating the cameras. But you notice things. The slight hesitation before she drops into a deep squat during one particularly grueling dance break. The almost imperceptible wince when she has to sit down quickly on a hard stool during a backstage interview segment.

The way she shifts her weight very carefully when settling into van seats for transit, trying to find a position that doesn’t put direct pressure on her still-tender backside. She tries to hide it, of course, maintaining her bright idol facade, but you see it. You know her body too well, know the specific brand of soreness that kind of intense fucking leaves behind.

During a rehearsal break, while the other girls are clustered around a monitor reviewing playback with the performance director, you catch her carefully lowering herself onto a bench, biting her lip slightly. You’re standing nearby, discussing lighting cues with a tech, but you pause, catching her eye. You raise a single eyebrow, a silent, questioning smirk playing on your lips. Her eyes widen fractionally before narrowing into a glare. A faint pink flush creeps up her neck. She quickly looks away, pretending to be intensely interested in stretching her hamstrings, though her movements look suspiciously stiff.

Later, waiting to go on stage for a music show performance, she’s standing near you, adjusting her mic pack. "Everything okay there, champ?" you murmur quietly, pitching your voice so only she can hear over the backstage buzz. "Moving a little... carefully today."

"Shut up," she hisses back under her breath, her cheeks flushing again. "It's your fault, asshole." Despite the insult, there’s no real heat behind it, just embarrassment and a flicker of something else… maybe a reluctant acknowledgment of the pleasure mixed with the pain. You just chuckle softly. Seeing her slightly flustered, knocked off her usual bratty pedestal by the physical reminder of your time together, is definitely an enjoyable perk of the job.

The tour progresses. Another city, another round of fan signs, interviews, variety show appearances. You keep things professional, maintaining your distance during work hours, focusing on logistics, schedules, managing staff. But the awareness between you two remains, a live wire humming just beneath the surface. Those stolen glances across crowded rooms, the brief brushes of fingers disguised as accidental contact, the silent promises exchanged in fleeting moments; it all continues, building a quiet tension alongside the public demands of their careers.

Finally, there’s a slightly less frantic day scheduled, focused mainly on internal meetings and practice ahead of the next major performance. You book one of the hotel's large, mirrored dance studios for a mid-afternoon session with the group to review recent performance footage and discuss upcoming choreography changes. You head there early yourself, wanting to get the tech set up, projector, speakers, monitors, before the girls arrive. You figure you have a good twenty minutes before anyone else is due. The studio is vast, empty, sunlight streaming through the large windows overlooking the Tokyo skyline. You're busy fiddling with cables connected to a laptop when the door clicks open softly behind you. You glance back, expecting a staff member, maybe one of the choreographers.

But it's Chaewon. Alone. She slips inside, closing the door quietly behind her, leaning back against it for a moment. She’s dressed down in loose sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, hair tied back casually, looking younger, softer than her stage persona. But there’s nothing soft about the look in her eyes as she pushes off the door and starts walking slowly towards you across the polished wooden floor.

It’s that look.

The one you saw on the plane just before she followed you into the bathroom. The one you saw at the hotel just before you dragged her to your room. It’s predatory, challenging, and utterly focused on you. No greeting, no explanation for being so early. She just stalks towards you, purpose radiating from her small frame. She stops a few feet away, tilting her head slightly, studying you. Her gaze is intense, unwavering. You straighten up from the laptop, meeting her stare, a sense of wary anticipation prickling your skin.

You know this look.

You know what it means.

"Something I can help you with, Chaewon?" you ask, keeping your tone carefully neutral, though your heart rate picks up slightly. "Meeting's not for another twenty minutes." She doesn't answer immediately, just continues to watch you, a slow, deliberate smirk starting to spread across her face. It’s the bratty smirk, the one that promises trouble, the one that always precedes her doing something impulsive and usually inappropriate.

Finally, she speaks, voice low and husky, cutting straight through the quiet studio air. "Yeah," she says, taking another step closer, invading your personal space. "You can help me." She pauses, letting the tension hang heavy between you, her eyes darkening with undisguised need. "I'm horny," she states bluntly, the words hitting you with the force of a physical blow. "Like, really, really fucking horny. And it's all your fault.”

You just stare at her for a second, the sheer audacity of it, the way she stands there radiating pure, unfiltered need mixed with that infuriating bratty confidence. A slow smirk spreads across your face. Fault? Maybe. But fuck, if this is the consequence, you’ll take the blame every damn time.

"My fault, huh?" you repeat, stepping forward, closing the remaining distance between you until you're crowding her space, backing her up against the sturdy table holding your laptop and the projector. "So I guess it's my responsibility to fix it then."

"Damn right it is," she breathes, her hands coming up to fist in the front of your shirt, pulling you even closer.

There's no room for hesitation, no thought given to the fact that you're in a professional space, that the rest of the group is due any minute. Your mouth crashes down on hers, rough and demanding, swallowing the surprised gasp that escapes her lips.

She meets your intensity instantly, kissing you back with a desperate, frantic energy, teeth clashing slightly, tongues tangling in a wet, messy battle for dominance. Her hands scrabble at your belt buckle while yours yank impatiently at the drawstring of her loose sweatpants. Fabric rustles, metal clinks. You break the kiss only long enough to shove her sweats and panties down her thighs in one messy bundle, kicking them aside. Simultaneously, she manages to pop the button on your jeans, yanking the zipper down with surprising strength.

You groan into her mouth as her cool fingers brush against your already straining cock, freeing you from the confines of your boxers. There's no time for finesse, no room for foreplay beyond the frantic kissing and fumbling. You hike her up slightly, lifting her onto the edge of the table amidst the scattered cables and paperwork. She wraps her legs around your waist instantly, her bare skin smooth against the rough denim of your jeans. You position yourself, the head of your cock pressing against her entrance, already slick and ready (apparently her declaration wasn't an exaggeration). With a low growl, you thrust forward, burying yourself inside her familiar heat in one smooth, deep stroke.

She cries out, arching back against the table, head thrown back, ponytail falling across her shoulder. "Fuck! Yes!" The sound bounces off the mirrored walls, loud and unrestrained in the empty room. You start moving immediately, a fast, hard rhythm driven by pure, pent-up need. Your hands grip her hips, pulling her tighter against you with each driving thrust, making the table beneath her wobble precariously. Her hands clutch at your shoulders, nails digging in slightly as she rides out the initial onslaught.

The sounds of your bodies colliding, wet and percussive, fill the space, obscene and undeniable. You fuck her right there, half-sprawled across the tech setup, surrounded by mirrors reflecting the raw, urgent coupling from every angle. She meets your frantic pace, hips bucking, breath coming in ragged gasps, low moans tumbling from her lips. You’re maybe a minute into this frantic fucking, lost in the rhythm, in the heat, in the sight of Chaewon coming undone beneath you, when the unmistakable click of the practice room door opening cuts through the haze.

Shit.

Your rhythm falters for a split second. Chaewon freezes beneath you, eyes flying wide, a gasp caught in her throat. You both turn your heads towards the door. Standing there, framed in the doorway, are Sakura, Yunjin, and Kazuha. Sakura has one hand still on the doorknob, her expression caught between weary resignation and mild disbelief. Yunjin leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, a knowing, thoroughly amused smirk already spreading across her face. Kazuha, ever serene, simply blinks slowly, taking in the scene: you, pants half undone, buried deep inside Chaewon who’s sprawled half-naked on the equipment table, with quiet, unreadable neutrality.

The silence stretches for a beat, broken only by Chaewon’s shaky breathing and the distant sounds of the traffic far below.

"Seriously?" Sakura sighs, finally breaking the tension. "Right on the table with the meeting notes? Really?"

Yunjin pushes off the doorframe, sauntering further into the room. "Wow, Chae," she drawls, her smirk widening as her eyes rake over the scene. "Couldn't even wait twenty minutes? Someone's eager." Kazuha just shakes her head almost imperceptibly, moving silently towards the mirrored wall to start her usual pre-practice stretching routine, pointedly ignoring the spectacle in the center of the room.

Chaewon flushes scarlet, burying her face against your shoulder for a second, a flicker of genuine embarrassment warring with something else… a thrill. You feel it ripple through her body. This isn't the first time they've walked in on something, though perhaps never quite so… blatant. You look from the members back down to Chaewon. Her face is still hidden, but you feel her tremble slightly; not from fear, but from suppressed laughter or excitement. Fuck it. You’re already balls deep, she’s clearly not entirely opposed to an audience, and frankly, stopping now would be more awkward than just… continuing. Besides, you have a meeting to run.

You share a quick glance with Chaewon as she lifts her head slightly, her eyes gleaming with mischievous understanding. A slow, predatory grin spreads across her face now. Oh, she’s definitely into this. Game on. You tighten your grip on her hips, resuming your thrusts, slowly at first, then settling back into a steady, deep rhythm. Chaewon gasps again, arching into the movement, her eyes fluttering shut for a second before snapping open, darting glances between you and her audience.

"Right," you announce, pitching your voice to carry across the room, adopting your normal, professional Manager-nim tone, completely ignoring the fact that you are currently fucking the group's leader on the meeting table. "Everyone find a seat, or, uh, just stand wherever. Kazuha, good, keep stretching. We need to go over the schedule for the next seventy-two hours." You continue fucking Chaewon, your cock sliding in and out of her tight, wet heat with smooth, deliberate strokes. She moans softly beneath you, biting her lip, her eyes glued to Yunjin and Sakura who are now reluctantly finding spots to sit on the floor near the wall, trying their best to look bored or annoyed, though Yunjin's smirk hasn't faded.

"Okay," you continue, pulling a stray itinerary sheet off the table from beside Chaewon’s hip, careful not to dislodge her. "Tomorrow morning, call time is 06:00 sharp. Vans leave for the TV station at 06:30." Each syllable is punctuated by a steady thrust deep inside Chaewon. You feel her clench around you, a shaky sigh escaping her lips. She deliberately pushes her hips up to meet your next thrust, making a louder, wetter sound echo in the room. Her eyes flick towards Sakura, a silent, bratty challenge in her gaze. Sakura just rolls her eyes dramatically and pointedly pulls out her phone.

"We have pre-recording from 07:30 until approximately 11:00," you continue reading from the sheet, adjusting your grip on Chaewon's thigh, angling her slightly for deeper access. She lets out a louder moan this time, digging her nails into your back. "Uh, please try to keep vocal cord strain minimal during the waiting periods. Water bottles are essential." You pause your thrusts momentarily to emphasize the point, looking directly at Yunjin, who raises an eyebrow skeptically.

"Minimal strain," Yunjin repeats dryly, her gaze flicking pointedly towards Chaewon, who is currently biting your shoulder to stifle a particularly loud gasp as you start moving again, faster this time. "Got it."

You ignore the sarcasm, resuming both the fucking and the briefing. "After pre-recording, we head directly to the Shibuya venue for soundcheck for tomorrow night's showcase. Soundcheck is scheduled for 13:00."

Chaewon is moaning almost continuously now, low, breathy sounds that she barely tries to hide. She throws her head back again, exposing the long line of her throat, her body slick with a fine sheen of sweat. She deliberately meets Kazuha’s serene gaze in the mirror, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she pushes back hard against your cock, her moans turning into performative little cries. Kazuha, incredibly, just continues her elegant stretches, seemingly unfazed, though a tiny smile plays on her lips.

"The showcase soundcheck should take about ninety minutes," you continue, your own voice becoming slightly strained as Chaewon starts writhing beneath you, actively chasing sensation. "Then we have a two-hour block for hair, makeup, and final wardrobe fittings back at the hotel before heading back to the venue." You punctuate the sentence with a particularly deep thrust that makes Chaewon scream your name, the sound sharp and shocking in the room.

Sakura jumps slightly, glaring first at Chaewon, then at you. "Could you maybe try to keep the… commentary… down?" she asks tightly, clearly losing her patience. "Some of us are trying to process actual information here."

Chaewon just laughs breathlessly, gripping your hair. "Sorry, Kura!" she calls out. "He's just hitting it really good right now!" You groan, burying your face in her neck for a second, trying to regain control of both the meeting and your own rapidly escalating arousal. This is insane. But fuck, it's hot. You lift your head, looking back at the itinerary, trying to focus.

"Right. Wardrobe. I’ll make sure the team has confirmed all accessory pairings by," you glance at your watch, your thrusts slowing slightly again to regain composure, "16:00 tomorrow." You slide one hand down between Chaewon's legs, fingers easily finding her slick, swollen clit amidst the chaos. She gasps sharply, hips bucking violently off the table as you start rubbing. Her eyes roll back in her head.

"Fuck! Yes, there!" she cries out.

"Okay, I think I'm gonna need noise-canceling headphones for the rest of this tour," Yunjin announces loudly, though she's watching the scene with undisguised fascination now.

You just keep fucking Chaewon, pounding into her relentlessly while your fingers work magic on her clit, pushing her higher and higher. The professional briefing is dissolving into primal sounds and movements. You glance at the itinerary again, trying to find your place. "Uh… post-showcase… dinner meeting with… Japanese label execs… check your updated schedules later tonight," you manage to get out between gritted teeth, feeling your own climax starting to build, fueled by her frantic moans, her exhibitionist pleasure, the sheer fucking audacity of doing this right here, right now, while simultaneously trying to conduct business.

She’s incredibly close, body trembling, whimpering incoherently now. She keeps glancing towards the others, her face flushed crimson, eyes glazed with a mixture of shame and intense pleasure. Knowing they're watching, knowing they can hear every wet slap, every choked moan, is clearly amplifying everything for her. "Also," you add, trying to maintain a shred of professionalism even as you feel Chaewon’s inner muscles begin to clench frantically around you, signaling her approaching orgasm, "remember the fan meet and greet event on Saturday requires the specific themed outfits discussed last week."

You punctuate this instruction with a series of faster, harder thrusts, deliberately pushing her closer to the edge, enjoying the way she gasps and claws at your back. Sakura groans and covers her face with her hands. Yunjin just shakes her head, laughing silently. Kazuha is now sitting calmly in a near-perfect split against the mirrored wall, seemingly meditating amidst the chaos.

The sheer normalcy of their reactions somehow makes the scene even hotter, more surreal. You continue fucking Chaewon, detailing flight times for the next leg of the tour, visa check reminders, and social media posting guidelines, all while she moans and squirms beneath you, thoroughly enjoying being the center of attention in the most debauched way possible, right in the middle of a scheduled work meeting.

Your fingers work her clit with frantic speed, mirroring the relentless pounding of your cock deep inside her. Chaewon is completely lost, gone, head thrown back, body convulsing around you, chasing that final, explosive release. Her breath comes in ragged, hitching sobs, her nails digging painfully into your back. All focus is on pushing her over that edge, on watching her completely shatter for you, for her reluctant audience.

"Yes! Fuck... almost there... almost..." she gasps, her voice strained to the breaking point. You give one last, brutal thrust, sinking your cock as deep as it will possibly go, while your thumb presses down with bruising force on that hypersensitive nub. That's all it takes.

"I'm—I’M CUMMING! Fuck-fuck-fuck! Oh god, yesssss!” Her scream rips through the practice room, high-pitched, primal, utterly unrestrained. Her entire body locks up, seized by violent, full-body spasms as her orgasm crashes over her in a massive, tidal wave. She convulses around your cock, her inner muscles clenching with shocking intensity, milking you, pulling you closer to your own brink. Her eyes are squeezed shut, face contorted in a mask of pure ecstasy so intense it looks like agony. She screams your name, over and over, mixed with incoherent pleas and praises, completely oblivious to anything but the overwhelming flood of pleasure racking her small frame.

Watching her come apart like that, so loud, so completely wrecked, combined with the sheer fucking audacity of doing this in front of everyone, finally shatters your own control. The pressure builds unbearably low in your balls, an unstoppable surge demanding release.

"Fuck!" you roar out, feeling the familiar tightening deep within. "Fuck, Chaewon, I'm gonna cum! Right now!"

Her orgasm is still shuddering through her, leaving her boneless and gasping, but your words cut through the haze. Her eyes snap open, glazed but instantly understanding. With a speed that defies her exhausted state, she scrambles off the table, legs shaky, nearly collapsing onto the floor. She doesn't hesitate. Doesn't pause to catch her breath. Doesn't even seem to register the other girls staring in stunned silence now. She immediately drops to her knees on the polished wooden floor right in front of you, landing with a soft thud, looking up at you with those wide, dark, completely debauched eyes. Her chest is heaving, sweat plasters strands of hair to her forehead, her lips are swollen and kiss-bruised, but her gaze is steady, expectant, ready. She tilts her head back slightly, offering her face, her mouth slightly open.

You don't need a second invitation. With another guttural groan ripping from your throat, you give your cock a few quick strokes, and then you explode. Thick, heavy ropes of hot cum shoot from the head of your cock, splattering across her upturned face. You pump furiously, emptying yourself onto her, coating her cheeks, her chin, her forehead, even tangling in her eyelashes and hair. Spurts hit her neck, dribbling down towards her chest. She doesn't flinch, doesn't turn away, just stays kneeling there, accepting the hot, sticky load, her eyes fluttering shut briefly as the thickest ropes hit her directly. Behind her, the previous nonchalance of the other members finally shatters. Sakura lets out an audible gasp, her hand flying to her mouth, eyes wide with genuine shock and maybe a touch of disgust.

"Oh my god! Seriously?!" Yunjin bursts out, her usual amused smirk replaced by wide-eyed disbelief, half-laughing, half-appalled. "Right in her face?! In front of us?!" Even Kazuha stops her stretching mid-pose, her serene mask cracking as she stares, her mouth slightly agape.

You finally sag forward slightly, bracing your hands on your knees, catching your breath, your cock still dripping the last remnants of your release. Below you, Chaewon remains kneeling, utterly still for a moment, her face a canvas of your thick, white seed. Then, slowly, deliberately, she opens her eyes. There's no shame there. No embarrassment. Only a profound, bone-deep satisfaction, a hazy glow of pleasure mixed with something else… triumph. She lifts a hand, not to wipe anything away, but to slowly, almost languidly, dip a finger into the thickest patch of cum on her cheek. She brings the finger to her lips, licking it clean with a contemplative expression, her eyes still locked on yours.

Then, with excruciating slowness, she turns her head, looking directly at Sakura, then Yunjin, then Kazuha. A slow, smug, utterly defiant smirk spreads across her cum-covered face. She holds their shocked gazes, practically radiating satisfaction, reveling in their reactions, letting them see her exactly like this: debased, used, marked, and absolutely fucking thrilled about it.

The statement hangs unspoken in the air: Yeah, he did this. To me. And you watched.

Sakura is the first to find her voice again, or rather, a strangled sound that’s somewhere between a gag and a sob. Her hand is still clamped over her mouth, eyes wide with a mixture of horror and utter disbelief.

"Chaewon! What in the actual FUCK?!" she finally splutters, voice muffled. "Are you serious right now? Right on your FACE?! With us watching?! My eyes… I think my retinas are permanently scarred!" She makes a little retching noise, turning slightly green.

Yunjin, who had been caught between shock and horrified laughter, finally lets out a loud, incredulous bark of laughter, though it’s tinged with genuine disbelief.

"Holy shit, Chae!" she exclaims, eyes darting between your dripping cock, Chaewon’s cum-smeared face, and your own slightly dazed expression. "You really are a different breed, aren't you? Zero fucks given. And Manager-nim! Bold move, sir! Very… direct." She fans herself dramatically with her hand. "I mean, I knew you two were freaks, but this? This is next-level. Emmy-worthy performance art, almost."

Even Kazuha, who had maintained her serene composure through most of the initial fucking, is visibly rattled. Her elegant stretching has completely stopped. She’s staring, mouth still slightly agape, her usual calm facade shattered into a million tiny pieces. A small, almost inaudible, "Jesus…" escapes her lips, which could mean anything from "amazing" to "horrifying" in this context. She blinks slowly, as if trying to process the image of her group leader kneeling, painted in your seed, looking utterly triumphant.

You finally manage to put your pants back on, trying to regain some sort of composure or morale. Below you, Chaewon remains kneeling, utterly still for a moment longer, her face a glistening canvas of your thick, white seed. Then, with excruciating, theatrical slowness, she turns her head, looking directly at Sakura, then Yunjin, then Kazuha. A slow, smug, utterly defiant smirk spreads across her cum-covered face. She holds their shocked gazes, practically radiating satisfaction, reveling in their reactions, letting them see her exactly like this: debased, used, marked, and absolutely fucking thrilled about it.

"What's wrong, girls?" Chaewon purrs. She deliberately licks a stray drip of cum from the corner of her lips, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Don't like the new makeup look? I think it’s rather fetching. Really brings out my eyes, don't you think?"

Sakura makes another gagging sound. "Fetching?! Chaewon, you look like a goddamn glazed donut that someone… violated! That’s his jizz all over your face! How can you be so… so… CALM?!"

"Calm?" Chaewon cocks her head, the picture of innocence if it weren't for the spunk artfully smeared across her features. "Oh, I'm far from calm, Kkura-chan. I'm actually feeling pretty fucking fantastic right now. Best facial I’ve had all tour, ten out of ten, would recommend." She winks at Yunjin.

Yunjin just shakes her head, a disbelieving smile playing on her lips. "You’re certifiable, Kim Chaewon. Absolutely, one hundred percent, off-your-rocker insane. But," she adds, her eyes twinkling, "I gotta admit, the commitment is impressive. You didn’t even flinch."

"Flinch? Why would I flinch?" Chaewon asks, genuinely puzzled. She then turns her attention to Kazuha, who’s still staring with wide, unblinking eyes. "Zuha, you’re awfully quiet. Cat got your tongue? Or maybe you’re just speechless at my… radiance?"

Kazuha finally seems to reboot. She closes her mouth, takes a slow, deliberate breath, and then says, with her signature quiet intensity, "It was… a very direct method of concluding the meeting's agenda. And perhaps… a new form of skincare." She giggles. "Very… sticky."

Chaewon lets out a delighted laugh, the sound surprisingly carefree. "See? Kazuha gets it! It’s innovative!" She then pushes herself up from her knees, her movements a little shaky but still full of that bratty confidence. She doesn’t bother wiping her face. Instead, she stretches languidly, like a cat, making sure to give the other girls a good, long look at your handiwork.

"You know," she says, "I was getting so horny with him fucking me on that table. But hearing you guys walk in? Knowing you were watching?" She shivers theatrically. "God, that just sent me over the edge. Made it so much better. My pussy was practically singing. So, thanks for that, girls. Teamwork makes the dream work, right?"

Sakura groans loudly and actually buries her face in her hands. "I am going to need SO MUCH THERAPY after this tour. And a new set of eyeballs. And maybe a hazmat suit for any future meetings."

Yunjin is just openly laughing now, clutching her stomach. "Oh my god, Chaewon, you’re a menace! A literal, walking, talking, cum-covered menace! But hey," she winks at you, "at least our leader is… thoroughly motivated for the showcase, right Manager-nim?"

You just stand there, trying to process the absolute chaotic energy that has just unfolded. You glance at the itinerary sheets scattered on the table, now probably slightly sticky themselves. The meeting notes seem utterly irrelevant.

"Right," you manage to say, clearing your throat. "Well. That was… productive. Any further questions about the schedule? Or shall we move on to… vocal warm-ups?"

Chaewon beams, still proudly displaying her facial. "I think my vocals are perfectly warmed up, thank you very much. Feeling very… open." She gives another pointed look at the other members, who just stare back, a mixture of utter defeat and begrudging awe on their faces. Yeah, the queen brat had done it again, and somehow, in the most fucked-up way possible, owned the entire room.

—

Tonight’s the night. One of the biggest music shows on this leg of the Japan tour, broadcast live, massive audience, high stakes. The backstage area is pure, unadulterated chaos, you can hear everywhere the noise of ringing phones, urgent voices yelling into radios in Japanese and Korean, the sound of the speakers from the main stage soundcheck, and the nervous energy vibrating off every single person rushing past. You’re right in the thick of it, trying to coordinate with the stage manager about last-minute camera blocking changes while simultaneously fielding a call from the label demanding updates on social media engagement metrics.

Standard pre-show pandemonium.

You find a marginally quieter alcove near a bank of humming equipment racks, leaning against the cool metal as you try to wrap up the call, needing just five minutes of relative peace to get your head straight before the final countdown begins. Staffers hurry past the opening of the alcove, barely registering your presence. Five minutes to showtime is practically an eternity in stage time, but also no time at all.

Just as you’re hanging up, mentally running through the checklist (mics, costumes, standby positions, water bottles), a figure detaches itself from the stream of people in the corridor and slips silently into the alcove with you. Kim Chaewon. Fully decked out in her stage outfit for the first performance block, hair and makeup flawless, looking every inch the superstar she is. But the look on her face isn't her usual pre-show focus or nervous energy. It’s something else entirely. That familiar, dangerous glint is back in her dark eyes, a predatory heat simmering just beneath the surface, fixed solely on you. She leans back against the wall opposite you, deliberately blocking the narrow exit.

"Busy?" she asks.

You take in her appearance, and fuck, your carefully constructed professional focus evaporates instantly. The stylists really outdid themselves tonight, leaning hard into the group’s edgier concept. She’s wearing impossibly tight, black leather hot shorts that hug every curve of her phenomenal ass and hips. Paired with that is a cropped, sleeveless black top made of some kind of sheer, shimmering mesh material, revealing tantalizing glimpses of the intricate lace bralette underneath. Fishnet stockings disappear into chunky, platform combat boots that make her legs look even longer and more incredible.

Heavy silver chains loop around her neck and waist, drawing attention to her bare midriff and the sharp lines of her collarbones. Her bob is styled messy but chic, framing a face with darker, smokier makeup than usual, emphasizing the intensity of her gaze. She looks stunning. Dangerous. Utterly, undeniably slutty. And knowing she’s probably wearing next to nothing under that getup makes your cock twitch instantly in your pants.

"Chaewon," you start, trying to inject a note of warning into your voice, acutely aware of the time, the location, the sheer insanity of whatever she’s clearly planning. "Show starts in less than fifteen minutes. What are you doing back here? You should be with the others near standby." Her smirk widens. She pushes off the wall, taking a slow, deliberate step towards you, her platform boots clicking softly on the concrete floor.

"Needed to see my favorite manager," she says innocently, though her eyes are burning holes into you. "Besides," she adds, stopping right in front of you, close enough that you can smell her perfume mixed with the faint scent of stage makeup, "this outfit…" She gestures down at herself languidly. "Feels kinda tight. Thought maybe you could help me… loosen up?" She reaches out, fingers trailing lightly over the front of your jeans, directly over your rapidly hardening cock. Your breath hitches. God damn her. She knows exactly what she’s doing, knows you find this look irresistible, knows you have a weakness for her in leather, knows the risk only makes it hotter for both of you.

"You’re insane," you manage to get out, voice rough, grabbing her wrist, intending to pull her hand away, to push her back towards the stage area. "Completely fucking insane," you repeat, but this time it’s a surrender, not a protest.

Her answering grin is pure wickedness. "Insanely horny," she corrects, leaning in, pressing her body flush against yours. You can feel the cool mesh of her top, the surprising warmth of her skin underneath, the hard planes of her stomach against yours. "Couldn't stop thinking about… last time," she whispers, referring to the practice room, her breath hot against your ear. "Need it again. Right now. Before I go out there." The thought of fucking her right now, dressed like this, backstage with staff potentially walking past any second… it’s reckless, stupid, and unbelievably hot. You’re already hard as a rock, pressing insistently against her bare stomach.

Fuck professionalism.

Fuck the schedule.

You need this too.

"Here?" you murmur, glancing nervously towards the alcove entrance. "We'll get caught." She just shrugs, already fumbling with your belt buckle again, her movements urgent.

"Make it quick then," she breathes, popping the button on your jeans. "And quiet."

As if that’s possible with her.

You groan, giving in completely. You spin her around, pressing her face-first against the cold metal of the equipment rack. Her amazing ass, encased in those tight leather shorts, is presented perfectly to you. You yank down your zipper, freeing your throbbing cock. Without bothering to remove her shorts, you just yank the tight leather fabric down slightly, pulling the thong she’s wearing underneath completely aside, exposing her slick, waiting cunt. There’s no time for lube, no time for prep.

You position yourself behind her, grab her hips firmly, and slam into her from behind. She cries out, the sound muffled against the metal rack, her body jolting forward with the force of the impact.

"Fuck! Yes!" she gasps, immediately arching her back, pushing back against you, taking you deeper. You start fucking her right there, hard and fast, your balls slapping against her leather-clad ass cheeks with each rough thrust. The angle is perfect, driving deep, hitting that spot that makes her legs tremble. The sheer mesh of her top rides up her back, revealing the intricate straps of her bra, the smooth skin beneath. The chains around her waist jingle softly with each desperate movement. It’s a sensory overload: the sight of her in that slutty outfit bent over for you, the feel of her tight heat clenching around your cock, the muffled sounds of her pleasure, the constant, underlying thrill of potential discovery. You reach around her body with one hand, fingers tangling in the mesh top, finding her already hard nipple through the fabric, pinching and rolling it roughly. She cries out again, louder this time, grinding her hips back against you frantically. "God, Chaewon, you feel so fucking good," you pant, fucking her faster, harder. "This outfit… drives me insane."

Suddenly, you remember your phone. The thought hits you with blinding clarity—you need to capture this. This moment. Her, like this, in this outfit, taking your cock backstage minutes before a major performance. You fumble in your pocket with one hand, still pounding into her with the other, managing to pull out your phone. Your fingers shake slightly as you quickly unlock it and open the camera app. Chaewon glances back over her shoulder, seeing the phone in your hand, her eyes widening slightly before a slow, knowing smirk spreads across her face.

She fucking loves this.

Loves the idea of being recorded, documented, in such a compromising, degrading position. She deliberately arches her back higher, pushing her ass out further, giving you an even better angle.

"Like the view?" she gasps out. You don't answer, just position the phone, angling it down slightly to capture the obscene sight of your cock disappearing into her slick folds, framed by the tight black leather and fishnets. Click. The shutter sound is barely audible over her moans and the backstage chaos. You quickly switch to video, hitting record. You hold the phone steady for a few seconds, capturing the raw movement, the glistening slickness, the way her muscles clench around you. Then you zoom in slightly, focusing on her face, flushed and sweat-slicked, lips parted, eyes hazy with lust as she glances back towards the camera again, sticking her tongue out playfully for a split second before biting her lip hard as another wave of pleasure hits her.

"Fucking whore," you growl, pocketing the phone again for now, needing both hands back on her body. You grip her hips tighter, slamming into her with a renewed, savage vigor, each thrust a brutal invasion against the unyielding metal of the equipment rack at her front. Her phenomenal ass, clad in that impossibly tight black leather, is presented perfectly for your assault. The fishnets dig slightly into her thighs with the force of your fucking.

"Fuck, yes, just like that! You love showing off for the camera, don't you, my little slut?" you growl, your voice rough against her ear. "Love being my little backstage whore, getting your tight cunt pounded right before you go out and pretend to be a good girl for the fans?"

Her answer is a series of choked, breathless moans, her head thrashing slightly, her body trembling violently against the rack. She nods frantically, a silent, desperate affirmation.

"Yes! Yes, daddy, please… fuck me harder! Make me your whore!" she begs, voice cracking. "Fill me up!"

You oblige, your cock piston-deep inside her, pounding relentlessly. Her cunt is so fucking tight, so hot, milking you with every desperate clench of her inner muscles as she gets closer and closer. You reach around her again, your fingers easily finding her swollen, hypersensitive clit, and begin to rub hard, fast circles against the nub already slick with her juices. The combination of your thick cock ramming into her and your fingers working her clit sends her completely over the edge.

"I'm gonna cum! OH FUCK, I'm cumming!" she screams, the sound dangerously loud, echoing slightly in the alcove, though hopefully lost in the general backstage din that’s starting to build as showtime approaches. Her orgasm rips through her, a violent, consuming wave. Her tight cunt clenches down on your cock like an iron vise, her body bucking and spasming against you. Watching her come apart like that, completely wrecked and screaming your name, knowing you have it all documented on your phone, pushes you right to your own fucking limit. You feel that familiar, unstoppable pressure building low in your balls, the surge that means you’re about to blow.

"Me too, baby, fuck! I'm gonna fill you up!" you grit out as you pound into her one last time, burying yourself as deep as you can possibly go. "Take it all, Chae! Take my fucking load!"

With a final, guttural roar, you flood her insides, pumping load after thick, hot load of your cum deep within her womb. You creampie her right there, bent over the equipment rack, careless of the staff just outside, careless of the impending show. You keep thrusting for a few more seconds even after you finish, short, sharp strokes designed to milk every last drop from your aching balls, ensuring she's completely full of you.

Finally, you pull out with a wet, sloppy sound, your seed mixed with her slickness dripping from your cock and down her leather-clad thighs. You lean your forehead against her sweat-slicked back, both of you panting heavily, the adrenaline slowly starting to recede, leaving a buzzing exhaustion in its wake. Her body is limp against the rack, trembling with the aftershocks of her intense orgasm.

You quickly, fumbling slightly, pull up your jeans and zip them, trying to regain some semblance of composure. Chaewon is slower, her hands shaky as she hastily pulls her thong back into place and yanks her leather shorts up, her face flushed a deep crimson. She turns, leaning back against the rack for support, her legs still visibly trembling. Her dark, smoky eye makeup is slightly smudged, her lips swollen and kiss-bruised, and there’s a dazed, utterly debauched look on her face that makes your cock twitch again.

"Fuck," she breathes out. "That was… insane. You filled me up so much, babe." She presses a hand to her flat stomach, a slow, wicked smile spreading across her face. "I can feel you leaking out of me… and I have to go on stage like this."

The thought clearly electrifies her. Her eyes, though hazy with spent pleasure, gleam with a fresh wave of arousal.

"Good," you say. "Let every single one of those fuckers out there watch you perform knowing you’re full of my cum. Let them wonder why their perfect little idol leader is glowing so much tonight."

Chaewon’s smile widens, turning predatory. "They’ll have no idea I’m about to dance for thousands of people with your load dripping down my thighs, will they?" she purrs, taking a step closer, her hips swaying slightly. "God, that’s so fucking hot. Knowing I’m carrying your cum inside me while I’m up there… pretending to be so perfect."

She reaches out, her fingers tracing the outline of your still-prominent bulge through your jeans. "Maybe… maybe you should’ve put a little more in me. Just to be sure it lasts the whole show."

You grab her wrist, your grip firm. "Don’t push your luck, brat. You need to get out there." But the thought of her, on stage, under those bright lights, moving her body, secretly filled with you… it sends another jolt of possessive heat through you.

She licks her lips, that bratty confidence flooding back now that the immediate crisis of her orgasm has passed. "Or what, Manager-nim? Gonna punish me again later? Maybe get the other girls to watch next time while you fill all my holes?"

"Get the fuck out there, Chaewon," you growl, though there’s no real anger in it, just the lingering heat of your encounter. You give her ass one last hard slap, the sound sharp in the small space.

She yelps, but it’s mixed with a giggle. "Yes, daddy," she says, turning with a final, impossibly slutty wink. She saunters out of the alcove, adjusting the silver chains around her waist, the very picture of a superstar ready to take the stage, if you ignored the faint sheen of sweat, the slightly trembling hands, and the smug, secretive smile playing on her lips. You watch her go, a possessive smirk of your own tugging at your mouth. She was definitely going to be thinking about this, about your cum breeding her, for the entire performance. And fuck, so were you.

—

That backstage fuckfest before the big show in Japan? Yeah, that wasn’t an isolated incident. Not by a long shot. It was more like… the opening act for a whole new level of insanity. The rest of the tour, as Le Sserafim blazed their trail across Japan and then into the US, just got spicier, riskier, more ridiculously, addictively natural. It was like that one taste of blatant exhibitionism, of pushing boundaries with an audience, however unwilling or resigned, had unlocked something even wilder in Chaewon, and by extension, in you. Because who were you to deny her? Especially when her brand of chaos was so fucking intoxicating. The unspoken rules of your dynamic shifted subtly. It wasn't just about finding private moments anymore; it was about stealing them, flaunting them in the face of professionalism, daring the world to notice, knowing it mostly wouldn't, or wouldn't care if it did.

Cars became a frequent playground. Not just the plush, tinted-window privacy of a chartered SUV between the airport and hotel (though those saw plenty of action), usually her clambering over the center console, hiking up her skirt or yanking down her leggings for a quick, desperate ride on your lap while you tried to look impassively out the window as cityscapes blurred by. No, it escalated to riskier scenarios. Like that one time, stuck in gridlock traffic in some humid, bustling city in the US, on the way to a radio interview. She was in the back with you, Sakura beside her pointedly engrossed in a game on her phone, headphones on. Chaewon had started innocently enough, just leaning her head on your shoulder, complaining about being bored.

Then her hand had snaked down, under the loose drape of your jacket, finding your crotch, her fingers starting to knead and stroke you through your jeans.

"Think anyone would notice if I just… sucked you off right now?" she whispered, eyes glinting with that familiar dare. You’d just shaken your head, a silent ‘no fucking way,’ but your rapidly hardening cock betrayed your resolve. She took that as a yes, of course. Within seconds, she was sliding down in her seat, her head disappearing under your jacket, the discreet but unmistakable sounds of her mouth working on you filling the small space, while Sakura just sighed dramatically and turned up the volume on her game, not even glancing over.

The thrill of it, the sheer audacity, knowing the driver was just feet away, separated only by a thin partition, made you come so hard you nearly blacked out, Chaewon swallowing everything with a triumphant little smirk when she finally resurfaced, looking utterly pleased with herself.

Dressing rooms, naturally, remained a staple. Especially the chaotic, shared ones backstage at music shows or concert venues, where privacy was a laughable illusion. Those became her favorite hunting ground. She’d find you amidst the flurry of stylists, makeup artists, and other staff, grab your hand, and pull you into the tiny, curtained-off changing booth meant for a quick costume swap, the flimsy fabric offering zero soundproofing. "Quick," she murmured, already hiking up her stage skirt or tearing at the buttons of her elaborate top, "Got five minutes before we’re on. Make it count."

And you would.

Fucking her pressed up against a rack of glittering costumes, her muffled moans lost in the general din outside. Sometimes, one of the other girls would inadvertently yank the curtain aside, looking for a misplaced accessory, only to freeze, sigh, and pointedly turn around. "Seriously, guys? Again?" Yunjin’s voice, laced with amusement, became a familiar soundtrack to these encounters. Chaewon would just grin, arching her back, pushing herself deeper onto your cock, clearly reveling in the near-discovery.

Then there were the truly random public places. The service stairwell of a five-star hotel, reeking faintly of bleach and old cigarettes, where she cornered you after a press conference, pushing you against the cold concrete wall, her lips attacking yours before you could even protest. You fucked her standing up, her legs wrapped around your waist, her stage dress hiked up to her hips, the risk of a staff member or another hotel guest stumbling upon you making every thrust, every gasp, electrifyingly intense. Or the empty, echoing backstage corridor during a seemingly endless soundcheck for some outdoor festival. She’d even managed to initiate a blowjob in a surprisingly crowded airport VIP lounge once, under the guise of tying your shoelace, her head disappearing beneath the table for a few glorious, heart-stopping minutes while you tried to maintain a nonchalant conversation with a local tour promoter about flight logistics.

The thrill was a drug, and you were both hopelessly addicted.

The ultimate expression of this brazen new dynamic became the head-pat signal. It was something you’d developed half-jokingly, a specific, almost imperceptible way you’d pat her head, two quick taps, then a slow stroke down the back of her hair, that meant, unequivocally, now. It didn't matter where you were, who she was with, what she was doing. When that signal came, she was yours. Instantly. You used it sparingly, saving it for moments when her bratty confidence was at its peak, or when you just couldn't resist the urge to assert your dominance in the most public, yet discreetly private, way.

Like that time in the production office at a huge arena. She was deep in conversation with a local venue manager, a portly, serious-looking man who was explaining, with excruciating detail, the fire safety protocols for their pyrotechnics display. Chaewon was nodding along, looking a picture of polite, professional interest, asking intelligent-sounding questions. You walked up behind her, ostensibly to get a copy of the stage plot. As you leaned past her, you gave the signal. Two quick taps. A slow stroke. Her eyes, which had been fixed on the venue manager, flickered almost imperceptibly. She didn’t miss a beat in her conversation.

"...so the primary extinguishers are located at stage left and right, correct?" she asked smoothly. Then, turning slightly towards the venue manager with a dazzling smile, she said, "Excuse me for just one moment, sir. I just remembered something incredibly vital I need to discuss with my manager. Urgent artist matter. You understand."

Before the bewildered man could even reply, she had grabbed your hand, her grip surprisingly strong, and was pulling you towards a small, adjoining storage closet piled high with dusty audio cables and forgotten props. She practically threw you inside, slammed the door shut (no lock, just the illusion of privacy), and immediately dropped to her knees, yanking at your belt.

"You fucking tease," she hissed, her eyes blazing with that wild, needy fire as she freed your already-hardening cock. "Couldn't wait, huh?"

She took you into her mouth right there, surrounded by darkness and the smell of old dust, her expert mouth working magic while you listened to the venue manager muffled voice outside, still patiently explaining fire extinguisher classifications to the empty air. The sheer audacity of it, the closeness of potential discovery, made the hurried, desperate blowjob unbelievably intense. Later, when she emerged from the closet, all composure regained, apologizing sweetly to the venue manager for the "urgent interruption," the man just blinked, shrugged his shoulders with a sigh, and mumbled something about "these artists and their… urgencies," before tiredly resuming his safety briefing.

He didn't have a clue.

Almost no one ever really did.

And after these stolen moments, these frantic, risky encounters, came another ritual: the pictures. It had started innocently enough, a way to capture a particularly hot outfit, a particularly memorable fuck. But it quickly became part of the dynamic, part of the possessive thrill. You'd pull out your phone, sometimes even during the act if the angle was right, but mostly afterwards, while she was still flushed and dazed, her hair a mess, her clothes disheveled, that sated, almost feral look in her eyes.

"Stay like that," you murmured once, positioning her. Sometimes you’d have her pose, bent over a piece of furniture, ass cheeks still red from your handprints, looking back at the camera with a defiant smirk. Other times, it would be more candid: her sprawled on a dressing room couch, half-dressed, eyes hazy with pleasure. You took close-ups of her cum-covered face, the thick ropes still glistening on her skin. Selfies of the two of you, her pressed against your side, both of you looking like you’d just been through a war.

They weren't for sharing, not ever. They were for your private collection. Trophies. Reminders of her submission, her desire, her willingness to play these reckless games with you. Tangible proof of the wild, untamed creature she became when it was just the two of you, or even when it wasn't just the two of you, but she was performing solely for an audience of one. She never protested the photos. In fact, she seemed to enjoy it, often playing up to the camera, a silent acknowledgment of this shared, dirty secret, another layer to your fucked-up, intoxicating bond.

Through all the chaos, the endless travel, the high-pressure performances, the stolen moments of intense, often public, depravity, something deeper solidified between you. It wasn't just about the sex (though that was a huge, undeniable part of it). It was about the understanding. The unspoken connection. The way you could communicate with just a look, a touch, a specific kind of silence. You saw past her idol persona, past the bratty facade, to the vulnerable, needy, intensely loyal woman underneath.

And she, in turn, saw you not just as her manager, her handler, her secret lover, but as the one person who truly got her, who didn't judge her darkness but reveled in it alongside her. The one person she could be completely, unashamedly herself with. So, it wasn't entirely a surprise when, at the very end of it all, after the final encore of the final show of the seemingly endless tour, when you were both utterly exhausted, emotionally drained, and sprawled out on the king-sized bed in yet another anonymous luxury hotel room in LA, she turned to you, voice soft, almost fragile.

"You know," she began, tracing idle patterns on your bare chest with her fingertip, "through all this… all the crazy shit… all the times I thought I was going to lose my mind…" She paused, looking up at you, her eyes clearer, more vulnerable than you’d seen them in weeks. "I love you," she whispered, the words simple, direct, yet carrying the weight of everything you’d shared. You pulled her closer, pressing your forehead against hers, noses touching in that familiar, intimate way.

"I love you too, Chaewon," you replied. "So fucking much." You held her like that for a long time, the silence comfortable, profound.

"No one," she murmured eventually, her voice muffled against your skin, "no one understands me like you do."

And you knew, with absolute certainty, that she was right. And no one understood you, your own complicated needs and desires, quite like Kim Chaewon. You were two halves of a perfectly twisted whole, and in that moment, amidst the lingering scent of sex and exhaustion, that understanding was everything you could ask for.

[astrolook]

Venus in the houses

Venus in the 1st House : Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the most fabulous of all ? It's Me.

You’ve never met a filter you didn’t like.

Love at first sight? You’re basically an app for it.

Getting married? You’re the whole package—gift wrapped in glamour.

You can make a paper bag look like haute couture.

Open to plastic surgery/beauty enhancement procedures.

Venus in the 2nd House : I’m just financially fabulous.

You’re a walking manifestation of “treat yourself.”

Your idea of a “fun investment” is high-end makeup.

Money may not buy happiness, but it buys a killer wardrobe.

Cosmetic collection? It’s more of a museum at this point.

You could turn a thrift store into a designer boutique.

Venus in the 3rd House : Talk to me. I make every word sound like gold.

Beauty tips? You pass them on like life-changing wisdom.

Makeup is optional, but your smile is mandatory.

Takes 25 pictures to make sure whether you look good in a selfie.

You could make an IKEA instruction manual sound like Shakespeare. You’re not just talking, you’re seducing with your words.

Love letters are basically your second language.

Venus in the 4th House : Home is where the luxury is, and so am I.

Probably have a Pinterest account with luxury home décor pins.

You take pictures like you are in for a Vogue photoshoot.

Your partner requirement: must appreciate candlelit dinners and spontaneous home makeovers.

Your family is either all-in for gourmet meals or leaving the house for takeout.

Your house plants probably have their own Instagram.

Venus in the 5th House: I don’t just fall in love, I make it a production.

You don’t “date,” you audition for the role of soulmate.

Your flirt game is so strong, even Siri has a crush on you.

Your idea of a “low-key evening” involves five outfit changes and a selfie.

Your idea of “casual” is wearing heels to the grocery store.

You don’t “catch feelings,” you produce them—like a movie sequel no one asked for.

Venus in the 6th House : Effortlessly fabulous, even while folding laundry.

You love self-care—so much that it’s practically a ritual.

Probably post pictures of their prepped meals on Instagram.

Your health routine involves pampering, not sweating.

You’ll never date someone who doesn’t have their life together (including their laundry).

You attract people with cleanliness, not just your charm (but mostly your charm).

Venus in the 7th House: I’m not picky, I just attract perfection in love.

You attract love like it’s the latest fashion trend.

Kind of partner? You wrote the manual on that.

Love is art, and you’re the masterpiece.

Your soulmate better have their life together, including an emergency fund and excellent taste in movies.

Your relationship advice is as chic as your wardrobe.

Venus in the 8th House: I love deeply… and live luxuriously in the process.

You’ve got that “rich in mystery” vibe going on.

Your partner could be wealthier than you.

Your love life is so intense, it might need a fire extinguisher.

You don’t just fall in love—you plunge.

You’re basically a passionate volcano of emotions.

Venus in the 9th House : I’m off to discover the world… and look fabulous doing it.

You fall in love like you fall in love with new cultures or people of other nationalities.

Your idea of romance? Passport, plane ticket, and luxury.

You’re not just looking for a lover; you need a travel buddy with a PhD.

If they can’t keep up with your wanderlust, you’ll probably ghost them at the airport.

Your ideal partner? Someone who can read Kant and order food in French.

Venus in the 10th House: Looking for a partner? Better come with a résumé.

You don’t date; you network—and maybe fall in love later.

Your ideal relationship is as high profile as your LinkedIn.

You’re not here for a fling—you want a power couple partnership.

If love’s a game, I’m playing to win.

Could meet your partner through your job.

Venus in the 11th House: Looking for love—must like my friends (they come first).

You need someone who shares your love of weird hobbies and social causes, or else it’s a deal-breaker.

You’re not falling in love, you’re curating your social circle... one date at a time.

Relationships for you? They're like your social media feed—always with a “#couplegoals” vibe.

Follows skin and hair care or hair style tutorials on YouTube.

90 percent of your google searches would be "how to make your hair grow faster", "best products for glowing skin",etc

Venus in the 12th House: Can’t love you if I haven’t analyzed my dreams first.

You don’t date—you swoon from afar in secret, like a true romantic introvert.

Probably have some skin and food allergies.

You fall for someone and then ghost yourself—the ultimate Venus in the 12th move.

You only fall for people who don’t even know they’re in love with you yet.

Your idea of a date? Talking about your past lives—or maybe just your weirdest dreams.

Love is like a hidden treasure—you’ll find it, but only if you’re deep enough in your feelings (or your journal that you don't show it to anyone).

So whether you're romancing in secret, hosting a business meeting disguised as a date, or curating your perfect Instagram-worthy love life, remember: Venus is just here to make it fabulous. Just don't forget to bring the skincare, Wi-Fi, and maybe a Google search or two. Keep shining, keep loving, and keep being your amazing, quirky self—Venus has got your back!

Curious about your birth chart and what it's really saying about you? 🌟 Slide into my DMs for a personalized astrology reading, and let's unlock the secrets of your stars. ✨ Don’t forget to check out my pinned post for pricing details! 🔮 Let’s make those cosmic connections happen! 🌙🌌

[nasa]

Athletes Go for the Gold with NASA Spinoffs

NASA technology tends to find its way into the sporting world more often than you’d expect. Fitness is important to the space program because astronauts must undergo the extreme g-forces of getting into space and endure the long-term effects of weightlessness on the human body. The agency’s engineering expertise also means that items like shoes and swimsuits can be improved with NASA know-how.

As the 2024 Olympics are in full swing in Paris, here are some of the many NASA-derived technologies that have helped competitive athletes train for the games and made sure they’re properly equipped to win.

The LZR Racer reduces skin friction drag by covering more skin than traditional swimsuits. Multiple pieces of the water-resistant and extremely lightweight LZR Pulse fabric connect at ultrasonically welded seams and incorporate extremely low-profile zippers to keep viscous drag to a minimum.

Swimsuits That Don’t Drag

When the swimsuit manufacturer Speedo wanted its LZR Racer suit to have as little drag as possible, the company turned to the experts at Langley Research Center to test its materials and design. The end result was that the new suit reduced drag by 24 percent compared to the prior generation of Speedo racing suit and broke 13 world records in 2008. While the original LZR Racer is no longer used in competition due to the advantage it gave wearers, its legacy lives on in derivatives still produced to this day.

Trilion Quality Systems worked with NASA’s Glenn Research Center to adapt existing stereo photogrammetry software to work with high-speed cameras. Now the company sells the package widely, and it is used to analyze stress and strain in everything from knee implants to running shoes and more.

High-Speed Cameras for High-Speed Shoes

After space shuttle Columbia, investigators needed to see how materials reacted during recreation tests with high-speed cameras, which involved working with industry to create a system that could analyze footage filmed at 30,000 frames per second. Engineers at Adidas used this system to analyze the behavior of Olympic marathoners' feet as they hit the ground and adjusted the design of the company’s high-performance footwear based on these observations.

Martial artist Barry French holds an Impax Body Shield while former European middle-weight kickboxing champion Daryl Tyler delivers an explosive jump side kick; the force of the impact is registered precisely and shown on the display panel of the electronic box French is wearing on his belt.

One-Thousandth-of-an-Inch Punch

In the 1980s, Olympic martial artists needed a way to measure the impact of their strikes to improve training for competition. Impulse Technology reached out to Glenn Research Center to create the Impax sensor, an ultra-thin film sensor which creates a small amount of voltage when struck. The more force applied, the more voltage it generates, enabling a computerized display to show how powerful a punch or kick was.

Astronaut Sunita Williams poses while using the Interim Resistive Exercise Device on the ISS. The cylinders at the base of each side house the SpiraFlex FlexPacks that inventor Paul Francis honed under NASA contracts. They would go on to power the Bowflex Revolution and other commercial exercise equipment.

Weight Training Without the Weight

Astronauts spending long periods of time in space needed a way to maintain muscle mass without the effect of gravity, but lifting free weights doesn’t work when you’re practically weightless. An exercise machine that uses elastic resistance to provide the same benefits as weightlifting went to the space station in the year 2000. That resistance technology was commercialized into the Bowflex Revolution home exercise equipment shortly afterwards.

Want to learn more about technologies made for space and used on Earth? Check out NASA Spinoff to find products and services that wouldn’t exist without space exploration.   

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[kajibunny]

⊹ . ݁ ⟡ the kaji fanclub (ren kaji x reader) ft. kusumi ₊✩‧₊˚

✿ summary: you and kaji’s vice captain created your own fanclub, a kaji fanclub. kaji finds out about it, so long story short, he gives you his honest feedback. ✿ contains: fluffy crack (is that a thing), suggestive themes (only on bonus part), kaji is your boyfriend, teasing and nonstop praise for kaji (i could talk about this man all day watch me)  ✿ a/n: my first wb fic!! kusumi would absolutely be the best wingman for you and kaji! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) i really like kusumi and his character design! he is so underrated but he's one of the cutest!  ✿ wc: 1.2k

ren kaji knew that you had been up to something lately. 

you and his vice captain kusumi have been busy giggling nonstop and checking your phones like a bunch of middle school girls, with you gushing and gasping about "how cute!" and "that's so perfect!" while looking down at your screen, showing only kusumi what was on it, receiving a reaffirming nod from the vice captain. 

at first, kaji was fine with it and did not care at all. he found it nice that you got along so well with kusumi, but after an hour of you two still going at it and not paying full attention to him when he tried to tell you something, he swore he was about to throw a fit if you didn't quit it.

what kaji didn't know was that you and kusumi are the co-presidents of the "kaji club" on social media, where you post pictures of daily kaji updates. 

at first, it was just because you found everything about your boyfriend so insufferably cute - his bowl haircut, his blond hair that he dyed all by himself, his unreadable expression, his never ending supply of lollipops, his iconic high kick, his sharp little canines (that sometimes you received little love bites from), his unpenetrable eardrums that were exposed to such loud music everyday, and much, much more. 

you wanted to give the whole world a glimpse of that cuteness - but that goes without saying that only you got the full package to yourself. 

so you thought about how funny it would be if he had his own fanclub. well, why not? if people loved him enough to vote him as their grade captain, then for sure he'd have lots of fans, right? and eventually, your idea turned into a reality. 

kusumi would send you the pictures he took that day, and you would manage the fanclub account. this time it was of kaji jumping into the water to save a cat while on patrol (as well as him patrolling topless afterwards - needless to say that particular picture was saved in your phone in a heartbeat, but you never uploaded it, it was for you and only you, his lover, to see and appreciate.) 

eventually, the kaji fanclub blew up to be an overnight sensation, mostly members of bofurin and the townspeople of makochi are among his biggest fans, but of course, you will always be ren kaji's number one fan.

"what the hell are you two laughing about?" kaji huffed in annoyance, trying to get a peek at your phone screen. 

you smile sweetly at him, letting out a "hm?", acting all innocent and telling him it was nothing and that he shouldn't worry about it. 

kaji, still having his suspicions that you were up to your shenanigans again, grabbed your phone from your hands and took a look at what you were so fixated with - it was a picture of kaji drinking from his bottled water with the caption "here is our super cool grade captain reminding everyone to always stay hydrated!~" then next it was a close up of kaji holding his lollipop. "today's lollipop flavor is peach! fun fact: it is also ren kaji's favorite fruit." it says.

oh. so that's what it was.

it was so random, that kaji couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from twitching upwards, almost smiling. he found it so unexpected and ridiculous but managed to keep a straight face.

"delete it." he cleared his throat, trying to fight back his amusement at the two of you coming up with something like this for him.

"no! give it back, ren! it's for our kaji fanclub! it already has more than a hundred likes, see! umemiya even commented-" you started, whining and pouting at your boyfriend, who rolled his eyes at you.

he hands you back your phone and sighs. "i don't need a hundred likes." kaji says, firmly. "because i already have the one like i need right here." 

you gasped when you realized that kaji was referring to none other than you, his "one like" that he needed. kaji, upon becoming aware of how lovestruck he probably sounded, turned his back away from you and put his headphones back on.

you fangirled so hard at that moment, all giddy and smiling at your boyfriend, teasing him about how you were of course his number one fan and that you wanted to have his autograph.

kusumi was sitting across the both of you, and snapped a picture when you were rubbing your cheek against kaji's, him side-eye glancing at your overjoyed, smiling face. kaji is still so fond of you, even if you did silly things like this.

kusumi, beaming from ear to ear, shows the both of you the picture he took, and typed a message on his phone. it read: "you two are so cute, my favorite couple! <3 get a guy that looks at you with so much love the way kaji does! >///< #couplegoals" he adds "i really ship you two!" 

you and kaji read the message on kusumi's notes app. when he finished reading, he let out an exasperated sigh. kaji points at you and kusumi. "i have no idea what a "ship" is, but right now i just want to ship you two off to somewhere far away." 

he was kidding, of course. you knew that he would let you do what you wanted anyway, as long as he could see your lovely smile and how happy he made you, kaji wouldn't ask for nothing more. because plot twist, ren kaji is also your number one fan.

ꕤ bonus ꕤ

once you got home, kaji made sure to let you know his exact thoughts regarding your fanclub.

"tch. you don't need to have my face on your phone, you know. you can have the real thing right here." he leans in closer to you, pulling his lollipop out of his mouth and replacing it with your lips.

the next morning, after waking up from a long and eventful night with kaji, you expressed your shock upon gazing at yourself in the mirror and finding out you've been marked up by little purple bruises and love bites that left some of kaji's teeth marks littering everywhere, but most prominently on your neck, thighs and chest area.

"ren kaji! what the hell is this!" you exclaimed, waking him up with a jolt, you pointing at all the parts he left his marks on. 

he stared at it for a second, admiring his handiwork. "you said you wanted to have my autograph."

"i didn't mean it like this!" you sighed, wondering how in the world you would be able to go out looking like this, all bitten and marked up by kaji. 

"i can always sign it again for you if it fades. i'm all yours, after all." he said it with such a straight but smug face and he was so unapologetic about it that you wanted to smack him. or have him devour you again. or both. 

you can't be the only one showing him your appreciation, because kaji has his ways of showing his too.

© kajibunny 2024 / all rights reserved

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

MUNCHIES!

Summary: Your neighbor, Kelvin, invites you to the fair. After a night of fun you end up in his apartment.

Warnings: Warnings: Short, Smut, Humor, Neighbors.

Part Two

Kelvin had just finished a day of work that started as early as 5 am. Finally home, he made his way towards his bedroom to undress, only an hour to prepare before he went over to pick up his date.

Standing in front of his wall length mirror, he secured a black durag around his head and flexed some muscles, pleased with his physique. Staring at his reflection with a pair of grey joggers on and white socks, he grabbed his cell phone to take a few pictures.

One grabbing his crotch.

One biting his lip.

And lastly one with a big smile.

He made his way into his messy bedroom littered with clothes and shoes, most of it being designer items sent to him as care packages. He was grateful, but he only had but so much space to put everything. His guest bedroom already turned into another storage area for clothes and shoes.

One habit he couldn’t shake.

Kelvin turned on his shower and quickly undressed the rest of the way. He stepped inside of his shower and started his routine of cleaning, exfoliating, and moisturizing. Warm. Enveloping. Grounded. Engulfed in a wash of amber, a hit of Australian sandalwood, cedar, vetiver; a gentle wave of cardamom. As he smoothed the scrub along his arms, he noticed a scratch there and it brought a smile to his face.

Y/N had scratched him accidentally when they’d been playing around in her apartment last night. The minute his thoughts drifted to her as he stood beneath the filtered shower water, his dick chubbed up immediately and bounced between his legs.

The things he wanted to do to Y/N.

The things he could have done to her last night had he stuck around. She would have been fucked on every surface and that pussy slurped in all sorts of contortions fucking around with him. The Cookie Monster shorts told him all he needed to know. And he was high as a kite too. When he’s high he turns into a super munch and it can’t be tamed. He had to pat himself on the back for behaving.

She had the body that’ll have you busting a premature nut. All those times she’d bent over last night…

He imagined forcing her against the cold counter top while he got down on his knees to suck that pussy from behind—

“Shit,” Kelvin looked down at his dick, “Maybe a quick nut wouldn’t hurt.”

He’d been so pent up lately. No proper release. Kelvin added more soap to his hands for extra slip. He pressed his back against the tile wall and fucked up into his hand nice and slow. Wet balls collided with the back of his hand, soap suds flying onto the glass shower door. Wet, squelching noises were deafening. That pretty, brown dick with a pink tip glistened in his soft hand, slit drooling precum to prepare him for a big eruption.

He’d started taking Maca Root regularly like Aaron suggested and the change in eating habits and vitamins had his libido at an all time high. No wonder he’d overheard his friend in their conjoined hotel room releasing several nuts. He joked him about it but now he understood. Heavy balls and a high sex drive did not mix well if there weren’t releases often.

“FUCK!”

Kelvin pumped faster, bottom lip pouted and eyes crossing. He imagined Y/N’s dainty hand milking him with her tongue on his nipples. Titties rubbing against his chest with the slickness of soap and water. Talking nasty in his face with all that bratty energy.

“Damn, daddy…this big dick wanna cum for me?”

“I bet you wish that cum was in my pussy…”

“If you cum for me I’ll let you eat my pussy all night…”

“I love stroking this big dick.”

“Y/N! Y/N!”

His load spurted out from his tip like an overflowing spout. His hips stuttered out of control. He had to plant his feet firm against the shower floor to prevent from slipping. His stomach caved in the more his ejaculate released from his tight nuts. The steam made his skin more sensitive as he touched his chest.

He opened his eyes and swiped his lips with his tongue. If she could make him cum like that without even fucking her or tasting her, Kelvin didn’t know what to expect when he finally got her.

He rinsed off and made sure his cum had gone down the drain before exiting the shower. As he towel dried his body, his phone buzzed. He entered his room and grabbed his phone from the charger, checking to see who had texted him.

Y/N: Hey, are we still going to the fair? Just checking because it’s almost three.

Kelvin had thirty minutes to prepare. He shot you a quick text before tossing his phone on his bed.

Kelvin: Hey! We’re definitely still going. Just ran a little behind schedule. Let me throw something on and I’ll be over.

Kelvin applied some lotion to his smooth skin and then a white tank top, an olive green Supreme hoodie with a floral design on the back, and denim joggers with all white Nike Dunks. He spritz some cologne on his pulse points and then removed his durag, grabbing a brush to smooth out the deep waves in his hair.

Grabbing his essentials, he exited his apartment, eyes on your text thread.

Y/N: You know I had to lite one up real quick. You better hurry before I smoke this thing down 😂

Kelvin knocked on your door and you opened it ten seconds later. He was instantly hit with a harmonious blend of relaxation and euphoria. Kelvin fixated his brown eyes on the blunt between your fingers, itching to snatch it. You draw your hand back with a giggle, causing his gaze to track a path down your body.

You wore an oversized flannel top with a body—hugging heather gray dress that gripped your hips and thighs tightly. On your feet are a pair of knee high, black converse. Your hair is styled in a braidout and gold jewelry decorated your ears, neck, and fingers. Even with casual attire you ruined him in the best way.

“Hello to you too, Kelvin!” You say with a role of your eyes.

Kelvin gave you an animated look while trying to convey his words with his hands, further annoying you.

“I’m about to close my door in your face if you don’t greet me the proper way.” You sass.

He couldn’t help but bend over and grab his knees as he laughed. Your cute voice and the fake anger you displayed humored him.

Kelvin sat up straighter and licked his lips, “Hey, sexy.”

The way your eyes went round, that told him he’d caught you off guard and that pleased him, his smile with slight dimples growing wider.

“Why are you shocked? It’s the truth,” Kelvin pressed forward, making a ‘grabby’ motion with his fingers, “Now gimmie.”

You didn’t have time to catch up to your motor skills before he stole your blunt and took a puff. As your eyes remained glued to him, he savored the hybrid strain as if he were floating on clouds.

“Wedding Cake?” Kelvin spoke as smoke billowed from his moist, pink lips.

You simply nod your head with a hint of a smile.

“Good shit, sexy…good shit…”

He handed you the blunt. You blink twice to focus before turning to enter your apartment. It was almost three, five minutes to spare.

“C’mon so we can get a good spot!” Kelvin shouted after you.

You reappear with a shoulder bag and your keys. Kelvin gave you some space to lock your door, although he’d leaned in to catch a whiff of your perfume.

Kayali Pistachio.

You turn and Kelvin interlocked his fingers with yours. You give him a look and then a toothy smile like a lovesick woman. He loved catching you off guard.

——

Kelvin found a decent parking spot closer to the entrance. Majority of the younger crowd were leaving with their exhausted parents. At the booth, he displayed his two tickets and both of you received wrist bands to ride unlimited and without having to wait in line. Finally inside, Kelvin held out his hand for you to grasp, the sensation of your soft skin sending a pleasant feeling throughout his chest.

The place is alive with booming music, exhilarated screams, delighted squeals and cheerful shouts. Colossal, gyrating rides with vibrant, pulsating lights towered over the excited visitors. A roller coaster spirals and coils, which makes it look like an elongated snake twisting through the fair. The air is filled with the mouth-watering aromas of sizzling hot-dogs, fluffy cotton candy, spiced apples and sugary donuts. Some stalls sell hamburgers oozing with burnt onions; others sell sweet treats of funnel cakes and deep fried Oreos.

Kelvin stole a glance at you as your eyes that shined bright from the many spectrums of colors danced around. There was so much to do, he wasn’t sure where to start first. Definitely nothing that involved rapid spinning. For you, no drop towers. You bright smile made him grin from ear to ear, displaying pearly whites.

“I want to do the boat ride.” You said.

Kelvin followed your finger. The captain ship that rocked back and forth like a pendulum. He didn’t mind that.

“Let’s go,” Kelvin led the way with your hand in his, “We got the wrist bands to jump the line too!”

The conductor for the ride stopped you both but Kelvin showed him your bands and they let you through. Groans and agitated whispers caused both of you to giggle.

“Where do you like to sit—oh.”

You take a seat all the way in the back. The last row.

“Why do you want to sit back here?” Kelvin questioned with a whiny voice as he settled next to you, “The middle is the best.”

The setting sun caused the brown of your skin to glow. Kelvin narrowed his eyes at you playfully.

“The middle is for punks. Maybe I should start calling you that, huh?” You joked.

“First one to scream is the real punk.” Kelvin declared.

You give him a mischievous smile, accepting the challenge.

The ride started off slow, Kelvin grabbing your hand in anticipation. You both share glances at the sudden drop in your stomach when you reach a new high. The boat whipped forward, causing you to grab Kelvin’s wrist tight. A slight squeal escaped your lips when the boat went back, bringing both of you high in the air. Kelvin squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth while you screamed like a banshee. Both of you laugh hysterically as the ride swayed to a stop.

“Like is said, a PUNK!” Kelvin pointed to you and chuckled while you gave him slaps to his arm.

“I can’t help it! Still not a punk though.”

You both take your time exiting the ride, Kelvin turning to pick you up at the waist, bringing you to your feet gently. You thank him with a pretty smile and reached for his hand. Swinging arms, they head towards a rollercoaster.

Your hair had puffed up from the humidity and it gave you a wild look that drove Kelvin crazy. Anything about you from the beauty mark on your face to the snorting laughs you do made him like you more and more.

“You still look sexy as fuck with messy hair.”

You tucked your chin bashfully, "Thank you handsome."

Kelvin tugged you closer to him, wrapping a hand around your waist. His hand rubbed against your hip and if it wasn't for being in public, Kelvin would have slipped a hand beneath your dress to see if you had any underwear on.

"If you wanna touch my ass, just do it."

You were being bold. Kelvin looked at you before using the hand on your hip to lift the back of your shirt. You laugh as his fingers grip juicy flesh before slapping it a few times.

"Double-cheeked up for real." Kelvin said between laughs.

You both were able to get on and after securing the seatbelts, the operator gave everyone a thumbs up and the cart took off.

The ride began to ascend.

“I always scream on roller coasters even when I love them.”

“It’s cool,” Kelvin's hands gripped the bar.

“We’re almost there,” Kelvin speaks in a soft tone, making you crave him more. Your eyes locked and right before you went down, you put your arms up. You gasped softly, hands coming out in front of you to firmly grasp the bars before the feeling of falling overcame your body.

Kelvin laughed and hollered while everyone else around him screamed through the thrill. Your hair whipped across your face with every turn, Kelvin watching you with a big handsome smile. Another drop came, causing you to squeal a little while your body leaned into him. Kelvin never felt this charged in his life. Your laughs and gasps of pleasure against his neck. Kelvin turns his head, your good smelling hair in his face while your lips connected.

The ride began to slow down and your thighs tightening around Kelvin's hand that came down to grip your thigh. Kelvin reluctantly pulls his hand away, causing you to whimper. He licks his lips clean of your gloss before helping you out of the cart and adjusting your dress. long curly hair all over your head, you looked adorable and freshly fucked. Kelvin smooths your hair out of your face before giving you another kiss.

As both of you walked past a few games, Kelvin pointed out a game booth with bottles and bean bags to knock them down. It was only necessary to win you a stuffed animal. It's sort of a ritual for carnival dates. Kelvin pulled you along, a short, brown-skinned girl with shoulder length locs waving both of you over.

“Knock these bottles down to win a big stuffed animal!”

Kelvin accepted his bean bags, rolling up the sleeves to his hoodie before looking down at you with a wink. You gave Kelvin a hug around his waist before leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"Win me a big Yoshi and I'm all yours..."

How was Kelvin supposed to concentrate now after those seductive words. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and his dick ached with anticipation.

"You ready?!" The girl that hosted to gaming booth shouted.

“Yeah!”

Kelvin tosses the first bean bag, missing the bottles entirely “Hold on, hold on! that was a trial.”

“Kelvin, there ain't no trials!” You yell with a giggle while watching him make another toss “Kel! aim!”

“If you don't hush!" Kelvin tossed the third bean bag higher, knocking down the top bottle, "SEE! now what?!"

“Still got five more left.” You said.

Kelvin tosses another bean bag, the Game Worker unimpressed with his skills since most people miss. He pauses, looking down at you with his brown eyes that made her melt, “Can I still have all of you? I give good kisses.”

You blush with a bite of your lower lip, “If you win me that Yoshi I’ll give you a secret kiss in the tunnel of love.”

“How about a secret touch too? Can a nigga get that?”

You rolls your eyes with a pretty smile, “Depends on what this touch is.”

“Hmmm,” Kelvin squints his eyes with a dimpled smile, “You just gotta wait and see what these hands can do. They had you squirming with just a cuff of that ass.”

“Stopppp,” you whisper.

Kelvin prayed over the last bean bag before tossing it, knocking down the rest. He was more excited than you with his jumping and cheering. You gave him a high five with a big smile.

“Wow!” The Game Worker who’s name tag read Kim claps, "Guess that Yoshi is all yours!"

“YAY!” You spoke excitedly while watching Kelvin accept a pink Yoshi.

You continue to squeal, jumping up and down before giving Kelvin a one arm hug.

"Uh-uh. Where's my kiss?"

You shook your head with a giggle, bringing one hand around to the back of Kelvin's neck, bringing him closer. Kelvin shut his eyes and grunted when his lips finally touched yours. Soft. Sugary. Skillful. Kelvin almost dropped the Yoshi when you'd slipped him some tongue. Things were turning up the more you kissed. You finally pushed at Kelvin's chest to stop him from sucking on your neck openly.

You licked your lips, "Okay, Cassonova. calm down."

"Seriously? Seriously? after you just kissed me like that?"

You turned your back towards him, Kelvin stretched his arms out with an astonished expression.

"You play too much!" Kelvin said.

"Look who's talking!" You replied.

The remainder of your time at the fair, you ate junk, took pics in a photobooth, rode the ferris wheel, bumper cars, and even tried the tunnel of love even though it broke down on them halfway through.

——

“Kelvin. What is it with you and this art?”

You pace his living room, blunt in hand and eyes taking in the symbolic photographs in a collage on his wall.

Kelvin slid over to you on his hardwood floor and you laugh at his silliness.

“I am OBSESSED with it…the female body is art.”

He put on a poetic voice, whispering in your ear.

“Oh, but the pussy is brave…lest we forget…how much pain the pussy can take…how much pleasure it delivers,” he laughed softly in your ear while you giggled, “Unto itself and others. Remember how it spit you out without a flinch. Now here you are! Using the word pussy like an insult when you’re not even strong enough to be one.”

“WOW,” you turn to look him directly in the eye, “That was impressive.”

“Rupi Kaur.” Kelvin shrugged.

He took the blunt from your hand and put it between his lips, eyes still staring you down hungrily.

“I had a great time today. Thanks for making it happen. You could have asked out any other girl and you chose me. Your chaotic neighbor.”

“I love chaotic. It’s my specialty,” Kelvin replied with a smile, “On a serious note, yeah…I could if I wanted…but I like you. I like everything about you. And I want you. We wouldn’t be here…surrounded by my art and sharing a blunt…and I’m sure arousal…if I didn’t.”

Kelvin placed the blunt between your lips and as you smoke, he played with your ass.

His voice was all raspy and dangerous, “I wanna play.”

“Play how?” You tugged at his gold chain.

Kelvin started kissing along your neck, causing you to flinch from how it tickled.

“STAWWWWP!”

“I like the way you sound when you giggle and tell me to stop,” Kelvin picked you up, your legs straddling him, a streak escaping your mouth.

You’re just so...soft. So soft to him.

“How many licks…until I get…”

Before you know it, you’re in his bedroom. How many licks? Kelvin placed you on his bed while he takes off his hoodie. You instantly feel your clit jump.

“I like the sound of this game.” You finally said.

“I bet you do. And I’m high too. My favorite thing to snack on when I have the munchies.”

Fuck.

You don’t waste time taking off your flannel shirt, tossing it on the floor. You already have your shoes off. Kelvin watched you lay back against his bed with that dress on and a hand between your legs with your knees drawn to your chest. He arched a brow at you.

“No panties?! What a nasty girl!” Kelvin said.

“Figured I’d make it easy for you.”

“Oh, so you just knew what was going to happen, huh?”

Kelvin took off his tank top, shirtless with a six pack. Your eyes swept over his frame with a nibble of your bottom lip. He settled at the foot of the bed, staring down between your legs with his tongue slowly swiping his top lip.

“Move your hand.” Kelvin commanded.

“Gotta say the magic words first!”

“Open sesame!”

Kelvin waved his hands in front of his like he was conjuring magic. You roll over onto your side in a fit of laughter.

“Aight, spread your legs, Y/N! I’m drooling!” Kelvin begged.

“You want it that bad, huh?”

You open your legs side to side but your hand remained over your pussy. Kelvin sucked his teeth and then he crawled onto the bed.

“So, I gotta move your hand myself? I wanna see it,” Kelvin reached for your hand but you scoot towards the head of his bed, “Y/N! I’m tryna eat!”

“Kelvin! Ah!”

Kelvin wrestled with you, both of you rolling around on his bed. You were on top of him, hands together as you try to overpower him. Kelvin let go of your hands and quickly lifted your dress, peeking under and you try to climb off of him but he successfully flipped you onto your back.

“As much as I love to reenact WWE, I need my entire mouth on your pussy…respectfully…now.”

Your chest heaved up and down and your nipples instantly stiffen from his words. Mingled breaths and locked eyes. Kelvin stared at your lips.

“Please?” He lowered his face and started kissing along your jaw, “I wanna make you feel good, baby…”

You scrunch your brows and moan.

“Okay. Be my munch.” You say barely above a whisper.

Kelvin chuckled.

“Gladly.”

You both stare at each other for a while until Kelvin’s hand lifts your dress around your waist. You follow his gaze between your legs. He pushed your thighs so that your knees touched your chest.

“Ugh, fuck, you got the pinkest, wettest pussy I’ve had the pleasure of staring at.”

Your lower lip quivered.

His lips gave you open mouthed kisses on your phat pussy lips and inward. Any part of you his lips would wrap around and lightly suck. You watch him keep your legs open with his hands and the sight of his fine ass with that pink tongue and those pink lips eating you up had you eager to cum in his mouth.

“Yes, mmm, eat that phat pussy, yes, baby,” You encourage Kelvin to go harder. Kelvin scrunched his brows, eyes closed as he licked your juicy slit in long strokes. Deep pressured strokes. He had that pussy wide open while giving you everything you deserved. You started rocking your hips, feeding that tongue, moving your hips in tune with his licks. 

“Kelvin, oh my gosh,” You place a hand on top of his waves, “Yes…mmm…I love those lips.”

Kelvin smiled and used those lips to suck on your clit. You throw your head back from the sensation, the blunt sat discarded on a table, no longer needed. You sat up on your elbows when he added two fingers. This man could finger pussy too? You were unable to control your moans. He would look up at you with a smug expression and a mouth full of pussy.

This was the hardest your clit has ever been from head. This was the most turned on and wet you’d ever been from head. You push at Kelvin’s forehead and he grabbed your wrist. His lips and his tongue was sending you into bliss and you could feel yourself preparing to cum.

“Mm, mm, keep still,” Kelvin stroked your spot and he looked at your with low eyes, “What I tell you to do?”

“It feels so good,” You reply with a weak voice, thighs shaking.

“Then why stop me if it feels good. Punk ass.”

“SHUT UP!”

Kelvin’s lips were back on your clit. You couldn’t close your legs because he had you pined to the bed. Whenever your hips moved side to side, he followed you. Nowhere to run.

“What was all that shit you were talking?!”

Kelvin smiled at you when you tried to move again. He simply flicked your clit with the tip of his tongue. Side to side. Up and down. In a circle. In your hole. Your eyes crossed.

“Fucccck!”

His loud eating had your pussy making noise. Wet, raunchy noises. Kelvin suckled your clit again while curling his fingers over your spot.

“This my pussy? Say it.”

He paused, staring at you.

“Say it’s my pussy.”

You were in a daze. And it wasn’t the weed.

“It’s yours, Kelvin!”

“Good girl.”

You could feel your release coming. The closer it got the more Kelvin sucked on your pussy. He gently tugged on your clit with his lips before sucking it into his mouth like he was slurping oysters out a shell. Your eyes rolled and your hands reached out to grab onto the sheets. Kelvin gave you his hands to hold. You let out the most angelic moan with your head turning from side to side. You came all in Kelvin’s mouth. He mumbled something into your pussy while slapping your phat ass. Kelvin lifted his face from between your pussy lips, licking his lips while his brown eyes connected with yours.

“I’m not finished.”

Kelvin had you on all fours.

He was eating both holes from the back.

You were dripping to the sheets.

That clit didn’t stand a chance.

That pussy continues to cream all in his mouth. Your dress and bra were somewhere in the room. You couldn’t keep track. Words were lost to you and all you could do was drool against his pillow.

“Ima cum in your mouth again!”

Kelvin gripped your ass cheeks as his tongue darted in and out of your pussy from the back. The sound of his tongue had you moaning.

“Eat that shit! Fuck!”

The sucking. He probably had cum dripping from his chin at this point. Orgasm rocked your body so hard you fall to your stomach. Kelvin slapped your ass and with a laugh he settled next to you with a content smile and a glossy face. He rested his hands behind his head and looked up at the ceiling. You just stared at him like he was the Devil.

“What I tell you?”

Kelvin turned to look at you.

“You think you can handle more?”

You could only blink at him. This man can’t be real.

“I don’t get tired, Y/N. Hm,” kelvin turned onto his side and ran his fingers down your spine and over your ass, “Wanna sit on my face?”

It was as if his words had some sort of power over you. You wanted more. NEEEDED MORE.

You sit up and Kelvin gave you a smile before helping you to sit reverse cowgirl on his face.

“Ride my tongue…do it.”

You brace yourself on his thighs and whine your hips. His tongue and lips savored your sopping wet folds.

“Right there, daddy…”

Kelvin reached around your body to pinch your nipples. You whirl your hips when his lips found your clit again.

“Stay on it…mmm…stay on that clit…”

You bit your lip, a confidence flaring up within you.

Kelvin ate to his hearts desire and you couldn’t get enough of it. Your eyes fall to his crotch, a heavy bulge right there in his briefs. You take your hand and stroke him, that dick jerking against your palm. While he ate your pussy for the third time, you freed his dick and when that warm girth touched the flesh of your hand, you whimpered.

Eight inches. Smooth. Brown. Pink tip.

You stroke him, pre cum spilling over your fingers. His balls are so big. You cup them and roll them in one hand while stroking him in your other hand. Kelvin moaned into your pussy, thigh muscles tightening.

“Such a pretty dick, Kelvin…”

You lean forward a little, spitting on his tip. Kelvin tongued you down from clit to hole and you twist your wrist to stroke him while riding out your orgasm. You could feel yourself coming in his mouth.

“I want this dick in me.”

Arching your back, you wrap your lips around his tip and start sucking. Kelvin’s hips jerked out of control.

“Fuck, Y/N. Suck that dick.”

He could see you from his angle, bobbing your head with his dick hitting the back of your throat.

“Mmm, I knew that mouth was made for dick.”

You had his balls while you throated him.

“Dick taste good, don’t it?”

You were loving his dirty talk. It did taste good. You knew it would.

“I made myself cum earlier thinking about you, Y/N…I couldn’t help myself…I think about you so much…how you would look riding my dick…how deep I can fuck you…”

His dick in your mouth, his balls in your hand, your cum on his lips. All of it had you ready to fuck this man into oblivion. Ride him like you were throwing ass to a bounce beat. He was so fine and so deserving of the pussy. He makes you laugh, he’s a gentleman, he’s a certified munch. Boy were you lucky.

Kelvin stared at your pussy and rubbed it from behind.

“Squeeze my nuts…mmm…suck that tip, baby…Y/N…I’m a cum…you want me to cum so bad, huh…shit…”

Kelvin sank two fingers deep inside of you and his dick swelled to the point of making your jaws sore. He let off a big nut in your mouth and you gulped it down like a good cum, guzzling slut.

Kelvin twitched while you sucked down as much nut as you could. His fingers slipped out of you and you finally release his dick. You turn to look at him, and before you know it, Kelvin is sucking on his fingers and then bringing you to the bed to kiss you. He’s on top of you with his tongue in your mouth and his dick flesh against your pussy lips.

Breaking the kiss, Kelvin locked eyes with you.

“I wanna fuck you now.” He whispered.

@theereina @bombshellbre95 @planetblaque @trippyscotch @megamindsecretlair @uzumaki-rebellion @thesweetestdrug @theblulife @hotgrlcece @blackerthings @deja-r @hearteyes-for-killmonger @kaylabuggggg06 @skyesthebomb @blyffe @gwenda-fav @beenathembo @blackpinup22 @novaniskye @melaninhawtie @urfavblackbimbo @avoidthings @rose-bliss @xo-goldengirl @kinginwithbreezy-blog @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @sirenmouths @creartivefairy @soulfulbeauty19 @therealmrsrhodes @hrlzy @nayaesworld @gg-trini @brattyfics @flydotty @writingsbytee @shiania @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @kismet83 @aristasworld @sl33p-deprived-princess @erynnnn @itssbrie @melaninangel @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @sweettea-and-honeybutter @dashhoney25

[craftingbeauty]

Elevate Luxury Branding with High-End Packaging Design

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Beauty Product Manufacturing Crafting Beauty offers full-spectrum beauty product manufacturing services for skincare, body care, and haircare lines. With in-house R&D labs and regulatory expertise, they help brands create clean, effective formulas using high-performance ingredients. Whether launching a serum or a full range, clients benefit from turnkey support and flawless execution.

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[mellific]

Towards the end of last year/beginning of this year, a few friends and I did a little collab project: each person put together a small themed playlist then designed an accordion zine with one page for each song. The final "book" was a collection of zines packaged inside a clear cassette box.

It honestly came out AMAZING. There's a huge range of styles & they look so good as a set, I cannot emphasize enough how much everyone crushed it.

This is just a brief documentation post since it's an extremely high effort, limited edition project that only exists in physical form -- a concept I've been generally enamored by (as seen in the log zines, which I'm hoping to write up next).

Everyone got a copy of each zine so we ended up printing, folding, and assembling 255 accordion zines (a hands on lesson in exponential growth for me specifically), and then I designed a little bit of packaging for the boxes. Shoutout specifically to the MTG Cube Draft guys also looking for "cassette boxes with no pegs in them" for solving a super foreseeable packaging problem (cassettes have holes in them but paper zines/MTG cards do Not) that I did not foresee.

Some final detail shots, and then slkdfjsksf I put an edition number on the inside of each label as well, to give it that Art Book street cred:

Extremely fun! Cannot recommend enough grabbing some pals for a group art project!

[mortalityplays]

Forgive me if I'm mistaking you for another person, but I remember you speaking at multiple points on the unsustainability of free social media services (I think especially in response to the cohost collapse?), and I'm curious on what your thoughts on bluesky are so far. I'm not an expert on the subject, but from what I've read previously it seemed like they were on track to be financially sustainable, but I don't know if the recent floods of users has thrown those projections off. Sorry if I'm mixing you up with someone else on my timeline, in that case just ignore me.

bluesky will almost certainly follow the same trajectory of monetisation => bloat => enshittification => decline as every other major platform built on venture capital and user hoarding. it's a terrible model that only works in the short term as a mirage for attracting funding and making founders look good for a year or two before they sell.

you can see the same effect in the decline of all the subscription box services that came into vogue just before covid: they feel great to use for as long as the initial injection of venture funding lasts, because the purpose of that funding at that stage is to attract users and impress the next round of funders with how pleasant/intuitive/efficient/ethical/good value the service is. that's the stage where they're handing out freebies and bowling over influencers, and every ingredient in the box is fresh and high quality and locally sourced. wow what a good deal, what a great system!!! why hasn't anyone done this before? the answer is because it's unsustainable by design. they rack up good reviews, sign on a billion new users, attract new funding from a bunch of much more credulous investors, and then gut all of the expensive parts. portions get smaller, ingredients get worse, packaging gets flimsier, prices go up, freebies turn into "5% off your first 9 boxes when you invite 3 friends", and customer service vanishes.

with social media (and platforms like discord) the logic is the same, it's just a little less glaringly obvious to the end user because they're not coming home to leaking packages of rancid chicken on the doorstep. bluesky has an advantage over tiny operations like cohost because it was founded by a billionaire making a point for the sake of his own image. it got a really significant chunk of startup funding, and the owner had existing connections and rep in the space to attract more. That's why it has survived the goldrush period, why it still feels good to use, and why users who have been burned so many times before are finally accepting it as a stable, reliable option. It's still in its venture capital honeymoon phase where the only thing worth spending money on is making the service attractive to users.

What I expect we will see next, with another mass influx of users from twitter and new funding from a rogue's gallery of tech venture sickos led by Blockchain Capital is a strong ramp up into monetising that userbase. They've already been pretty forthright about how they plan to do this, and I think it's a solid roadmap of how Bluesky will bloat and decay over the next few years:

this is a huge lol. don't worry, we're not going to hyperfinancialize the social experience through NFTs. the thing even crypto freaks started feigning amnesia about a year ago. real "our health conscious sodas are 100% arsenic free" messaging here. They know perfectly well that rubes users are suspicious of their typical 5 dimensional tech finance chess games and are patting our hands about last week's bogeymen so nobody worries too hard about whatever 'decentralised developer ecosystem' just happens to be helmed by a bunch of crypto guys. this definitely means something good and based and not a google-like single sign on user data harvesting operation.

This is the same shit that's currently rotting the floorboards of discord. Bluntly, there is no way to run a platform on this scale without gating functionality behind paid services. Discord has been squeezing free-tier file uploads and call quality etc. down steadily and cranking up subscription costs over the last year or two, throwing in chaff like animated avatar frames to try and justify the user cost. They're also doing the same misdirection thing again here, pointing to Thing We All Hate to deflect from thing we might not like very much when they do it. Booo elon booo we all hate elon!!! wait how do we feel about subscription models again,

watch out for this to kill porn on bsky like it has killed porn on every other social platform 👍 boooo we hate elon boooo stupid idiot and his 'everything app' booooo wait why do you need my tax information, what's that about mastercard,

Look, we are all aware social media is a money pit. Let's not forget dorsey was looking to sell twitter in the first place, long before elon's very public plunge into total online derangement. Subscription services are not going to plug the hole, so we are gradually going to see more and more spaghetti thrown at the wall while early funders shuffle cards and do their pyramid scheme bit bringing in stupider and stupider investments. this is the window in which bluesky will be temporarily worth using for us, for the idiot public, the poorly rendered crowd jpegs in the background of their venture capital MOBA. it's in their interests to slow and pad the decline as much as possible, because that is how they get maximally paid.

Given the scale of the money involved, and dorsey's weird ego investment, I think bluesky will probably manage a controlled drift for a good few years before it gets really bloated and painful. and by then we will all be so used to the *checks notes* decentralised developer ecosystem that we'll just be posting through it, watching another generation of columnists call another collapsing platform 'their beloved hellsite' and passing around that meme about not getting out of our chairs no sir until idk we all get on a fediverse neurolink alternative to stick it to the elongated muskrat and our brains pop peacefully in our sleep. which I guess is the closest thing to viability any social media platform can achieve.

anyway diogenes the cynic is also on bluesky

[darlingghoulette]

walked in and dream-came-trued it for ya'

Summary: You come across a fun surprise on a supply run and decisions are made to “spice things up” in the bedroom for you and Joel. You fuck about it. That’s the fic. Rated E.

Content tags: crack treated seriously for porny reasons, established relationship, Jackson!Joel, afab!reader, reader has a vagina, no other physical descriptions of reader, no use of y/n, brief discussion of body insecurity, pussy play, pussy pronouns, finger sucking, oral, unprotected p in v, Joel talks you through it because of course he does, excessive use of contractions because Joel is Southern and so am I, ambiguous reader age–she was alive before Outbreak Day so you can do the math however you’d like. I’d still say she’s younger than Joel because the demons in my soul command me to write Older Man Smut. 

Author’s note: this started as a conversation about having a majestic bush in the apocalypse and spiraled into an excuse to write smut. While this is hot, I 100% believe that Joel would want his girl all natural as the good lord intended, but hey, pussy is pussy. Just wanna say: your body is your own, fuck patriarchal standards for body hair. This is just for a lil fun. 

Read on AO3

It starts as a joke. 

You’re clearing an old beauty store on patrol, some old chain business that used to peddle expensive makeup and a million different types of skin care that all essentially do the same thing. It’s not the normal kind of place to look for supplies, but if there was anything you’d learned living through the apocalypse, it was to be resourceful. 

You and Maria had already found a decent haul. Shampoo, acetone, disposable applicators that could be used at the clinic. And no infected growing into the walls to be seen. So far, at least.

All in all, the mood was pretty high. Maria doesn’t patrol much, especially after having the baby, and a calm, successful trip outside of the walls was a welcome one. She’s not technically your sister-in-law, seeing as you and Joel aren’t married, but she’s the closest thing you’ve had to a best friend and sister since the end of the world. 

You’re trading lighthearted conversation as you browse the aisles, nearly ready to call it a day when you see it. 

A medium sized box, dented and dusty. One of those wax melting kits, a little pot with tiny beads of brightly colored wax pellets. You’re already kneeling down to see if all the pieces are still intact when Maria ducks around the corner. 

“All set?” she asks, shooting you an amused look while you dig excitedly into the box. 

“How long has it been since you’ve seen one of these?” 

The packaging has certainly seen better days, and the wax beads aren’t nearly as vibrant as they probably once were, but surely wax doesn’t go bad, right? For her part, Maria is regarding the contents warily. 

“Can’t say I’ve had the time to get a wax in the past, hm, twenty years or so. So, probably about that long.” 

It’s almost strange to think about how little things like body hair used to be a huge deal Before. You can remember the first time in middle school you felt embarrassed about how all your friends shaved their legs and you weren’t allowed to. Before you even realized it was just a commonly accepted societal norm and not worth the huge drag out with your mom who had bigger things on her plate than her kid’s race to puberty. 

Stupid shit like that stopped being important…well, ever, if you think about it, society’s expectations were bullshit and patriarchal by design–but especially after the world ended. 

“We should try it.” you joke, even though something about the idea is actually tempting. 

“I’m alright, thanks.” 

“Come on,” You’re already imagining wrangling it into your saddlebags. “It could be fun! The guys are out helping with the dam maintenance until tomorrow, we could have a girls night! Movies, wine, torture for the sake of beauty. The full ritual, you know?” 

“I’m with you for the rest of it, but I’ve made peace with my legs how they are.” You hadn’t necessarily had your legs in mind. 

Maria, genius that she is, correctly interprets the wicked grin curling your lips up slowly without you even having to say anything.

She snorts, amused, but in a way that’s absolutely laughing at you instead of with you. She’s good at that. “No.” 

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” you defend, but she’s already shaking her head. 

“I’m not taking you to the clinic after you rip off something important giving yourself a Brazilian with a 20 year old kit.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes at her. “Now who’s being dramatic? It’s not a rusty razor blade. It’s wax, Maria. I’ve just…you know. Never done that, even Before. And I’m sure it would be even safer with more hands helping…” 

“Ask someone else then.” 

“Like who? You’re the only person I’d trust. And really the only person I have besides the 15 year old whose dad I’m currently seeing, and we just got her to the point of somewhat tolerating our relationship, I’d really rather not jeopardize that.” 

The image of what a disaster that would be makes you both laugh, but there’s enough truth in the statement that you feel a twist of embarrassment at even the thought. Absolutely not.

“Besides,” you say, faux-innocence dripping from your tone. “Might be a fun surprise for Tommy. Spice things up after the baby?” 

The look Maria directs at you is flat and unimpressed, but you can tell she’s not actually annoyed. In fact, there’s a glimmer of something sharp in her eye that tells you she might actually be entertaining the idea. “We don’t need things spiced up, we’re doing just fine, thank you.”

Your nose wrinkles a little at that, you may have brought it up first, but that’s your not-brother-in-law she’s talking about fucking–

“But,” she continues on before your face interrupts her anymore. For a few beats, anticipation hangs heavy between you in the dilapidated store.

“But?” 

The pursed seal of her lips eases into a grin, mischievous and matching your own. 

“But it might be fun to see the stuck dumb look on his face if I sprung this on him.” 

You let out a sharp bark of laughter, imagining your own Miller with a similar reaction. Yeah, this thing is definitely coming home with you. Just in case, you know? 

*****

For the millionth time in the last hour, you shift awkwardly on the couch. 

It’s the next day after your patrol shift with Maria. The ensuing girls night you’d had turned into more of a get tipsy on the Bison’s good whiskey and goof the hell off night. It was good to see your friend so relaxed, you thought, she stayed so busy and stressed keeping the town safe and secure. A rare cutting loose was called for.. 

It just so happened that the liquor in your system also made the mysterious box you smuggled from the supply run a whole lot more appealing. 

It was a whole ordeal, including cursing, awkward stops and starts, and more drinks than was probably smart for people your age. Thankfully, Maria was more familiar with the whole process and did most of the legwork. Not the most comfortable or glamorous passtime, and you got to know each other in ways that you certainly hadn’t expected, but the results at the end…

You cross your legs again, the sensation of your clothes on bare skin is novel when you change positions. It was stupid, and way more painful than you’d expected. Something fueled by drunk decisions and committing to the bit for laughs, but you can’t deny…it feels kind of nice? Different. But nice. 

Still, in the light of day, a new anxiety is popping out after your rash choice to go all beauty-school dropout.

The sun has sunk deep into the mountains, throwing those picturesque oranges and pinks across the Wyoming sky. 

Joel’s due home from his overnight trip to the dam any time now. 

Leftovers you’d snagged from the dining hall are keeping warm for him in the oven. There were no dishes to wash since you’d chosen to spare him the fate of choking down something you’d thrown together. (And he would have, the kind hearted fool. You’re not the best cook, but he insists on eating whatever you make while you attempt to learn.) 

The book you’re reading hasn’t progressed a single page, you keep picking it up and putting it down without retaining anything, your mind too caught up in its spiral.

What if he hates it? 

Of course, it’s a stupid thought. You know he’s not the kind of person who would judge you for something small like this. Sure, it’s not how he’s seen you since you both got together. But some guys go crazy for this, right? It used to be the preferred style for some people, back in the day. Even if it’s not his, it’s just fucking hair. It’ll grow back. He’s told you over and over that he’d love you no matter how you looked, and more than that his actions speak for himself. He’s literally seen you crouched over a toilet and ralphing your guts out. He’s seen you at every worst you’ve had in the last five years and is still there. In comparison, this is such a laughable insecurity. 

What if he thinks exactly that, though? It’s not a dealbreaker, but what if he laughs at you, what if he thinks it’s stupid and childish and you’re trying too hard, what if he hates it, or what if–

The sound of the front door opening interrupts your–admittedly silly–crashout. 

“Baby?” he calls out from where you can hear him shucking off his work boots, starting the familiar routine of sloughing off the outside world for the comforts of home. 

“Living room!”

Before you can quite go back to riling yourself up, he’s behind you, curling down over the back of the couch to kiss you hello on the slope of your neck. Your head leans backwards, craning up at him above you.  

His presence is like a balm, you can feel the smile growing on your lips while you take in the soft look he’s gifting you in return. 

He’s ruffled, hair a mess from the blowing wind outside; the scent of horse and woodsmoke and sweat rolling off of him. It never fails that fresh-off-work Joel just drives you absolutely up a wall. There’s something so masculine and protective and natural about him when he comes home like this that makes you want to just jump his bones as soon as he walks in the door some days. 

Today’s no different. 

“Have a good weekend, darlin’?” He’s leaned down further now, grunting just a little at the probable murder its doing on his back, to kiss you on the forehead. It makes you huff a soft breath of a laugh out of your nose.

“Better now, but yeah, it was pretty good. Dinner’s in the oven.” you hum, watching him straighten back up and start shedding his coat. “If you wanna take a shower first, I’ll get you a plate.” 

He kisses you again in thanks, a soft peck to your temple, a large palm coming to cradle your jaw briefly to press you into the contact. It’s intimate despite being so tame, a gesture that makes something deep in your bones melt better than any on-TV passionate romcom kiss ever could. This is real and warm, and makes you feel incredibly silly recalling your anxiety from just a couple minutes ago. 

*****

It’s only after you’re both set up at the kitchen table that the anxiety and anticipation begins to creep back in, Joel fresh from his shower in sweatpants, you with your feet propped in his lap with a cup of tea while he eats his late dinner. 

He’s telling you about the maintenance at the dam, how the group of workers had a disagreement on how to set up the factory to better prepare for the Spring storms that’ll move through soon. And you’re listening, really, you are. Nodding along when it’s needed, adding commentary when the conversation lulls. It’s just…

You can’t help shifting in your seat occasionally, or shooting him quick glances, wondering about his reaction. It’s getting you all twisted up again, and you’re trying to decide when will be the best time to bring it up. You’re nearly bursting with it, ready to pop and just get it over with already and–

“Alright,” Joel sets down his fork. “What’d she do?” 

You blink, brought short by the sudden change in conversation. “Huh?” 

“What’d she do?” 

“I’m not following.” 

Joel looks at you, a deadpan expression on his face, one brow raised and–Oh, no, that’s his dad detective face. 

“You’re over there squirmin’ like a sinner in church and you can barely meet my eye. If it was something you did, you’d have broken by now because you can’t keep a secret for shit. Which brings me to thinkin’ Ellie pulled some kinda fool stunt and you’re trying like hell to cover for her.” he says, the corner of his mouth pulling up into an amused and exasperated expression. “I went by the garage first thing when I got back into town and didn’t notice anything, but she’s gettin’ better at being a normal sneaky teenager. So, what’d I miss?” 

You can’t help it, that breaks you. You laugh, spine uncurling from its ramrod position. He always finds a way to break you out of your spiral. Even if he’s a little off the money, there’s something about the fact that he’s so attentive to your moods that releases the balloon of tension that’d been growing in your chest for most of the day.

During your giggle fit, Joel just smiles at you, pleased to have unfurled the little wrinkle you get between your brows when you’re really stewing on something. The meal mostly done and forgotten, his hands move to massage your socked feet in his lap, tugging playfully.

“Nothing happened, but it’s cute how you think you could get me to snitch on her,” You snicker, kicking one foot out to gently bump into his stomach. “She knows where I sleep and I’m more scared of her than I am of you.” 

He laughs, mumbling a that’s probably smart under his breath before trying to weasel more answers out of you.

“Alright, if it ain’t that, then what is it?” 

“I have no idea what you mean,” you sniff. 

“Baby.” 

His tone is low and coaxing, only meant to prompt the issue out of you, but it has the effect of kindling embers in your stomach. He sits there with his broad shoulders and tousled curls fresh from the shower, hands doing magic on the muscles of your feet, oblivious for all the world that he’s just about the most attractive image of a man you’ve ever seen in your life. 

You sink a little further into your chair, using the foot that’s not currently in his grasp to rub along his thigh. Something in his eyes immediately darkens. 

“It’s a surprise.” 

Taking the opportunity where it’s given, his hand slips further up your calf, fingers just barely brushing the tender skin at the crook of your knee, fully exposed for him in the pajama shorts you’re sporting. 

“Don’t gotta surprise me, don’t need nothin’. Got everything I want right here.” 

You grin. “What if I’m part of the surprise?” 

He was already looking at you before, but the way his eyes rake over you now? It’s heavy, taking you in like the only water in a desert. As much as his gaze feels like a physical thing, you’d much prefer his hands. It’s that want that has you lining up the final shot. 

“I mean, unless you’re too tired from your trip. That would be fine, honest, it can wait until–” 

You’re cut off with a delighted shriek when he stands and snatches you up from your chair, leftovers forgotten on the table as a problem for tomorrow. 

Head still spinning from the rapid change in scenery, it takes you a second to recognize that he’s headed straight upstairs. He’s on a singular mission, as made clear by the clever hand on your ass that’s not just to keep you supported in his arms. 

Joel may be older than you, but goddamn, you always forget how fucking strong he is. 

The buttons of his flannel are irritatingly done up and your fingers are trying to get the stubborn bastard things open when he makes it to your bedroom and drops you to the mattress with a squeak. You barely have time to get your bearings back from the impact before he’s pressing down on top of you. 

“Missed you so much last night,” he offers, already pressing hot kisses to your neck, your collarbone, pulling at the stretched neckline of a shirt that’s his anyway. 

You nod rapidly in agreement, nerves fizzling with electricity before he even touches you. It’s always been like this. The easy, syrupy intimacy of everyday life that can snap on a dime, dropping you both into urgency and need like you’ve never felt before. And, indeed, you need him to fuck you already before you go out of your mind. 

In a dance that’s as instinctual as breathing, your legs wrap around him. Your hips undulate up into his so you can feel where he’s hard and just as desperate.

Joel pulls back to hover above you. One hand palmed around the back of your neck, tilting you to look up at him. Guiding you where he wants you. “What do you need, baby?”

You lick your bottom lip, brain catching up to his words. His eyes dart down to your mouth. 

“I-I want–” you start, breathlessly, but he cuts you off with a click of his tongue. 

“Don’t think I asked what you wanted, sweet girl,” he hums, thumb resting on your chin and pulling it down. Gentle pressure, you could absolutely break away if you wanted to, but you follow his lead, sucking the appendage into your mouth. “Asked what you needed.”

You try to get the word “you” out around your mouthful, and you must do a good enough job that it earns you a kiss to the forehead, a move that might feel out of place to anyone else, but it’s so protective and possessive and him it makes you want to fucking writhe to release the pressure between your legs. 

The slick sound of his thumb when he pulls it from you draws a sharp whine from your chest and he shushes you, hands dragging down and down and down your sides, coming to rest on your hips. Something about that wriggles in the back of your head, like there was something you were supposed to be doing here, but you’re way too caught up to remember.

“It’s alright. I gotcha, baby,” Joel says, heated and soft in his low drawl, and then he’s sliding your shorts down your hips. Hands sure and practiced, expert at playing you like a goddamn fiddle. Lips laying scalding, sucking kisses from the crook of your knee to the inside of your thigh as he eases your legs open and–

Stops. 

It takes a couple of seconds for you to realize that he’s not just pausing for anticipation. He’s full on halted down there, one of your legs still hiked up in his palm, staring down at you like…Well. 

You think the term Maria used was struck dumb.

You bite your lip to keep the laughter contained. It’s not very successful, because his eyes snap back up to your face after a snort sneaks out against your will. 

There are lots of sexier ways you could play this, probably, but you settle on grinning up at him. 

“Surprise?” 

The sound he lets out is more of a sharp exhalation of breath than anything, like it was kicked out of him. You think you hear a goddamn tacked on the end there, but it’s quiet.

“What prompted this?” he asks when his words find him again, eyes dropped back down to take in the sight. 

“Felt like a change,” you mumble, losing some of your previous steam. You can give him the whole story later, but despite being used to him seeing you all kinds of ways, something about direct eye contact with your pussy makes you wriggle uncomfortably. 

“You, uh. You like it?” You’re starting to feel that anxiety creep back in, especially since he hasn’t confirmed or denied, or said much of fucking anything to give you a clue yet.  

Something in your tone must give that away, because you can almost see him mentally shake himself–systems coming back online, you think to yourself. The next time his eyes catch yours, it makes your stomach go molten. 

“Like it?” he echoes. His fingers have started exploring, petting down your soft skin. Even just the gentlest touch is like a livewire, makes your entire body clench, and he huffs out a soft laugh. “More’n like it, you are…Christ.” 

He’s lowered your knee over his shoulder now, using both hands to make you lightheaded without actually touching where you want him.

“She’s so pretty, baby,” he coos at you, making you moan even louder when he caresses the tender skin on either side of your cunt. “You make her all pretty just for me?” 

You nod, words a knot in your throat. 

“She’s always pretty, though.” You can feel the hot breath closer now, mouth hovering just above where your nerves are on fire. The sensation has your hand snapping down and threading into his hair with a keening whine. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, an’ all mine.” 

And then he’s eating at you like a man starved. 

He’s always been enthusiastic when it comes to your pleasure, but like this everything feels heightened, sensitive beyond measure. His nose bumps your clit and your vision whites out.. 

His tongue is not just bullying inside you every few strokes, it’s licking at the soft, smooth skin wherever he can touch. He sets his teeth to gently drag across one of your folds and it sends you nearly howling with it, the pressure in your core ratcheting up so high that you feel yourself hurtling to the edge impossibly fast. Joel knows it, too. He knows your body better than anything else on earth. 

“That’s it,” When he pulls back, it’s only with scant inches between you still, dipping back in to lay kiss after kiss on your heated flesh between words, like he can’t stand to pull himself away. Two of his fingers take the place of his tongue, crooking up inside you exactly where he knows drives you crazy and thrusting. Fucking you through it with every trick he knows drives you right to the peak. 

“Good girl, take what you need, alright? Give it to me, baby, I got ya’,” 

You can’t do anything but comply. Chest heaving, crying out with your orgasm as he eases you down as effectively as he built you up, kissing around your clit because he knows the stimulation can be too much directly after.

You don’t even wait to get your breath back before you’re using the grasp you still have on his hair to yank him up to your mouth. 

He tastes like you. 

It’s your favorite thing to taste on him. 

Down below, past where his fingers are still petting at you, he’s grinding into the bed, trying to relieve the pressure where he’s straining against the seams of his sweatpants. The sight of it knocks enough sense back into you to start tugging at his clothes with urgency once more. It must amuse him greatly judging by the look he gives you. 

“Need something?” he asks, but smart man that he is, he’s already joining in to help you shove his clothes away, your hands too shaky from the mind-shattering orgasm still. “Got another one in you?”

“You gonna keep asking stupid questions?” you pant, and it makes him bark out a delighted laugh, genuine and deep, and it has you grinning in response, always secretly pleased when you make him laugh. 

It’s a practiced dance between you both; getting him undressed to match you, taking playful nips at the newly uncovered skin within reach, getting distracted by long periods of kissing until you’re so keyed up again that all you can do is pant against his mouth while he teases you. 

He’s slowly rubbing the head of his cock against your soft folds, a slick slide that echoes wetly in the room and it’s so fucking obscene you could vibrate out of your own skin. 

Up and down.

Up and down. 

Coating himself in you and…just feeling. Playing with you. Enjoying his surprise. You let out a whine, impatient and beyond your limits. 

“S’it feel good?” he’s toying with you, stroking along your skin everywhere except where you need him. He nudges against your clit and the shocky, overwhelming zip of it rocks a gasp from your chest that he must like the sound of because he does it again, hungry for it. 

“You didn’t answer me earlier, you think she’s got another one for me?” 

You’ve dissolved down to only nerve endings, too wound up to do much in response but grind up against him. 

“Feels so good, so soft and sweet f’me,” he groans, the head pressing in just that little bit, barely there, only needing just that little bit more pressure to pop past the resistance and into your body. “Why don’t you feel, baby? Reach down here and guide me in, feel how nice we feel together,” 

He grabs your hand, pulling it down between your bodies, grunting when you grip around him. It’s so slick and hot, a combination of the two of you that makes your stomach clench in anticipation. You try to guide him right in, desperate to feel him inside of you, but he resists.

“Slow, baby, slow, there we go,” It’s agonizingly drawn out, but he sinks into you finally, the position you’re in–one of his hands under the small of your back to tilt you up to him, your knees locked around him–combined with the glacial pace makes it feel so intense and fucking deep that you’re sucking in great lungfulls of air to keep from floating away. “Theeere we go, atta girl. Always take it so well,” he murmurs, breathless himself, shoulders tense. 

He’s petting along your side with his free hand, gentling you like a goddamn horse, and fuck does it make your eyes roll back. With anyone else it would probably feel condescending. With Joel it just makes you want to slam your hips down into him even more, get him to move already. 

He finally does draw back, right before slamming forward again and stealing all of the hard-won breath from your chest. 

Time is lost after that. A haze of slapping skin and moans. 

He adjusts his grip on you, both hands coming to rest on your hips to physically pull you into the force of his thrusts, propping you up and up until–

“Fuck!”

He hits that spot inside of you that makes your entire body jolt with electricity, and he grins, boyish and cocky. 

“There she is,” he’s relentless, angled perfectly to make you lose your mind, thumb coming up to rub perfect, tight circles over your clit in time with his strokes. “I’ve got you, baby, gonna let go for me?” 

Already keyed up and sensitive from your peak earlier, the overstimulation is tortuous and so, so good, already hurtling you towards another that you know he can feel impending by the way you’re tightening around him. 

You’re trying to hold on, drawing out the pleasure curling at the base of your spine, but he drops down, hips never stopping, thumb still a maddening pressure on your clit, and he bites at your chest. 

His breath is scorching hot and wet on your skin as he groans “such a good fuckin’ girl, fuckin’ come on my cock baby, s’all yours,” and he bites down on a peaked, puffy nipple. 

Your second orgasm of the night rocks through you, the force of it startling, your fingernails making deep grooves in Joel’s back as you ride through it. 

He’s cursing and holding you to him, hips stuttering with your cunt gripping him so tightly. Your end tumbles him into his own, emptying into you and fucking his come deeper on instinct. 

The room is silent except for your combined breaths as you both come down. 

There’s a pleasant buzzing in your limbs, a humming in the back of your mind as it comes back to the awareness that you still have a rather large man resting on top of you and that your lungs would quite like it if they could inflate all the way. 

You tap Joel’s shoulder and he adjusts, sweat-sticky skin peeling from you to move to the side. It’s not as gross to you as it maybe could be. You think that’s what love might be. 

He’s no sooner on his back beside you before you’ve rolled to lay against him, one leg tucked up over his, your chest flattened to his. Like space between you might actually kill you right now in the wake of your high. To his credit, he must feel the same, his palms skimming over your back, your ass, down to your knee and up again in a soothing circuit. 

Soon you’ll need to get up and run a bath. Currently, you cannot think of anything you’d like to do less than move from this spot. 

Joel kisses your hair, then your forehead, across your cheeks, anywhere he can reach, and you hum, absolutely in love with how touchy he gets after a good orgasm. The man may look big and bad outside these walls, but you have his number when it comes to post-coital cuddles. 

It’s because you know him so well that you sense something brewing, his thoughts a little too loud for your liking. “Everything okay?” 

He just hums, working a spot under your jaw with his teeth. 

“Joel.” 

“What?” 

“You’re thinking too hard.” 

“M’not.” 

“You are, I can smell the smoke.” 

He huffs, head dropping back to the pillow. “Cute.” 

“I know,” you pretend to preen, but drop the humor quickly in favor of propping up on an elbow to look at him. He doesn’t seem distressed, but he’s definitely chewing on something. “What is it?” 

His forehead is furrowed a bit, mouth curved to one side in thought. “You just…” 

Your brow raises, prompting. 

“You didn’t do all that,” he gestures at your lower half propped against him. “Just for me, did you?” 

You snort. “Didn’t hear you complaining about it a minute ago.”

He rolls his eyes. “I ain’t complaining, I’m just saying.” 

It’s on the tip of your tongue to tease again, maybe even get a little defensive as the nerves from before try to sink back in, but you refrain. You can see in his expression that he’s serious, trying to say something here that’s important, so you let him gather his thoughts. He sighs, appearing frustrated at himself that the words aren’t coming out right.

“You can do whatever you want with your body, not like you need permission from me. I just wanted t’say that you don’t need to do anything to change yourself for me. I know some people did that controlling shit Before, pushed their preferences on their partner, but I thought it was stupid then, too. I love the way you are no matter what, because it’s you, alright?” 

You blink at him, not expecting the heartfelt turn in conversation. 

There’s a hint of a flush under his tanned skin that has nothing to do with the previous vigorous activity. Talking about emotions usually does that to him, but he always makes a point of letting you know how he feels about you.  

You wax your pussy on a drunken whim because you think it’ll be hot, and this large, wonderful idiot of a man is worried you did it out of some obligation to beauty standards and wants you to know he loves you regardless. 

As silly as the situation is, you’re utterly, ridiculously charmed. 

You smile down at him, still propped on his chest. The perfect vantage point to see how his eyes get drawn to your kiss-swollen mouth. 

“And what if I said that I was just trying something out? Comparing differences, you know, to see what I like. Scientific, almost.” 

His eyes darken.

“In that case,” With a startled shriek, he has you flipped, back pinned to the bed once more. “Thinkin’ we should keep on testin’.” 

He’s creeping back down your body, focus resting on his come that has been dripping out of you, fingers scooping through the slick and pushing it right back inside where it belongs. It wrenches a shocked moan from you. 

“Joel, I can barely move already.” you whine. 

“Good thing I’m doing all the work, then.” 

His eyes are locked on the apex of your legs, greedily taking you in. 

“I ain’t done with you yet, pretty thing,” and you don’t think he’s talking to your face at all. 

[taleeater]

Heavy Sleeper

I wrote like half of this at 3am 6 months ago and finally decided to finish it 😅

Generation: Bayverse, 2003, 2007 TMNT

TMNT Donatello x Reader

Pronouns: Gender Neutral

Warnings: illness, fainting, fever, IV

Tags: angst, fluff, illness

Summary: You overworked yourself past exhaustion helping Donnie with a new project. Not that you minded. Or noticed, until it was too late.

Word Count: 3229

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

It has been a long night. …..and a long morning. You had been spending the last few days with Donnie occupied in the lab, helping him with some of the smaller, more detailed work on his new security device. While you were busy soldering pathways onto extra small microchips at the workbench, Donnie was typing away creating the programming at his computer. It required a high level of focus. Which, honestly, you usually didn’t have. However, this project had all your attention, and you had been happily hyper focused on designing the little golden pathways on those tiny green wafer boards for almost 3 days straight.

Donnie was extremely grateful for your help. But he was suspicious how his energetic little dove was being so quiet and still while they worked. The thought came to him a few times that he should go check on you again, but he was equally engrossed in his own project and kept getting sucked back into the work.

Your trick was: caffeine. You had discovered in college that if you drank caffeine on an empty stomach, you could stay extra focused for hours on end. Obviously, this wasn’t good for your health. Or your stomach. But usually you would finish whatever project it was you were laser focused on within the day, so the strain on your body wouldn’t last that long.

This was lasting very long. Very very long. And you had no idea of the passage of time. There was no sun peeking through curtains to inform you that you had worked through the night, or disgruntled roommate checking in to wonder why you hadn’t emerged all day. Donnie’s brothers were very well used to his overworking tendencies, so they paid it no mind he was only coming out for coffee and pop tarts. What they didn’t realize was that you were still in the lair, all assuming you had gone home after the first night. So none had thought to go in to check on the lab.

Here lies the dilemma. It had been maybe 64 hours since you had slept or properly consumed anything besides coffee and a singular package of pop tarts, frequently forgetting about the pile of snacks Donnie kept leaving on your desk. Your back was stiff, muscles sore, and your throat was starting to feel incredibly dry. But all your attention being on finishing your project meant all your physical awareness was finely tuned out.

Except that little tickle in the back of your throat.

It started maybe 5…. 6 hours ago. It was a little bothersome, making you clear your throat and drink a little more coffee to soothe it. But it kept coming back. The tickle started to become a little painful, and clearing your throat turned into small dry coughs. You were drinking more and more coffee to try and wash down the feeling or maybe chase away the dehydration. Your lips started to feel dry, then your eyes, joining in with your uncomfortably dry throat. By the time evening rolled around, your chest was burning terribly, and a migraine had started to thrum with your pulse. Having finished your pot of coffee maybe 2 hours ago and hadn’t bothered to go make more, you were thinking you just needed to get more to drink.

You took a small pause in your welding to push up your goggles and wipe at your dry eyes, when suddenly your vision blurred. For a second, you suddenly found your body lurching to the side off your chair before you caught yourself on the side of the desk.

‘Huh… that was weird. Maybe I’m just tired. I’ll go make more coffee.’

Donnie had been bringing you refills whenever he had gotten up to make more, but you had finished your pot twice as fast as usual. You moved to the side of your chair to stand, and your feet touched the ground with your full weight. To your surprise, your knees almost buckled underneath you, and blackness started to creep in the edges of your vision.

Your body felt weak, and your muscles ached. Keeping a death grip on the edge of the table, you took a slow step towards Donnie’s part of the lab, then another. You blinked rapidly to try and chase away the encroaching darkness creeping in your vision, but too soon your eyesight went dark, and it felt like your brain was shutting down. Internally, you were panicking and fighting to stay conscious, but all you could manage was weakly calling out for Donnie before you blacked out. You didn’t even feel yourself hit the ground.

Donnie, on the other side of the lab, had pulled away from his computer moments before to rub a hand down over his face. This line of code was driving him crazy and he couldn’t figure out where he’d gone wrong. He briefly heard the scrape of (y/n) pushing their chair away from the table, and expected to hear your footsteps head past him to the small bathroom in the back of the lab. He took a moment to flag this line of code- again, for further meddling later. The genius turtle had to admit he was reaching his limits on staying awake and figured it was time he took himself and (y/n) to bed.

But where was (y/n)? They hadn’t come in to greet him yet. Were they just adjusting their chair? That was when he heard it.

“d….don nie…” your voice called out weakly, strained, and barely above a whisper before he heard a light thud from the other room. Had you dropped something? He quickly pulled himself to stand and made his way to the other room to check on what it was you needed.

There. On the floor. You laid still and unmoving on your side against the cold floor.

“(Y/N)!!!!” Donnie exclaimed. Startled, he rushed to your side and dropped down beside you, pulling you into his lap. “(Y/n)! (Y/N)!!!!” He shook you slightly trying to rouse your attention, but your eyes were closed and your body fully limp in his arms. Unresponsive. Quickly, he felt for your pulse, sighing when he found it, but worried by the heightened pace. Donnie scooped you up into his arms and quickly carried you towards the med bay across the lair.

He made his way out of his lab and passed the living room where Mikey and Leo were watching a movie on the TV, and Raph was making a sandwich in the kitchen.

“Huh? Donnie? Is that (y/n)? I didn’t see them come in… are they asleep??” Leo asked when he saw Donnie rush out holding you in his arms.

“No time. (Y/n) fainted in the lab.” Donnie rushed out and speed walked through the clear plastic panels into the med bay, ignoring the startled ‘WHAT’ echoed by Leo and Mikey, and what sounded like Raph choking on his sandwich.

He laid you out gently on the padded white exam table, 3 sizes too big for you, and rushed around the drawers and cabinets. He acquired a stethoscope, thermometer, blood pressure pump, and various other tools to properly check your health and brought them over to the table beside you just as his brothers rushed in.

“ANGELCAKES ARE YOU OKAY??? Ow-“ Mikey rushed in pushing past Leo and Raph and dramatically ran to your side before Raph smacked the back of his head.

“Mikey, chill out. Give ‘em some room.” Raph growled out, trying to pull his dramatic little brother back while Leo stepped forward.

“Donnie, what happened to (y/n)?”

Donnie was now wearing the stethoscope and had the end pressed to the rise and fall of your chest as your breathing strained.

“Hmm… heart palpitations… lungs… crackling sound… that can’t be good.” Donnie was muttering notes under his breath, reaching up to place his hand over your forehead. He found a scorching hot fever and his heart sank. Only then did he turn to Leo. “We… we’ve been working in the lab the past few days… pretty intensely….” Donnie winched. “In hindsight, we did not take as many breaks as we should have. It appears (y/n) has collapsed from exhaustion.” Donnie’s eyes went downcast. He looked equally tired, but guilt was weighing heavy on his shoulders.

“They’ve been here all along?? We thought they went home days ago. Aren’t they usually the one making sure you’re eating and taking breaks to sleep?” The shock in Leo’s voice was clear. You were usually so doting with Donnie, cooking his favorite foods and dragging him off to bed with you to make sure he was well taken care of when he got too involved in his work. It appears this time the tables were turned. “They were helping you with a project? Have they been eating enough?” Leo pressed.

That seemed to have caught Donnie’s attention and he suddenly turned back to continue his check on you. “Yes, I’ve been bringing them snacks whenever I’d get up for coffee. They must’ve been weakened from lack of rest and dehydration…. I’m going to check their blood pressure.” Donnie wrapped the cuff around your arm, and started to inflate it when you started to stir.

“Huh… that doesn’t look good.”

Your eyes fluttered open and you took a deep breath. The bright lights making you wince and shut your eyes again. You moved to bring a hand up to your face but was surprised to feel the tug of something around your arm.

“Mmh? Donnie…? What time is it…” You stretched, confused as to why your body ached so much. Why was he looming over you? And his room was never this bright or cold.

“(Y/n)! Thank goodness… Darling, when was the last time you ate?” Donnie held your shaky hand in his and gently stroked his thumb over your knuckles.

“Hm…? The uh…. Pop tarts you gave me…”

Donnie sighed in relief, remembering he had brought you a package of pop tarts to set on your desk just that afternoon.

“Right after we took a nap together.”

Then Donnie blanched.

“Sweetheart… our last nap together was almost 3 days ago. What happened to the snacks I was leaving on your desk…?” He asked, trying to be hopeful. They had disappeared each time he had returned, so he assumed you had eaten them.

“3 days…? Oh…. Um… they were in the way, so I moved them to the bench for later…. I must’ve forgotten about them.”

Leo slapped a hand over his face. He was realizing you and his brother had more in common than he thought.

“Mikey, can you please go make some soup? Raph, please let dad know that (y/n) will be staying over for the next few days.” Mikey did a mock salute and rushed to the kitchen to make some light chicken noodle soup and Raph left to find Master Splinter in his plant room. Leo went to grab some clean blankets and a spare pillow from their storage room.

Your breathing was labored in the now quiet room. You turned your head to the side to rest against the cool pillow as you gazed up at Donnie with your shiny dazed eyes, cheeks flushed and red. “I almost finished the motherboard… just gotta… add the red and yellow wires…” You trailed off as your eyes slid shut. They burned with exhaustion and the light was hurting your head.

Donnie leaned in close and cupped your cheek gently, and pressed a kiss to your sweaty forehead. His brow furrowed with worry, but his eyes were soft with adoration. “You did an amazing job. I’ll finish it up later, you just get some rest. Okay?” His thumb stroked your cheek.

“Mh hm… don’t forget the… polyimide adhesive tape…’s under my jacket…” You mumbled as you easily slipped into sleep.

Donnie smiled at you. He loves you. He loves that you taught yourself engineering to help him out with his workload. But right now he was regretting it, seeing the heavy bags under your eyes as you slept soundly. He scrubbed a hand down his face and sighed.

When you learned that it was difficult for him and his brothers to do the delicate work of designing circuit boards for their tech, he was surprised you immediately showed interest in learning. He admittedly didn’t take you very seriously at first. But then you started joining him in the lab on long nights to study books you had checked out from the library on basic engineering, he taught you how to assemble his tech and how to solder and weld the machines together into things that would help them on patrol and repair things around the lair. He still remembers the first thing you’d ever made. The poorly soldered little metal band he wore around his right pinky finger.

Leo came back in with the blankets in tow. “Should we move them to your bed?” He asked Donnie.

“Not yet, I need to set them up with an IV to get some fluids in them first. I suspect they’re very dehydrated, on top of the general exhaustion.” Donnie was swaying in place. He looked exhausted, and Leo felt worry for you and his brother. It had been a long time since you last let him overwork himself to this extent. He blamed himself for not checking in on his brother sooner.

”Why don’t you go lie down? I’ll set up (y/n)’s IV and keep an eye on them.”

”But (y/n)….”

”-Would want you to rest.” Leo finished with a knowing smile.

Donnie sighed and looked you over. Leo unfolded the blanket and draped it over you so you wouldn’t get cold. Donnie fussed with bringing the edge right up under your chin and fixed your hair. He didn’t want to leave you in here, but he knew Leo was right. He wouldn’t be much use to you if both of you collapsed from exhaustion, so he relented.

”Wake me up if you need anything.” Donnie stood up on shaky legs.

”Uh huh.” Leo put his hands on Donnie’s shoulders and led him out of the med bay.

”And I mean anything-“

“Of course Donnie, now go to bed.” Leo pushed him out in the direction of their bedrooms. Raph and Mikey in the kitchen watched as Donnie trudged and swayed towards his bedroom, and disappeared into the darkness swinging his door shut.

“Duuude. Do I gotta start hiding the coffee again?” Mikey said from where he was chopping veggies for your soup.

Leo pointed at Mikey, “No more caffeine for those two for a month!”

Raph grunted a laugh.

Leo had set up your IV, just like Donnie had taught him. After an hour and a half, your body had absorbed most of the fluids, so Leo felt satisfied enough to wake you up. He shook your shoulder a bit to wake you up. You were deep asleep. The soup at your bedside that Mikey had brought in had cooled to a safe temperature, so he wanted to make sure you ate something hearty before he sent you back to bed.

”Mmh?” You finally started to stir.

”(Y/n), wake up. You’ve got to eat something.” Leo coaxed.

Your eyes fluttered open and immediately winced at the bright light. Leo stood over you to shield your eyes from the overhead light as you adjusted.

“Where’s Donnie?” You asked a bit dazed, looking around. The tickle in your throat was now a scratchy and irritated pain. You coughed hard into your fist.

”He went to bed. Here, Mikey made you some soup. It should still be warm enough.” Once you had sat up he handed you the bowl.

“Try and eat as much of it as you can, so you can take your medicine.”

You hummed in response, stifling another cough. You balanced the soup in your lap and slowly ate, spooning the warm chicken stock and veggies into your mouth. It soothed your throat, and with a few more bites you felt less shaky. You ate slowly, but you managed to finish almost the entire bowl.

Leo looked pleased and handed you your meds to swallow. Mikey poked his head in through the door to check on you as well.

”How’s angelcakes feeling?”

You paused a long moment as you sipped at a glass of water.

“Better.” You croaked. You still felt absolutely dreadful, but, “the soup helped. Thank you Mikey.”

The orange ninja beamed. Raph also peaked in over his little brother’s shoulder.

Leo looked back to you and took the bowl and spoon from your lap. He checked your IV pack and saw that most of it was gone. Your eyes looked heavy again as your body begged for more rest.

”I think it’s time you got some more sleep.” Leo mothered you. He tried to lift the edge of the blanket to cover you as you lay down but your hand stopped him.

Your red rimmed eyes were distant, and you cleared your throat as you found your words. “….Can I go to Donnie’s room? Please?”

Leo couldn’t help but smile at the innocent request. “Sure thing. Come on-“ You sat back up and Leo removed your IV. He motioned for you to adjust yourself, and Leo wrapped you up like a burrito in the blanket before scooping you up and carried you out of the med bay.

Mikey chuckled and rushed over to open Donnie’s door for you and his brother.

”Special delivery!!” He called into the darkness of Donnie’s room. A groan echoed out as the exhausted purple turtle was woken up. Leo carried you in and Donnie scooted over to make room for you to be deposited on his bed.

”Thanks Leo… hey babe…” Donnie greeted you sleepily, sitting up in bed as he received you and untangled you from the blanket.

Leo quietly walked out of the room to give you two privacy, and shoved Mikey’s face out of the way so he could close the heavy metal door behind him.

You stifled a cough, and reached out for Donnie in the darkness. The purple turtle dipped down into your embrace, and smooched your flushed red cheek. His arms slid up your back, and he pulled you flush against him in a warm embrace. He patted around for the edge of the blanket, before pulling it up and covering the both of you. He sighed deeply as he relaxed again against the pillows with you wrapped up in his arms.

”Thanks for helping me….. but please don’t ever do that again.” He mumbled against the crown of your head.

”Do what?” You asked, already half asleep.

”Collapse.”

You hummed a little laugh and snuggled in impossibly closer.

”I’ll do my best…”

Donnie pressed another quick kiss to your head, and you both quickly slipped back asleep.

The End :]

[cherryredstars]

hello cherry!!

I really love your work, and I was wondering if you could do a second part of Miguel being CEO (In the job description)

I'm very sorry if I don't express myself well, English is not my first language

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, Smut with Some Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Use of Vibrators, Penetrative Sex, Mirror Sex, Slight Slapping

Summary: Don’t accept gifts from your boss…or wear it. 

A/N: I made an alternate version of this (basically part 1.5), so let me know if you guys want me to post that one!

Word Count: 3K (Not Edited)

Reverse AU Part 1 Part 1.5

It was extremely unprofessional.

That’s what you thought when Miguel passed by your desk the morning after your little… moment in his office. He gave you a fleeting smirk as he placed a medium-sized black box right in front of you. A deep blush spread across your face, unable to meet his eyes while he stared at you for a few minutes before walking away and shutting the door to his office. An uneasy feeling filled your stomach as you watched the door before sliding your eyes over the box.

It was the type of box someone would get clothes in for Christmas, only pricer and better quality. A pretty silk ribbon held the lid and bottom together, in a matching matte black color. Carefully, you pulled at one of the ends, the bow easily unraveling. When you took the ribbon off, a deeper blush spread over your body as you saw the words engraved into the cardboard. 

Stamped on the box was the name of the popular lingerie store in the shopping district. It was a store you passed by daily on your way to and from work, and a store that was most definitely out of your price range even with the gracious salary you had. Your hands instantly slapped over the words, leaning over your desk to see if anyone was coming or if Miguel was making any move to leave his office. When the coast was clear, you hesitantly sat back down. 

You cleared your throat nervously, staring at the box before giving into your curiosity. As gently as possible, you lifted the lid of the box, face slightly hiding behind it to obscure your view. An exhale leaves you as maroon tissue paper covers whatever is inside. You take another deep breath before leaning forward and lifting one flap of the tissue paper. A surprised gasp leaves you, staring at the 3 pairs of lacy underwear in the box. 

Each panty is made from lacy material, making them slightly see-through. When you run your hands over them, they’re delicate to the touch and you can tell its high quality stuff. Each one is a different color. The first is a set of white panties to replace the ones from yesterday that Miguel claims to have no idea about. The second one, a deep navy blue that is fairly similar to the navy blue of Miguel’s favorite designer suits. And lastly, a blush color that rivals the one across your cheeks. 

You’re so caught up in just marveling at the contents of the package, that you don’t realize Miguel is standing in front of your desk until he starts speaking. “I take it you like them?”

You’re instantly jolted and clumsily try to cover up the panties and close the box. You’re sure if someone saw your face, it would be a damn near perfect color match to one of those pairs of panties. You shyly look up at Miguel clearing your throat and leaning back in your chair to create more distance between the two of you. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

A lazy smirk spreads against Miguel’s face before he shakes his head in amusement. “I was calling you into my office, but you didn’t seem to hear the buzzer.” He hums, eyes trained on the black box he gifted you. You can tell he’s tempted to say something by the way his mouth straightens and his brows furrow slightly, but he ends up not commenting on it and continues what he was saying before. “I was going to tell you that the charity fundraiser is this weekend, and we have to attend to meet the new potential merger.” 

His words make you want to grab the box on your desk and slam it against your head a few trillion times. It’s no secret that both you and Miguel hate the monthly fundraisers. Okay, that sounds bad. Both you and Miguel are happy that somewhere over a hundred grand gets donated to great charities, it’s just the whole business aspect of it you hate. Having to sit around with smiles that are so fake that they cause the muscles of your cheeks to ache, listening to some old CEO who is in dire need to retire spew on and on about very old fashioned beliefs, and the undercooked batches of pasta they serve at the venues are barely anything to gush about. 

Miguel can sense the discontent rolling off of you in waves, an apologetic sigh leaving his lips. “Do you need a dress or shoes? It’s the Unique charity this year, black-tie event as per usual.”

A heavy sigh leaves you and your finger traces the edge of the box. You mentally go through your closet, trying to remember if you have any appropriate dresses that you haven’t worn in previous years. You come up blank, an oncoming migraine forming at your temple. “I’ll figure something out.”

Miguel gives a displeased hum, knocking his fists against your desk. He leans away, fixing the sleeves of his button up and ruffling his hair. “No worries, I’ll have LYLA send you authorization for my business card and a few dress and shoes options.”

You’re about to protest, but the sound of his phone ringing interrupts you. Miguel rolls his eyes as he sees the contact, answering it and turning away as he grumbles out a greeting. He walks towards his office and turns to give you one last nod before entering. A deep sigh leaves you and you close your eyes as you lean back into your chair. You squint one eye open, eyeing the box before stuffing it in your bag with a huff.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿‿︵

“Oh god, oh god, oh god!” 

You run around your small apartment, nothing but a towel covering your body. Your hair is the only thing done, going for an easy blow drying and curling. You groan when you see the pile of laundry in your room, rummaging in your panty drawer to find nothing but a few that are in desperate need to be thrown away due to their worn out state. You’re on the verge of crying when you see the black box thrown carelessly on top of your other drawer. 

You bite your lip, nerves swallowing your being. You weren’t ever planning to wear them, I mean they’re from your boss for god’s sake! But really, you have no choice. With an annoyed groan and exhale, you grab the box and grab the navy blue pair, the color matching the color of your dress. You hastily slip them on, rushing back and forth between your bathroom and your bedroom to do your makeup and get dressed. 

By the time you finish the struggle of zipping up your dress, your phone rings with Miguel’s number. You grab your phone and your purse, answering as you slip on your heels. Miguel’s gruff voice echos as you press the speaker option and unlock your door. He grumbles that the driver is outside your house and you hum in acknowledgement as you check your bag for everything you need as you shut the door behind you after locking it. You rush down the hall and into the elevator, tapping your foot impatiently as you wait to reach the ground floor. 

Once the doors slide open, you’re speed walking to the exit and instantly spotting the sleek black car right against the curb. Miguel stands by the car door, a loud ping ringing from his phone that causes his brows to furrow. He looks up at the sound of your heels, that furrowed look still on his face as he eyes you up and down. You copy his facial expression, asking him what’s wrong. He only looks back down at his phone, dismissing whatever it was and opening the car door for you.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿‿︵

You have no idea how you got here. 

The second you and Miguel entered the venue, the both of you had down a flute of champagne and gone through the agonizingly long process of greeting every current and future business partner that was present. Everything was going fine, your fake smile was yet to ache and the desserts looked promising. That was until, of course, a sharp zap ran up your spine as you felt something vibrating against you. 

You had choked on your words, trying to play it off with an abrupt sip of alcohol and a strained laugh as you conversed with some of Miguel’s business partners while he dismissed himself for a quick run to the bar. It had been sudden, maybe a trick played on you by your own mind, until it started again. But this time, it was more intense. You had hurriedly excused yourself, making up some excuse before dashing towards the bathroom. 

You rushed through the door, sighing in relief when no one else was inside. You hurried to the counter of sinks, leaning your elbows on the surface as you bent over and hissed. The vibration, that was most definitely coming from your fucking panties, just seemed to be more intense as you shifted from leg to leg and clenched your thighs to relieve the feeling. A struggling whimper left you as you lifted your head to look into the mirror, jumping when you see Miguel leaned against a bathroom stall and staring at you. You must not have heard him enter through the foggy mess in your head. 

You instantly snap up, legs crossed as you turn around and clutch the edge of the counter tightly. You open your mouth, about to scold Miguel for being in the women’s bathroom, but another desperate whine leaves you as the vibration around your clit focuses on the perfect spot from your new stance. Miguel’s brow raises as his eyes ghost down your form, catching the way sweat begins to break on your hairline. A lazy smirk crosses his face when he pulls out his phone from his dress pants, tapping around it a few times before you slouch. 

A sense of relief fills you as the strong vibrating stops and your clit is given a break. A heavy sigh leaves you, head tilting down before the realization hits you. Your head instantly snaps up, your wide eyes meeting Miguel’s mischievous ones. Of course. What else would he do but give you fucking vibrating panties. Your eyes trail down to his phone, watching as he taps it with his thumb again and suddenly the vibration is back. Your body tenses up again, and you watch helplessly as Miguel walks over to you. 

He presses his hand into the front of your dress, directly over your panties. The pressure of his hand makes the vibration stronger, and a choked gasp leaves you. Miguel hums, feeling the strong vibrations through your dress, his eyes moving to your face. “I didn’t think you’d ever wear ‘em.”

That makes two of us, You think as your eyes squint into a glare, biting the inside of your cheek to prevent a noise threatening to spill out. Your hands come up to hold onto Miguel’s wrist, trying weakly to take his hand away. He only chuckles, pressing his hand harder against you before taking it away. Your hands fall from him, insead returning to grip on the counter when he turns you around quickly. A wave of deja vu hits you when he presses down on your lower back so your chest is fully pressed, his hands hurriedly gathering your dress so the surplus of fabric bunches around your waist. 

His hand skims the center of your underwear, two fingers pressing against your clothed clit. A moan leaves you as the vibrations grow stronger under his fingers, your hips squirming to get away. Miguel’s hand tightens around your waist, making it harder for you to move. He watches you from the mirror, enjoying the concentrated and tortured look on your face. 

“You know,” Miguel starts lazily, fingers starting to draw slow circles on your clit, “You never answered my question before.” A loud gasp leaves you and you hiss out his name after his hand comes to give your clit a firm slap. “Do you like my gift?”

A weak sound leaves you as you bite your lip. Your hips try to press into Miguel’s hand when he starts his slow circles again, crying out when he removes his hand completely. You hear the rustling of a belt buckle and pants, your gasp in sync with the hiss Miguel lets out when he presses the head of his cock into your panties. The vibrations play against his head, his hand holding his base as he rubs himself up and down the length of your panties. His eyes flutter shut, mouth dropping open in a silent moan as he enjoys the feel of your increasingly wet panties and the vibrating. 

His hand pushes your panties to the side, his cock falling forward to poke at your glistening entrance. Even though the vibrating panties aren’t directly over your clit, you can still feel them from their place right besides it. Your own eyes flutter shut, moaning at the feel before Miguel’s hand grasps your face from behind. His large hand squishes your cheeks together and your eyes flutter open to see his face right besides yours in the mirror. Both Miguel’s and your eyes meet in the mirror, his demanding while yours are hazy. 

His tip slightly slides into you and you groan. Miguel’s hold tightens on your face when he pulls out. “Answer the question, preciosa.”

A weak nod leaves you, a puff of air escaping your nose as you lean your hips back to grind slightly against Miguel’s cock. A strangled grunt leaves him and His eyes fall down to where you’re grinding before looking back at you. His breath is hot against your cheek, causing shivers down your spine. “Don’t look away. Just watch.”

Without warning, he slams into you. A loud scream leaves you, eyes threatening to roll back as you watch him. His eyes are dark and focused on where he thrusts brutally into you, your body sliding closer to the mirror before he pulls you back towards him. You make a weak attempt to talk, stuttering out something about the door before he grunts and replies it’s locked. It does little to conceal your worries. As if sensing it, Miguel’s hand slides up to your mouth to cover it, muffling the noises you’re letting out. 

The only sounds that can’t be muffled are the soft, wet sounds that come from his heavy balls hitting against your wet heat. You’re so wet that you’re coating him, a stickiness connecting his balls to your cunt as he thrusts. Your eyes roll back and a harsh slap is thrown against your cheek. Unfocused eyes meet Miguel’s angered ones, his thrusts turning harsher and more punishing as he looks at you disapprovingly.

“I told you to watch. Keep your eyes on the mirror or I'll stop.”

A sound of protest leaves you, mumbling out sorry repeatedly as you try to keep your eyes focused on the mirror. The view is shaking from the way your body jolts with each pump of his hips, but he doesn’t seem to care. If anything, it makes him go faster and try to see how shaky he can make your vision and your legs. His hand gives you one more smack to the cheek before covering your mouth again. 

Your legs feel like they’re about to give out and that hotness is forming at the bottom of your stomach. Miguel’s is fast approaching too, the sensation of your tight, warm walls sucking him in and the slight vibrations running through your walls from the vibrating panties. His hand leaves your hip, moving in between your legs and moving the shaking fabric back over your clit. The angle is awkward, trying to find it under layers of falling fabric from your dress while he’s hammering his cock into you. But eventually he gets it, and you instantly fall apart. 

Your scream is muffled by Migue’s hand, your body shaking as you clench tightly around him and gush all over his cock. Miguel lets out a curse, his thrusts stuttering and becoming clumsy. You call out his name weakly, and he’s gone. He stills with a deep groan, filling you up with his warmth. You both stand there for a moment, basking in the aftershocks of pleasure before you start suffering from overstimulation from the still vibrating underwear. 

You weakly cry out to Miguel, who hurriedly turns on his phone and kills the vibrating. A deep, grateful sigh leaves you as you slump forward. A small moan leaves you when Miguel pulls out, reaching up to the tissue paper dispensers to wipe you and him down. He rebuckles his pants, pulling your panties back in place and your dress down. You flinch when the drenched fabric meets you, half expecting for it to start vibrating again. Instead, another piece of paper tissue is dabbed against your face and neck as Miguel tries to rid your skin of sweat without fully removing your makeup. 

A grateful noise leaves you before you stand up when Miguel steps back. When you turn your head towards him, a soft kiss is pressed to your cheek. Miguel strokes the spot with his thumb, eyes trailing to yours before he looks away and moves towards the door. 

“Not going to steal my panties this time?” You can’t help but call out, hands still gripping the edge of the sinks tightly.

Miguel turns with a teasing smile and shrugs. “Nah, you can keep them this time. Just make sure to wear one of the other pairs to work on Monday.”

A deep flush flows across your face at his innuendo, watching as he unlocks the door and slips out. A deep sigh leaves you as you turn towards the mirror again, an annoyed noise leaving you as you spot imperfections in your makeup. You open your bag, working on small touch-ups as you think back to what occurred a few minutes ago. A small smile crosses your face and you shake your head before you head to follow Miguel back out for another hour of socializing.

Just benefits of the job.

Join the Taglist!

[rylem33]

A Happy Ending

I’ve been doing a lot of bitchification and corruption stories lately that tend towards “bad” endings. I was asked to do a story with a happy ending. So please enjoy.

----------------------------------------

Ben sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands twisted in his hair.  It had been so different since that morning.  A few days ago his relationship, his life, turned upside down without any explanation. The bedroom door clicked open and Ben flinched.

Aubrey stood there, backlit by the hallway light, like she hadn’t a care in the world. She looked insanely hot—decked out in tight, pastel pink from head to toe. The lace-up top barely contained her cleavage, crisscrossed strings holding the fabric together like it might snap if she so much as breathed too hard. Her matching pink pants clung to her hips, laced all the way down the sides, showing off every curve like she was a walking thirst trap.

A chunky designer bag hung from her wrist and her blonde hair was perfectly styled. A diamond choker glittered at her throat. And those clear sky-high platform heels clicked softly on the floor as she stepped inside.

She flicked her hair over her shoulder with a lazy smirk.

“Ugh, God, this place is such a dump,” she muttered under her breath, glancing around. “I swear to God, I cannot believe I used to like living like this.”

Ben stayed quiet. He’d heard it all before. He’d heard her snap at the barista that morning. Heard her chew out the mailman for “bending the packages.” He’d watched her roll her eyes at their neighbors in the hallway, ignoring them like they didn’t even exist when they said ‘hello’..

The old Aubrey would’ve died of embarrassment acting like that. But this Aubrey loved it. She loved being bratty, bitchy, and sometimes just outright mean to just about everyone. But when she looked at him—just him—her whole face softened.

“Baby…” she sighed, stepping closer, crouching in front of him. She pressed her fingers under his chin and tilted his face up to meet hers.

“I hate seeing you like this,” she whispered. “You don’t deserve it. Not you.”

Ben’s throat tightened. “But it’s what I get, isn’t it? You… you don’t want me anymore.” “Not like that.” Aubrey frowned.

“I love you,” she whispered like it hurt to admit it.  “I just… I can’t want you right now. Not like… this.”

She stood up, pacing toward the window. He watched her in silence as she stared out into the city lights. Even standing still she had a presence. It was like she knew she was the hottest thing in the building. In all honesty, she was.

“Ugh. You wouldn’t believe the looks I got tonight,” she scoffed, running her manicured nails down her waist. “Women practically begging me for attention. Men groveling like dogs. It was pathetic.”

Her head turned slightly, just enough to glance at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were soft again, like none of that mattered when it came to him.

“I’ve gotta tell you something,” she whispered. Her voice cracking a little. 

“What?” he said harsher than he wanted.

“Ever since that night. God, Ben. It’s been so fucking bad.”

She started pacing again, her bag swinging at her side. “I’ve been so goddamn horny, baby. All the fucking time. But I don’t do anything. I come home to you.”

Ben swallowed hard. His voice cracked. “Why? Why come back to me?”

She let out a soft, almost bitter, laugh but when she turned fully to face him again, her expression was serious.

“Because I love you, Ben. I didn’t want this.” she said waving her arms up and down her body. “I only wanted you. Whatever did this to me, didn’t ask my permission first.”

She kneeled down in front of him and placed her head against his stomach. She could see his cock grow immediately. She sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to tease you. It’s not my fault I’m only attracted to hot women now.”

Ben stood, like he wasn’t sure if his legs would hold him. “Then… what are we supposed to do?”

She bit her lip, glancing down like she was arguing with herself. Then, like she’d decided fuck it, she walked up and grabbed his hands. “Come with me. Let me show you where this all started. Maybe… maybe it can give us a way to fix this.“

He nodded once. “Okay.“

-------------------------------------

Later that night, they stood outside of Mina’s. Aubrey had demanded time to change into something “actually worth wearing.”

She wasn’t kidding.

Gone was the pink lace-up outfit. Now she stood in front of him like she was ready to start a riot.

Tiny black leather shorts barely covered her ass. A microscopic black bikini top pushed her tits up so high they looked like they might spill out if she breathed wrong. She had some oversized leather jacket draped over her shoulders like she couldn’t be bothered to actually wear it. And those pink and black Playboy boots? They looked like they belonged to the Queen of Bad Decisions herself.

Her hair was a messy, high blonde updo, loose curls falling around her face. And that smirk? God, it was lethal.

“You better not stare like some sad little puppy all night,” she snapped at Ben without looking back. I swear to God, if you start embarrassing me again, I’ll leave your ass right here.“

Ben flinched but nodded. He knew she didn’t mean it. Or at least, he hoped she didn’t.

Aubrey strutted right up to the door like she owned the building. Ben hung back half a step, anxiety bubbling in his chest. Aubrey’s friend Melanie had somehow gotten them on the list for Rachel’s bachelorette party. It was an exclusive club and you could barely notice it from the street. They weren’t on the list for tonight.

The bouncer didn’t move. He stood there like a wall, mouth twisted in permanent disapproval. His eyes flicked down to Ben, then slid to Aubrey.

“Name?” he grunted.

Aubrey didn’t even slow down. She blew right past the velvet rope like she didn’t hear him.

“Move.” Her voice cut through the air like a slap.

The bouncer’s hand shot out, blocking her with the back of his arm. “Not how this works, sweetheart.“

Aubrey slowly turned her head, her lip curling in mock amusement. She glanced down at his arm like it was something disgusting she’d have dry-cleaned off later.

“*Did I stutter?” she hissed, stepping in, heels clicking sharply. “*Move. We’re going in.“

The bouncer stood his ground, jaw tightening. “Name, now.”

Ben felt his stomach sink. He knew this wouldn’t work. Of course this wouldn’t work. Why the hell had he let her drag him…

Aubrey let out the fakest, most annoyed laugh Ben had ever heard. She leaned in, dragging one long pink nail down the man’s massive arm.

“God,” Aubrey groaned, rolling her eyes like she was already over this man’s existence. “Do I look like I give my name to rent-a-thugs?“

The bouncer’s nostrils flared. “You’re not on the list. Neither is he. Go home.“

Aubrey tilted her head, giving a slow, vicious smile. She leaned in, pressing her nail dead-center on his chest.

“Listen up, muscle boy,” she whispered, voice dipped in venom, “I’m not going home. I’m not giving you my name. And I’m not going to explain myself to some bloated doorman with more biceps than brains.“

The bouncer stiffened.

“Here’s what is going to happen,” Aubrey continued, her finger stopping dead-center on his chest. “You’re going to move. Right now. Or I’m going to make such a fucking scene that your boss is begging me to step over your worthless body.“

Ben swallowed hard. He could feel the tension.

For a heartbeat, the bouncer didn’t move. 

Then, grinding his jaw so hard Ben swore he could hear his teeth, the bouncer let out a long, sharp breath through his nose and jerked the rope aside with a harsh swipe.

“Go. Both of you.“

Aubrey smiled, slow, cold, and victorious. “Good boy.“

She grabbed Ben by the wrist, dragging him toward the entrance without looking back once. The music hit like a wave the moment the door shut behind them.

Aubrey leaned in close, her lips brushing his ear, voice pure sin.”See, baby? Told you I always get what I want.“

She ran her fingers through his hair, nails grazing his scalp, her voice softening just for him.

“And I want you with me. Always.“

--------------------------------------------

The place was unlike anywhere Ben had ever been before. He could feel the pounding bass deep in his chest. The room was mostly dark, but neon lights cracked through the haze in pinks, purples, and reds. 

The room was full of attractive people. Those who weren’t were flaunting their money. And even amongst this crowd, every eye was on her. Aubrey knew it, too. 

Her hips swayed like a metronome in perfect sync with the music, head high, showing off her toned stomach and perfect tits. She stomped across the floor in her knee-high boots like she owned it.

Men turned to watch her. Women did too. Some watched with hunger and others with jealousy. Every stare slid over her body like they needed to own her or be her. And Aubrey loved it. She basked in it.

The moment people noticed Ben walking hand-in-hand with her, their faces twisted into confusion. It was like they were seeing some joke they didn’t understand.

A tall woman in leather leaned against the bar, eyes flicking from Aubrey to Ben and back again. She let out a loud, mocking laugh as they passed. “Seriously? That’s who you’re dragging in here? Him?“

Aubrey noticed how the words impacted Ben. She stopped on a dime, turning her head just enough to flash that flawless, dangerous smile.

“I’m sorry,” she purred, taking a step toward the woman without missing a beat, “did you say something?“

The woman straightened, cocking her head, trying to save face. “Just saying you could do a hell of a lot better, sweetheart.“

Aubrey leaned in so close her breath probably tickled the woman’s ear. “You think I give a fuck what you think? He’s with me.”

The woman flinched—actually flinched—before looking away, silent.

Aubrey turned on her heel without missing a beat, grabbing Ben’s hand tight and pulling him through the crowd.

“Ignore them, baby,” Aubrey whispered, glancing over her shoulder with a devilish grin. “They’ll learn.“

She dragged him onto the center of the floor, right into the slow swirl of red light. Her body moved like she belonged there—hips rolling, arms stretching over her head, letting the music own her. She danced like she hadn’t thought about anything but herself in days.

Ben tried to keep up, standing awkwardly at first. But then Aubrey leaned in, biting her lip, grabbing his shirt. “Loosen up, baby.“

He tried. God, he tried. They danced for a while, an odd pairing in the sea of perfect strangers. The looks never stopped. Ben felt every single one.

She leaned in, brushing her lips against his ear again. “This is where I was… right here, dancing my ass off. Drinking God knows what.“

Ben tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “But you didn’t feel anything? Nothing… weird?“

She just shrugged, turning her back to him, rolling her hips in time with the beat like it was second nature. 

“It was a bachelorette party and was drunk, baby. I felt good. I don’t even remember leaving. Somehow I got home. Then I woke up the next morning like… this.”

Ben nodded, then leaned in and whispered, “I need a minute.”

He slipped away, leaving Aubrey dancing by herself.

Immediately, two guys tried to slide in, but Aubrey shut them down with a single withering glance. They walked away defeated, like she’d kicked them in the chest.

Ben couldn’t help but smile, just a little.

Ben’s eyes scanned the crowd, searching for something to give reason to what happened to Aubrey. He tried to ask a few people, but no one cared to listen. They were all to busy enjoying their night. After a while, he ended up at the bar. He leaned in, desperate for someone to take him seriously. 

The bartender, a man in his mid-thirties with tattooed arms and slicked-back hair, leaned forward lazily. “What’ll it be?“

Ben hesitated, eyes darting toward Aubrey, who was still dancing but now with a woman who was draping herself on Aubrey in a way Ben found both hot and disturbing. Ben leaned in closer. “Actually… I—”  He rubbed his face, feeling ridiculous even trying to explain it.  “I don’t need a drink. I… I need answers.”

The bartender arched an eyebrow. “Don’t we all?“

“My wife… she came here a few days ago. She woke up the next morning looking… different. Acting… different. You ever heard of something like that happening here?“

The bartender just stared at him for a second, like he wasn’t sure if Ben was fucking with him or not. Then he gave a slow shake of his head.

“Look, man… this is a club. People get wasted, they wake up different every weekend. That’s how it works.“

Ben’s heart sank. “No, I mean—“

“I heard you.”  The bartender leaned in, lowering his voice just slightly.  “If something happened to her, it wasn’t me, and it wasn’t here. People like to blame this place for all kinds of weird shit. But trust me… we just serve drinks.“

Ben sat back, deflated. His eyes flicked toward Aubrey again.

“Sorry, man,” He slid Ben a drink. “Wish I had more for you. That one’s on the house.”

Ben forced a weak smile and sipped his drink.

They stayed a while longer. The entire time, Aubrey danced and flirted. She worshipped the attention. But Ben could tell she kept checking on him too. She wanted him there. As much as she drank it all in, she never let herself stray too far from him.

--------------------------------------------

They fumbled through the door sometime after two in the morning, the door slamming shut behind them. Aubrey stumbled first, kicking off her pink and black Playboy boots with a careless giggle.

“God, I needed that,” she sighed, flopping back onto the couch with zero grace. She sprawled out like she owned the place, leather jacket slipping off one shoulder, her legs spreading wide, head falling back onto the pillows.

Ben leaned against the door, watching her in that fucking outfit—the black leather shorts clinging to her hips, the micro bikini top still somehow holding on by a thread. Her skin glistened with sweat.

“You’re something else…” Ben muttered, words slurring just enough to betray how many drinks he’d downed trying to keep up with her.

Aubrey cracked open one eye, smirking even wider. “Damn right. Took you this long to notice?“

She stood up, sauntering toward the bedroom without paying attention to him. 

As she reached the doorframe, she shrugged off her leather jacket, letting it drop to the floor without a care. She continued, reaching behind her back and tugging the tiny black top up and over her head, exposing every inch of flawless, bouncing skin. She let it fall from her fingers with a soft thump.

Ben stood there, unable to do anything but watch. 

Aubrey shimmied out of her tight leather shorts next, stepping out of them one leg at a time until she was completely naked, standing there like a fucking curse made flesh.

She climbed into bed, stretching out like a goddess, pulling the blanket down with one hand and patting the empty spot next to her.

“Come here, baby.“

Ben didn’t hesitate. He slid in next to her, pulling her tight against his chest, burying his face in her hair.

“Aubrey…” he whispered.

She let out a slow, knowing breath, sitting up just slightly. “Baby… don’t.“

But he couldn’t stop. He missed her. Missed how she used to melt under his touch, how she used to need him. “Just… let me try.“

His hands slid up her thighs, shaking just a little. Her body stiffened.

“Ben…” she whispered again, softer this time, almost broken.

He looked up at her, desperate. “Please… let me have you. Just… just once.“

She slid her fingers into his hair, cupping the back of his head. She pulled him forward, pressing her lips to his forehead, holding him there.

“You don’t want me like that,” she whispered, voice shaking.

Ben’s throat closed tight. He wanted to argue, but deep down, he knew she was right.

She curled her fingers around his hand on her waist, whispering so soft he almost didn’t catch it.

“I still love you, Ben. I know this is killing you. Hopefully, this will all be over in the morning.“

Ben closed his eyes tight, breathing her in. They held onto each other until sleep finally took them both.

--------------------------------------------

Aubrey cracked open one eye. Her head pounded. She groaned, rolling over into the mess of tangled sheets but Ben’s side was empty.

“Fuck me…” she hissed under her breath, throwing the blanket off herself and sitting up slowly, clutching her head.

She rubbed her temples, wincing at every creak of the floor as she padded naked toward the kitchen. She grabbed a glass from the counter and slammed it under the faucet.

“God, why does everything fucking suck today?” she growled to no one, slamming the glass down hard enough to rattle the counter.

The hallway bathroom door was cracked open, light spilling out onto the floor.

“Ben?” she croaked, dragging herself toward it. “You been up for a while?“

She rubbed her bleary eyes and pushed the door open fully. Standing at the mirror was a woman. A tall, blonde and toned woman.

Aubrey’s eyes moved up and down, taking in her full hips, her curves. The woman locked eyes with Aubrey in the mirror. The eyes were frighteningly familiar.

“Ben?” Aubrey spoke, stepping inside.

The woman turned around slowly, her lips curling into a cocky little smirk, one perfectly manicured brow arching up. “Took you long enough to fucking wake up.“

Aubrey staggered back a step, staring at the walking, talking sex bomb standing in front of her.

“Holy shit… Ben? What… what the fuck?“

Ben laughed. “Guess our little trip to the club worked after all, baby.“

Aubrey’s mouth hung open, completely wrecked by the sight.

Ben stepped toward her, barefoot, hips swaying like he’d been this way his whole life. She leaned one hand on the doorframe right beside Aubrey’s head, lips curling into something wicked.

“God, look at you,” Ben purred, eyeing her up and down. “Fuck me, you’re so hot.“

Aubrey’s head spun. “Ben… you’re a woman.”

Ben chuckled, leaning in, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind Aubrey’s ear, voice dropping to a filthy whisper. “So are you, babe.“

Aubrey’s heart hammered in her chest as she realized the truth.  They could be together. “Holy fuck… we can make this work.“

Ben grinned wide, leaning in even closer until their lips almost touched. “Damn right we can.“

Aubrey launched forward, crashing her lips into Ben’s. Ben groaned into her mouth like she’d been starving for this. Their bodies collided in a blur of sweat and want, hands gripping skin, pulling, clawing, claiming.

“God,” Aubrey gasped, dragging her nails down Ben’s bare back, “I’ve been so fucking horny. I’ve been trying so hard to not cheat. And now, I don’t have to fight anymore. You feel so fucking good.”

Ben…no, Brenna, the name popping into her brain, bit her bottom lip hard enough to make her whimper, then shoved her back against the cool tile wall of the bathroom.

“I’ve waited for this too, Aubrey.“

Their mouths crashed again. Aubrey’s leg wrapped around Brenna’s thigh, grinding shamelessly. Their curves pressed together, sin made flesh. Every inch of friction felt necessary, like they’d been wired for this moment their whole lives and just hadn’t realized it.

The mirror behind them fogged with their heat.

They stumbled out of the bathroom, tangled and gasping, knocking into furniture, laughing, cursing, tearing the place apart on their way to the bedroom.

“This is fucking insane,” Aubrey moaned as Brenna pushed her down onto the mattress, crawling on top of her.  “We’re insane.“

“Fucking good,” Brenna corrected, trailing kisses down her neck. “Fucking perfect.“

Aubrey pulled her up by the hair and kissed her hard.

They didn’t care how loud or how feral they were. It was two goddesses reclaiming each other in bodies that finally matched their hunger.

Moans turned to growls. Fingers tangled in hair. Mouths explored with filthy desperation. It was euphoric. It was a rebirth forged in sweat and spit and love twisted with heat.

And when they came, it was loud. Their breathless, bodies arching and shaking in the ruined sheets. Brenna pulled Aubrey close, lips brushing her ear. Aubrey curled into Brenna’s side, trailing lazy fingers over her stomach.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Brenna whispered. “We’re fucking unstoppable now.“

Aubrey grinned, heart pounding, body still buzzing. “The world has no idea what’s coming.“

They lay there a moment longer before Aubrey rolled onto her back, eyes burning into the ceiling, a wicked little smirk curling on her lips. “Let’s burn it all down, baby…“

Ben leaned over, biting softly at her shoulder. “…together.“

And just like that, the world was officially fucked.