#always second-guess their reasoning for yourself

[itoshiabi]

Hey, I just fell in love with your sakura haruka x fem reader 🤭

Can I perhaps request for him with fem reader who is not much of a talker, like she always silent but then sometimes she talk, the reason why she always so silent is she is a introvert and don't know what she want to talk

Romantic and one-shot please 😩🙏

I'm glad you like my Haruka Oneshots haha... Thanks for requesting. I really tried to make a cute one and I hope you'll like it >•<

You came for ME?

While returning home from your late shift, your purse gets stolen. Being shocked you almost start to cry when you hero Haruka appears like an angel

The street is empty.

It's nearly 10 pm. The streetlights flicker yellow over the cracked pavement and the only sound is your own footsteps echoing quietly as you walk home alone from your part-time job.

Your backpack is heavy, your legs are tired, and your fingers are clenched tightly around your small purse. Inside is everything you earned this week. Every shift, every hour, every bit you'd saved. It's not much—but it's yours.

You keep your head low, crossing your arms tightly against the breeze. Almost home, you tell yourself. Just a few more blocks. It'll be fine.

But then—A shadow moves.

Fast.

A blur.

And your purse is yanked from your hand.

You stagger. "H-Hey—!"

Too late. The figure sprints down the alley and disappears into the dark.

You freeze. Your body doesn't move. Your voice cracks.

That was your money. Your everything.

You stand there, stunned, heart thudding in your throat, as the realization sinks in. You can't breathe.

And then your eyes well up.

You don't cry. You hate crying. But your knees wobble. Your lip trembles.

I worked so hard…

A choked breath escapes your lips—Until—A thud echoes behind you.

Then a sharp, familiar voice.

"Oi."

You spin around.

Your heart stutters.

There, emerging from the alley like he walked straight out of a manga panel, is Haruka Sakura.

His jacket is slightly tousled, one hand shoved in his pocket, the other casually dangling your purse from his fingers. His hair is a little messy. There's a small cut on his lip, like he got into a scuffle.

He tosses the purse toward you, and you barely catch it.

"Yours, right?"

You stare.

Your mouth opens—but nothing comes out.

"I saw the guy," he mutters, scratching the back of his neck. "Was about to head home when I noticed you walking. Didn't like the look of him. So I followed."

You blink hard, trying to keep the tears back. "You… you followed me?"

"Not in a creepy way," he snaps, clearly flustered. "Just—whatever. I do that sometimes."

You bite your lip. "You do?"

Sakura stiffens. "Tch. Forget I said that."

You look down at the purse, still stunned.

It's warm from his hand. Your fingers tighten around it. "Thank you."

He shifts his weight awkwardly, avoiding your gaze, ears pink.

"You okay?" he asks, voice lower now. "You looked like you were gonna cry."

You stare at the ground. "I—I almost did."

His jaw clenches. "You shouldn't. You're too quiet for this city. Creeps think you're easy to mess with."

You swallow. "But you came."

He falters.

You look up at him through your lashes. "You came for me."

He blinks. His ears go red. "D-Don't say it like that. Makes it sound weird."

You try not to smile.

For a second, silence lingers between you. Not awkward. Just warm.

And then—

"I… um." You fumble with the strap of your bag, nervously stepping forward. "Do you want something? As a thank-you? I can—I can make you dinner. Or boba. Or something sweet."

He looks at you like you've just offered to kill him.

"You don't have to do that," he mutters, clearly panicking. "I didn't do it for a reward or whatever."

"I know," you whisper. "But I want to."

He doesn't move.

You can see him short-circuiting.

"Boba?" he mumbles eventually.

Your eyes widen. "You—you want that?"

"I mean. Whatever. I'm not saying I like it. Just—if you're offering. I guess."

You stare at him, stunned.

"You have a favorite flavor?"

He hesitates, then mutters something under his breath.

"What?"

"Brown sugar. Don't laugh."

You cover your mouth. "I'm not laughing."

His face is bright red now, ears burning.

"You are!"

"I'm not!"

"Stop looking at me like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like you're gonna cry again—but in a good way."

You take a deep breath. Step a little closer. "Thank you for being here."

He doesn't answer right away. Just looks at you for a long second—his usual cold expression softening at the edges.

"You're welcome," he says finally, voice quieter, scratching his neck. "Just… next time, text me when you get off work. I'll walk you home."

You blink. "You want me to?"

He nods once, like it's obvious. "Yeah. You'll get lost in your head and not notice the world."

You smile softly. "Okay."

You walk side by side after that.

Close enough that your hands almost touch—but never quite.

Until he quietly, awkwardly, reaches out and tugs your sleeve.

You look up at him.

"Don't forget the brown sugar boba," he mutters, looking away, blushing again. "You promised."

Your cheeks flush.

"I won't."

And neither of you says it yet—but something sweet settles in your chest.

Maybe next time, you'll reach for his hand.

And maybe he'll finally let you hold it.

[b1nary-wr1ter]

HEAR ME OUT ON THIS IDEA.

07n7 comforting Artist!reader who's having an artblock. Anyway, have a good day/night!!

>It sounds lovely.

>007n7 happens to be one of it's favorites.

>It shall enjoy writing this.

</> ASCII art </>

007n7 x Artist! Reader 1k words

You had been struggling recently.

For two reasons.

The most obvious one being the death game your trapped in.

The other? Art block.

Who knew in this endless hell the thing you'd hate second most was not knowing what to make in-between rounds?

But here you sat in the lodge, supplies sitting out on the coffee table, fire crackling in the fireplace. And you've done nothing. No progress, no ideas, nothing. You've tried just free handing something but couldn't get anything right, and so you gave up.

You groan, holding your face in your hands. This is the worst. The one thing that brought you peace here you can't even do because you just can't think.

The others have already gone off to do their own things, making dinner, talking, playing cards, games, or pool.

You can hear them laughing throughout the lodge. It's odd, the daily life you all have made here.

Looking at your supplies makes your head hurt. You could be doing anything else but you want to make art. You want to make. But you cant. Your mind won't let you and your hands fumble each time.

Your frustration must be rather obvious because you hear the clearing of someone's throat behind you.

You turn around and spot the last person you expected.

007n7.

He looks at you sheepishly, not bothering to sit on the couch and giving you your space.

" Ah- are you... okay? "

You blink a bit in surprise. It's not often you see him around after rounds. And it's even rarer to see him being the one to start a conversation.

" Oh uhm...sorta? I'm just a little...blocked."

You see him glance from you to the coffee table where your supplies are.

" Blocked? "

" Yeah, like art blocked. "

He looks a little confused. You're pretty sure he doesn't know what that term means. So you do your best to explain it.

" Oh. That sounds like it sucks? "

" Yeah it does haha- "

The longer you talk, the more nervous he looks, as if you're about to bite his head off or tell him to go away. But you'd never do that.

Instead, you pat the space next to you on the couch. He looks surprised at your invitation but he takes it, carefully sitting next to you but not very close.

You both sit in silence for a few seconds as he tries to figure out what to say next, eventually taking a look at your supplies again.

" What sort of art do you usually make? "

You light up a little bit as you explain what you do.

He nods along and eventually ends up asking about your supplies, and you eagerly explain what you use them for, even if it was mundane.

While you talk, you've realized he's been asking all the questions. You don't know much about him yourself so-

" Do you do any art? " you ask him.

" Oh! Uh, no not really. Not like what you do. "

" So you do other art? "

He seems a little nervous about it, but since first meeting him, he's always been nervous.

" I....guess you could call it that? "

You tilt your head in confusion at him.

" Well anything you make can be called art. "

He gives you a very small smile. His hand reaches out for something before stopping short. He glance at you from the corner of his eye.

" Do...do you want to see it? " He asked.

" Only if you're willing to show me, I won't force you to. "

7n7 thinks about it for just a moment before he pulls out his c00lgui. The red and black text box hovering just in front of him.

You eye it suspiciously, knowing what it's capable of. But you trust 7n7 enough.

You watch as he seems to type on an invisible keyboard, and instead of prompts, commands, or texts, it symbols.

He eventually turns the c00lgui in your direction so you can fully see what he's made.

It's a....cat? Made of text.

7n7 looks at you expectantly, unsure of what you'd think.

" It's not much but- "

" Is super cute! "

You interrupt him with a smile on your face.

" How'd you do that? " You ask him, genuinely interested. It catches him by surprise, a small blush across his cheeks.

" Oh I- well during college I...It was super popular to make these little pictures and well- I would get bored and here we are. "

He doesn't explain it well but you won't push him. He's never spoken much bout himself so you'd rather not push your luck with questions.

" That's actually....really cool. Do you know any more? "

He smiles a bit more as his fingers glide over the invisible keyboard as he erases the cat and starts a new picture.

A fish. Then a bird. A house. A tree. A sky. A kite. A fire. Pizza. A face. A skull.

He goes on for a bit, watching your reactions to each. Some he does with ease like the pizza and skull, the others take him a few tries to get right.

" Can you teach me how to do it? " Even if you can't see whatever the keyboard he's using is, you think it'd still be cool.

" Uhm...I mean I can uh..."

7n7 looks between you and the c00lgui. His hand twitches above it before sighing.

" Maybe....another time? If we can find a proper computer I can show you how to do it on that. "

You smile and nod. You'll be just fine with that.

The two of you spend the rest of the day together on the couch. His demonstrations on the c00lgui have inspired you a bit. You end up making a few cat related things with the supplies on the coffee table, giving one to 007n7.

You know a few of the others aren't too fond of him because of something he did before being brought here and the fact his son is one of the people hunting you all down each day.

But spending time with him like this? He doesn't seem all that bad just someone else stuck here with all of you.

You rather like him if you were being honest.

You couldn't wait for the day you find a computer.

[feral-coffee]

Replacement thoughts for the nuance:

-Seeing the nude human body is inherently traumatic Everyone is naked under their clothes, and the human body that we all have, that we all see in ourselves, should not be seen as inherently traumatic. Dysphoria and such exists, sure, however, society has never been comprised of incorporeal personalities - all humans have bodies - and we should stop pretending that some bodyless society is the norm.

-Sex scenes in art are pointless Sometimes sex scenes in art are gratuitous and only there to tempt those looking for porn, sometimes sex scenes are a plot point, sometimes the sex scene falls in between the two. Viewer discretion is advised (aka check the warnings/tags and curate your own experience).

-Wearing kink-related clothing in public is the similar to performing a sex scene in front of unwilling participants Outfits that expose genitalia and are being put to use at Folsom? Yeah, definitely sex related. Swapping out your denim blue jeans for leather pants and NOT going around giving a full dissertation on how the leather makes you/your partner feel? No, the pants are just pants, and the material should not be such a big deal, stop trying to create society-wide uniforms.

-Depicting female characters expressing sexuality is always degrading I don't know how to make this simpler, but women are just as human as men and generally also have thoughts just like men do, and sometimes voice them just as men do. Men, women, non-binary ... we are all human and should not be treated as separate species or as infants in adulthood.

-People's sexual fantasies are always an endorsement of the behavior they want to see in real life As a kid, I fantasized about being a dragon, because 'ooo, pretty'. This never meant I actually expected to become a real-life dragon. Look back at your own life, and you'll likely find something similar. There's a reason the meme of a cat clinging to a wall above a door with the caption 'They said I could be anything, so I became a security camera' was funny. Not all dreams come true, nor are all dreams meant to come true. People are allowed to be silly, it's not that serious.

-Sex work is more traumatic and coercive than other types of work Some people enjoy sex and don't care who they have it with, or are at least less picky about who they have it with. If they find that people are willing to pay them as they indulge in their own personal enjoyment, they may take that money as part of a perfectly fair exchange. Not all sex work involves human trafficking, just as not all human trafficking involves sex. The problem isn't the sex or the sex work, the problem is economic and about how we treat other people under the current classist system in general, aka the work and how workers are treated.

-Sex in a monogamous romantic relationship is somehow morally/fundamentally different from sex outside of romance and/or monogamy. Seeing as even the Bible refers to multiple definitions of what we call marriage, including taking a woman as your wife if her husband dies and you were her brother-in-law, or if you killed her husband on the battlefield, or if you already own her as a slave, this absolutely doesn't even fit with people citing the Bible as their source of morality, which is where that nonsense started. If you are not part of the consentual relationship between the adults in question, then you are not part of that relationship and your opinion does not matter. Deal with your own relationship(s) or lack thereof and get your nose out of everyone else's personal business.

-Some clothing is inherently sexual. The clothing is not alive. It is not sentient. It has no opinion, thoughts, wants, or desires. Any sexuality you see in that clothing is what YOU have chosen to see. The clothes are not the problem. Your inability to get your mind out of the gutter is the problem. Trying to mandate some uniform clothing standard for society will solve nothing. On the other hand, seeking help with your own need to over-sexualize everything and take everything personally might make a world of difference. 'Hypersexual disorder' is still a thing (https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/19937105/), and claiming non-sexual things are 'inherently sexual' is a listed symptom (this is not a diagnosis and I am not your therapist or psychologist - this is merely something to take into consideration).

Case in point: I have Mormon neighbors who fret over bare shoulders, considering the uncovered shoulders to be risque and inherently sexual. I've lived in places where nobody cared about bare shoulders at all, and still live under the same idea that bare shoulders are just something that happens when it's hot outside and maybe wear sunscreen. We are not the same. I do not see tank tops as any more sexual than the completely non-sexual prairie dresses that many FLDS wear, I do not carry around the same cultural baggage that my neighbors do.

TL;DR Stop believing all the sensationalist crap you see in internet discourse. Stop claiming your own failings are society's fault. Sometimes society is wrong, sure, but sometimes it's just certain individuals who are wrong and you may be one of them.

Lines of thought that seem Normal but are actually rooted in extreme puritanism:

-Seeing the nude human body is inherently traumatic -Sex scenes in art are pointless -Wearing kink-related clothing in public is the similar to performing a sex scene in front of unwilling participants -Depicting female characters expressing sexuality is always degrading -People's sexual fantasies are always an endorsement of the behavior they want to see in real life -Sex work is more traumatic and coercive than other types of work The goal is to treat sex as just another thing people do. That is a much healthier attitude than hiding it! It's not uniquely traumatic, it's not weird to talk about it or include it in society.

[psycheandmind]

How to GENUINELY create an assumption without feeling like you’re lying to yourself/pretending/have to “convince” yourself. How to actually accept your desire as TRUE.

Please, please understand that an assumption isn't forced or something you have to "try" to believe because it's just something you accept as true without question. You don't wake up every day wondering if you have a name, if the sky is blue or if gravity works. You just know with certainty. That's how conscious manifestation works. You decide something IS true and of course it reflects like every other assumption. You need to ACTUALLY assume you have something to get it please don't pretend or hope. A real assumption isn't forced, it's something you accept as fact without needing proof. If you say you assumed something but then claim it didn't happen you didn't actually assume it lol. You either doubted it, contradicted it or held another assumption alongside it. You assuming is NOT a technique and it's not something you "do" to get something.

The reason some people treat creating an assumption like it's a technique is because they think if they repeat it enough their mind will suddenly be tricked into believing it. That's NOT how an assumption works. An assumption is just accepting something as fact. If you're trying to "convince" yourself you're admitting you don't actually accept it as true. Come on… your mind is not stupid. It knows when you're forcing something versus when you genuinely accept it as reality (assume it). You need to be so certain that questioning isn't even an option and idc if other people disagree because who questions an assumption? An assumption is something you accept as true without proof go search it up. You must stay firm. It's not hoping, testing or checking for results it's about knowing aka accepting it as a fact. When you truly assume something it becomes your reality instantly. Reality will always reflect your truth.

So how do you truly accept something as true? It's actually simple but people overlook because they think taking time to face what's holding them down will waste their time. It's better to find out why you're finding it difficult and address it instead of staying stuck in a loop forever.

You need to find out what is preventing you from accepting your own word as the truth. Why don't you trust your own word as a fact? If you tell yourself "I have my desire" but deep down you're doubting or waiting or looking for proof then ask yourself "why don't I trust myself?" What thoughts are making you second guess your own reality? Is it because you're treating the physical world as more real than your own assumptions? Is it because you think that the physical world is the reason why you think you don't have what you want, when in reality it's because you assumed it first for it to reflect? Did you forget that reality is a mirror of your assumptions? Could it be you're looking at your circumstances and saying ughhh this is what's happening instead of actually understanding that what's happening is just a reflection of what you have been assuming up until this moment? Or maybe you've placed your power outside of yourself right? You believe circumstances or external factors hold weight in your manifestation rather than realising that NOTHING is set in stone and the only thing dictating your reality is your current assumption right? Maybe you think you have to do something and this is far too simple?

Figure it out and actually just spend time with yourself to pin point where you are struggling. Stop running away from your problems and address the reason why you can't accept your word as the truth. Remind yourself of the basics of the Law if you need to.

Now ask yourself what are you ACTUALLY assuming? Look at you telling yourself "Oh I'm affirming for my SP" and that being reflected back: you affirming for your SP. Look at you treating the concept of "just decide" like another method or technique to get to your desire and that being reflected in your reality: you in the process of using "just decide" like a technique to manifest. See how perfect the Law is? It's reflecting exactly what you're assuming. You're seeing your assumptions play out exactly as they are because manifestation is always based on what you're ACTUALLY assuming. You're STILL giving options to reality when there are no options… it's only what you say it is. As soon as you drop the debate you have with yourself in your mind and stop entertaining opposing thoughts you'll see how easy it is. You don't argue with yourself about basic facts of your life do you? You just accept them as true. That's exactly how you need to see your assumptions. Yes you need to be that certain and firm.

I PROMISE you the "key" everyone talks about to getting what you want… repeat with me… is to decide once and for all that it's done and that's it. Just accept it as true. Please just say f*ck all and accept it as true. What will you lose? Just do it.

[ranoutofficssoiwritemyown]

You decide to sleep on the couch after an argument

love and deepspace

characters: Zayne, Sylus (pt2 here pt3 here)

note: they might be a little mischaracterized so bear with me.

Zayne

Usually, arguments with Zayne don’t get this heated. There was no yelling, not on his part at least, but he could be really cold with his words when he wanted to be. Not that you were any better. Some things you said hurt him to no end. So you came up with a decision - to sleep on a couch tonight. To be honest, it was more because to be petty, than not wanting to spend a night beside him. You gathered your pillow and blanket and got comfortable on the couch, which made Zayne sigh out loud when he entered the room.

“What is this?”

You turned your back to him as an answer. Another sigh comes out of his mouth. He’s exhausted, physically and emotionally, and you acting like a brat doesn’t ease anything at all.

“I know you’re mad, dear but is this necessary?”

No answer.

“Alright”

He left the room and before you could convince yourself that you didn’t care he was back with a blanket of his own and took a seat in an armchair. You turn your head towards him in confusion.

“What are you doing?”

“I guess we’re not sleeping in bed tonight”

“I’m not. You can go”

“I believe I didn’t stutter”

You scoffed and turned around again.

“suit yourself”

Minutes pass and sleep doesn’t come to you. Whether it’s because of an uncomfortable couch or an absence of his arms around you is hard to say, but after turning around thousands of times and still not being able to sleep is frustrating.

Finally, Zayne had enough of watching your struggle.

“How about we go to bed?”

“No” came your response after a second of hesitation. With a small amused smile on his face, he hovered over the couch.

“What do you say… I take you to bed and you can curse me out for it tomorrow?”

You shifted a little but didn’t answer, which made his smile widen. He gathered you in his arms and your lack of objection was all he needed to take you to your room and tucking you in bed. Even though you seemed to warm up he didn’t know how far he could push you, so kneeling beside the bed to be on your eye level he started:

“If you still need space I can-”

“Stay”

He smiled at you tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Okay”

He got up and kissed your forehead before slipping in beside you and pulling you closer.

"I'm sorry..." you mutter

"Shh, we'll talk about it tomorrow... but I'm sorry too"

You smile a little. You two will sort this out tomorrow.

Sylus

What Sylus says, goes around. His word is the law. This is what he’s used to. That's how it's always been.

Then you came into his life and even though he’s still in charge of how things go in the N109 zone, you just need to say the word and everything will be how you like it. No questions, no hesitation. He would give you the world if you so much as whispered the need. Whatever you want, whatever you need, he will make it happen.

Unless, when it comes to your safety. Now don’t get me wrong. Sylus knows you can defend yourself and then some. But when it comes to the N109 zone, there are things Sylus knows better than you. Additionally, The fact that you can be reckless in your battles does nothing to help ease his worries.

That was the reason for the heated argument tonight. Sylus with his harsh words and snarky remarks always finds a way to infuriate you. So you two go on and on for half an hour now and none of you seems to back down. You storm off to your room and take your things to get comfortable on the couch. However, on your way out Sylus blocks your way. He raises an eyebrow at the blanket and pillow in your arms.

“Now, what exactly do you think you are doing, sweetie?”

“move”

“I asked you a question”

“I’m not sleeping beside you- Sylus” you exclaim as he hoists you over his shoulder. you punch and scratch his back but to no avail.

“Careful with your claws, kitten”

He drops you on the bed climbing over you.

“Now listen, this is what will happen. You will stop acting like a wild kitten and sleep beside me. I am sorry for hurting you but we will discuss it tomorrow, when we are both a lot calmer. Understood?”

You don’t want to give in so easily. You also don’t want to sleep without him tonight. So you nod avoiding eye contact. He, however, doesn’t accept it and raises your chin with his finger to make you look at him.

“Use your words, sweetie”

“Yes”

“Splendid” He removed himself from you so you could get under the blanket. He laid beside you and pulled you closer so your head was resting on his chest.

"Sy... I'm sorry too"

"So I'm Sy now?"

This man.

"Nevermind, you're still a prick"

You try to remove his arm but he holds you tighter as he laughs.

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry, sweetie"

You felt him kiss the crown of your head as he caressed your shoulder with his thumb. you return to your previous position and listening to his heartbeat, sleep lured you in soon enough.

[kannady]

ever, ever after

pairing: sylus x non-mc reader

summary: sylus didn't love you. how could he when she was around? but would he come look for you if you willingly step into EVER's boundaries?

word count: 2.6k

a/n: ehhhh just a random idea. not too proud of it. listening to cinnamon girl prompted me to write this. ive never written or read anything angsty. its not great, just my first attempt. lemme know your thoughts! would you wanna read more?

I

The hallway stretched before you, dim and silent except for the muffled creak of the floorboards beneath your boots. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and something sharper, gun oil, maybe. You exhaled slowly, your breath barely disturbing the stillness.

And then you heard it.

A laugh, bright and effortless, ringing through the house.

You froze.

You didn’t need to follow the sound. You didn’t need to see her draped over Sylus’s arm, her fingers curled around a wine glass, her lips parted in amusement. You knew. You had always known.

Sylus had loved her long before he’d known you. Not in this life, perhaps, but in another, one where they were bound by something deeper than reason. You had sensed it the moment you first saw them together, the way his gaze lingered just a second too long, the way his voice softened when he spoke her name.

And you? You had been careful.

You never let your hands tremble when you handed him reports. Never let your voice waver when he stood too close, his presence like a storm pressing against your skin. You were smarter than that. You had to be.

The file in your hand suddenly felt heavy. You set it down on the side table, the sound swallowed by the thick silence of the house. 

A few steps farther, and there he was. Mephisto, perched on his stand like a sentinel, his feathers catching the faint glow of the hallway sconces. Sylus’s ever-watchful spy. 

Your fingers closed around the bird’s body before you could second-guess yourself. Cold metal bit into your palm as you twisted its neck, pressing the hidden switch beneath its wing. A faint click, and the red light in its eyes flickered out.

No more watching. No more recording.

You didn’t walk to your room so much as you drifted there. The corner by the window looking welcoming, the floorboards smooth beneath your knees where you had sat so many nights before. You didn’t move. Didn’t make a sound. Just waited, as if some foolish part of you still expected.

But no. Of course he didn’t come.

Why would he? You were just an asset. A tool. And tools don’t warrant concern when they go quiet. They’re replaced.

The realization settled over you like a weight.

You stood. Your bag was already half-packed from some forgotten mission, duffel shoved beneath the bed, dust clinging to its straps. You yanked it free, tossing in the essentials: cash, a knife, the forged papers you’d been smart enough to prepare months ago. No hesitation. No second thoughts.

You didn’t bother with stealth. Didn’t tiptoe past his study, didn’t glance toward the wing where her laughter still curled through the air like smoke.

He wouldn’t notice you were gone.

***

Two years. 

Two years since you'd walked out of that gilded prison with nothing but a half-packed duffel bag and the clothes on your back. Your plan had been absolute in its simplicity: vanish from the N109 Zone completely. Disappear into some forgotten corner of the world, someplace so remote and inaccessible that not even Sylus with his vast resources would think to look.

But you were never naive enough to believe it would be that easy.

In the silent hours before dawn, when the city outside your new apartment windows hummed ever so softly, the truth would wrap around your throat like cold fingers. If Sylus ever truly wanted to find you, he would. No amount of running, carefully constructing false identities, calculating distance would stop him. 

The realization should have terrified you. Instead, it settled into your bones like an old scar, familiar, aching, but no longer sharp. So you did the only thing you could: you became invisible. Not by hiding, but by thriving in the last place anyone would expect to find you.

EVER Group. Those gleaming letters embossed on every lab door, every piece of correspondence, every business card that now bore your name. Eternity Vanquishes Evolution Restraint. A name as pretentious as it was accurate. They didn't recruit through job postings or career fairs. They hunted. For minds like yours. Sharp, adaptable, willing to dance on the edge of ethics if it meant progress. 

And when they'd found you six months after your disappearance, when they'd slid that first offer across the table with promises of resources beyond imagination and challenges worthy of your mind, you'd said yes without hesitation.

Your new title, Human Augmentation Engineer, rolled off the tongue with clinical precision. The work suited you in ways you hadn't anticipated. Your days were spent in sterile white labs where the air smelled faintly of ozone and disinfectant, your fingers dancing across holographic displays as you designed biomechanical enhancements that pushed the boundaries of human limitation. 

Cardiac regeneration systems that could theoretically keep a heart beating forever. Neural interfaces that blurred the line between human thought and machine precision. 

The ethical implications would have kept a lesser person awake at night. For you, it was just another equation to solve.

The irony wasn't lost on you. EVER was, by any reasonable standard, monstrous. Their research ventured into territories that would terrify most people. Resurrection protocols, memory extraction, experiments that could theoretically stop death. And yet, for the first time in longer than you could remember, you were happy.

Mornings began with the quiet ritual of coffee brewed exactly how you liked it, black with a single sugar, sipped while reviewing data from your latest prototypes. Your colleagues greeted you by name, their respect earned through competence rather than fear. Meetings were lively debates rather than tense performances, your ideas were met with genuine interest rather than dismissal. There was a birthday celebration for you, a real one, with terrible store-bought cake and off-key singing.

Your apartment, small but yours, became a sanctuary. The couch was worn in just the right places, the kitchen stocked with foods you actually enjoyed rather than what was expected. Evenings were spent curled up with research journals or trashy novels, the city lights painting shifting patterns across your walls.

No more straining to hear footsteps in the hallway. No more rehearsing conversations in your head, measuring every word before it left your lips. No more choking on the sound of her laughter ringing through the halls like wind chimes.

You thought about him, of course.

It was impossible not to.

Sometimes when you passed a certain shade of crimson in a shop window, his colour, your breath would catch just for a moment. The scent of expensive bourbon would still make you turn your head. And on rare nights, when sleep eluded you, you'd find yourself wondering. Did he still keep that ridiculous collection of antique pistols? Had he replaced you immediately, or had he waited out of pride, if not sentiment? Was she still there?

But the thoughts came less frequently now. When they did surface, you’d forget about them after a moment or two. Did it hurt? You weren't sure. More importantly, you didn't care enough to find out. This life, this messy, complicated, gloriously ordinary life, was yours by choice. Every late night at the lab, every terrible office party, every quiet evening alone was a decision you'd made for yourself.

And you didn't regret a single second of it.

The past was a closed door.

***

Two years.

Two years of silence.

Two years of waking up expecting to see you in the study, bent over reports with that familiar furrow between your brows. Two years of catching himself turning to make some dry remark, only to remember that there was no one there to hear it. 

He had to admit. You'd outsmarted him.

The realization still tasted like broken glass.

Sylus sat in his office, the glow of a dying fire casting long shadows across the mahogany desk. The room smelled of leather and gun oil, of expensive bourbon left untouched in its crystal decanter. His fingers traced the edge of a file, your file. The one he kept locked in the bottom drawer despite having memorized every word.

Page 37 showed your favorite café, the one with the terrible coffee you pretended to enjoy because the owner reminded you of your grandfather. Page 89 mentioned your habit of humming off-key when working late. Page 203 contained the little notes he’d leave for you around the house. He knew you loved his handwriting. He’d known the moment you asked him to write down everything he needed done instead of telling you. 

He snapped the folder shut.

Mephisto had been his masterpiece. Programmed to follow you silently if you ever left unannounced, to watch over you when he couldn't. A safeguard. A gift, in his own twisted way. But you'd known. Of course you'd known. The way you'd manually shut the bird down with the sole purpose of running away from him, haunted him more than any ghost ever could.

He'd searched every corner of the N109 Zone. Burned through favors, called in debts, even risked venturing into rival territories himself. Nothing. No whispers in the underground, no sightings in the usual haunts. Just empty leads and dead ends piling up like corpses.

His fingers tightened around the glass.

He'd been a fool.

All those carefully calculated moves, every strategic play, and he'd still managed to lose the only piece that ever truly mattered. Standing too close under the guise of examining your work. Leaning down just to catch your scent, ink, gunpowder and something faintly floral. Asking you to move in like some lovesick idiot instead of just saying it.

What kind of boss invites a mere employee to live with him?

The answer burned in his chest.

One who couldn't admit he'd rather die than watch you walk out that door.

His fingers found the scar along his collarbone. Four precise lines from when you'd stitched him up after a job gone awry. You'd been furious he'd gotten shot, even after seeing him heal himself, you still insisted on medical care. Your hands steady but your voice trembling as you told him exactly how stupid he'd been. That was the moment, if he was honest with himself. When he'd known.

Then, a knock came at 2:17 AM.

He didn't bother looking up. "If this is another dead end, don’t bother coming in."

The door creaked open, revealing two familiar silhouettes, tall, lean, their features obscured by those masks they never removed. Even in the dim light, he could tell them apart instantly.

Neither spoke.

Sylus set his glass down with deliberate precision. "Well?"

They exchanged glances, Luke's mask tilting just slightly left, Kieran's right hand twitching toward his hip holster. A full three seconds of silence.

The decanter shattered against the wall behind them.

"Where is she?"

Kieran didn't flinch at the spray of glass. "EVER Group's Bioengineering Division. Senior augmentation specialist." His voice was flat, but the way his thumb rubbed against his index finger.

A long silence. The ticking of the grandfather clock.

The name hit like a bullet. The irony was almost poetic. His brilliant, cautious girl hiding in the belly of the beast itself. His laughter cut through the silence, sharp and humorless. "Of course she is."

Luke’s gaze shifted from Sylus to his brother. Then, all of a sudden he blurted out, "She's happy."

Sylus' cufflink caught the light as he reached for his pistol case.

“Get the car.”

***

The alarm screamed at 5:00 AM.

Your hand slapped over it before the third shrill could shatter the fragile peace of your apartment. For three breaths, you lay perfectly still, staring at the ceiling where dawn’s first light painted watercolor streaks through the stained-glass window. The sheets smelled of lavender detergent. Real lavender, not the synthetic crap they pumped through EVER’s ventilation systems.

The shower scalded just shy of painful, steam curling around the bullet scar on your left hip. You scrubbed with a lemon-scented soap, the odour sharp enough to cut through the chemical fog that clung to your skin after long days in the lab. 

The mirror fogged over, but not before you caught sight of the woman staring back. Nearly unrecognizable from the ghost who fled N109 Zone. Your hair was now cropped into a sharp bob, your cheekbones pronounced from actually remembering to eat. Only your hands remained the same. Steady, scarred, capable of both delicacy and breaking a man’s wrist in three places.

You dressed methodically. Black tailored slacks with the hidden knife slit in the right seam, a white blouse buttoned to the collarbones, a lab coat starched stiff as a corpse’s shroud. The ridiculous 3-inch Louboutins Luke stole for your birthday pinched near the pinky toe, but you wore them anyway. The coffee brewed strong enough to dissolve spoons, poured into the chipped World’s Okayest Engineer mug Kieran gifted after your first successful mission.

The elevator to Sublevel 7 smelled like antiseptic and ozone. You balanced the coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, scrolling through today’s schedule when Dr. Cho’s voice interrupted.

“Dr. (reader)!”

He clutched a sealed dossier to his chest like it contained nuclear codes, sweat beading along his receding hairline under the fluorescent lights. “You are reassigned,” he blurted. “Effective immediately.”

The coffee turned to acid in your throat.

Conference Room B smelled like, well, cool, clean air.

Twenty-seven faces stared back as Cho announced Project HDS-7213, EVER’s first live-subject augmentation trial. Your promotion to Lead Biomedical Engineer. The way his voice hitched on live sent a tremor down your spine.

“Congratulations,” Mara whispered, nudging a thicker dossier across the table. “You earned this.”

The file weighed more than it should’ve. Page 1: Subject M-7. Male. 28 years old. Page 3: Evol Classification: Energy Manipulation (Class VIII, potentially IX). Page 9: Containment Protocols: Electromagnetic shackles. Sedation drip. Two cranial failsafe implants.

Your thumb left a smudge on the surveillance photo, a blurred figure in black attire. “Why bother with a photo?” Mara commented.

“Mara,” you murmured, tapping the Evol classification. “We never worked with anyone above Class IV.”

Her knee pressed against yours under the table. “Remember those Tesla-looking monstrosities they brought in last week? Turns out they are portable suppression fields.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Nothing to worry about. I guess.”

Frowning, you turned your gaze back to the file. Your mission was clear cut. Suppress the subject’s Evol to null and transfer it to another subject. You gulped. Wouldn’t that kill him? What had you gotten yourself into?

The walk to Lab 7 took exactly 4 minutes and 37 seconds. You counted each step, each sip of now-cold coffee, each erratic heartbeat as clearance doors hissed open before you. The file revealed another horror. Subject resisted standard sedation (they switched to a veterinary elephant tranquilizer).

The final door required retinal scan and voiceprint.

“Dr. (reader), authorization code Rose-9-White.”

The locks disengaged with a sound like bones breaking.

Lab 7 was colder than the morgue.

Your heels clicked against frosted glass flooring as you approached the observation window. The suppression field hummed at a frequency that made your teeth ache. Coffee sloshed over the rim of your mug as your hands betrayed you.

On the other side of the glass was a man. Not just a subject.

Chained in a chair that looked more like a medieval torture device, his bare torso marked with fresh burns where the electrodes bit into flesh. Blood crusted along his split lip. Silver hair matted with sweat and something darker near the temple. His head lolled forward, chin nearly touching chest, but you could see the rise and fall of ragged breathing.

Then, as if sensing your presence he looked up.

Crimson eyes locked onto yours through the glass. Not the dull gaze of a sedated prisoner. Not the wild glare of a feral test subject.

Your mug shattered on the lab floor.

Because the man strapped to that chair, the man whose file now trembled in your hands, was Sylus.

[zyafics]

CAN YOU PLEASE, PLEASE ON MY KNEES WRITE ABOUT BITCHY!READER X RAFE AND IT'S SMUT?? I FEEL LIKE YOU'LL DO IT JUSTICE!!! thank you

you literally read my mind because i was just thinking of this prompt that works so well with bitchy!reader!! hope you'll enjoy <3 (if it’s bad, look away!!)

WHATEVER SHE WANTS | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Oneshot)

Pairing — Rafe x Bitchy!Kook!Female Reader

Content — 18+, power/dominance play, p in v, doggy style, orgasm denial, and dirty talks

Word Count — 2.2K

lıllılı Whatever She Wants by Bryson Tiller

You always wanted Rafe.

It's your right. Since you were a child, you demanded the best in everything—toys, clothes, boyfriends. They had to be perfect. Had to be yours. And yes, it may come off a little superficial but who cares? It's what you deserve, and it'll be hell if you don't get it.

Since the first look, when you caught Rafe lounging on a chair with his friends, tipping the rim of his beer onto his lips, while his eyes scanned over the room in an attractive lazy way, you knew you had to have him. It didn't help that you were competitive, and Rafe garnered attention with women. They flocked to him and begged for a minute of his time. It became a game to you, and that heightened your need.

Everything was calculated. The makeup you wore, the outfits you curated, the glances. You always timed your arrivals—when you knew Rafe would be watching the door—and marked your exits. You knew exactly what to wear—dresses that tantalizing exposes your ass, but only as a preview—and the cosmetic style he liked. Rafe's the type of man who believes he wants a bare-faced woman, but truly, he wants something natural that enhances your features.

You came with friends. You left alone. You drank enough to loosen your nerves and danced with the crowd, but not enough to make a fool of yourself. You knew your tolerance and knew Rafe didn't like a messy girl.

At least, in public.

You caught his gaze a couple of times, flashing a flirtatious smile over your shoulders, but never lingered longer than three seconds. Rafe can't know how easy he can have you, because Rafe, like most boys, loves a chase. You're not easy, you're spoiled. He had to come to you.

And he did.

Rafe tried to introduce himself on several occasions. On those nights when you're leaving early—as planned—Rafe would cut to the door to pay a parting remark. "You're leaving so soon?" he would ask, "Alone? Again?" He would add. You always told him it was because no one caught your eye, and Rafe took that as a personal challenge. He would then try to tell you his name, as if he were different, to which you nod—detached—as if it didn't matter.

It drove him insane.

Because you didn't offer the same courtesy. You kept him guessing. He had to finally ask around to learn your name, which he would use to tease you the next time he saw you. And he did. And you laughed. But you acted like you didn't care. Like all the trouble he went through didn't prove a thing. That's when Rafe knew he needed you.

Tonight's no different. Just as you're about to leave, Rafe catches you with another smooth pick-up line. You just giggle. He studies how your eyes crinkle with amusement, the curve of your lips painted in his favorite shade of lipstick, and the lithe tilt of your head to the side as you ask him with your gaze, is that the best you got?

It isn't. But Rafe's determined to get further with you tonight. He continues to talk, asking about which men disappointed you and the reasons for your constant disappearances from these parties. And, for once, you're answering his questions with little resistance. Perhaps, it's because of the amount of cheap wines you consumed, or maybe you—for once—are tired of the games and want it to come to a fruitful end. Because when Rafe finally asks to take you home, you don't say no.

The walk to his truck is brisk. His arm wrapped around your waist, directing your path, while his fingers trail over the backless cut of your dress, producing a buzzing feeling beneath your skin. He's whispering something in your ear, but all of it is incomprehensible as you revel in the feeling of his touch and his touch alone. The feeling of your game coming to a conclusion.

And, just as you're about to reach the car, Rafe slams you into the side of the vehicle with a searing kiss.

His mouth catches yours and everything feels perfect. As if the buildup leading to this precise moment had been worth it, and every needy emotion rises to the top. His hand travels down the length of your body, to your hips, pulling you closer, and needing to eliminate all the space and wait you made him do.

Rafe's movements are swift and controlled. One of his hands props open the backdoor of his car, pushing you inside, and laying you against his leather seats. All without breaking the kiss.

"You don't know how long I wanted this, wanted you," Rafe blubbers between wet kisses. "Seeing you at every party, in these tiny dresses, not being able to touch," he rasps, bundling the hem of your dress into a tight fist. "Tell me you wear them for me."

"And if I did?" You say with a moan, tipping your head back to grant him access to your neck. "Did you like them?"

"Of course I did," he murmurs against the curve of your neck, the vibration of his words sending heat straight to your core. "You dressing up for me like my own perfect doll."

You want to retort that it's him who's in the palm of your hand, but Rafe sucks on a sensitive spot, causing your eyes to roll back and a whimper to escape your lips instead. He grabs your wrists with one hand, throwing them over his shoulder as he pulls you flush against his chest.

"So pretty, so fucking untouchable," Rafe kisses down the length of your throat, his fingers collecting the spaghetti straps of your dress before sliding it down the slope of your shoulders. "I'm going to fuck you so good."

His words snap you out of your haze. And while Rafe continues to expose more of your body, lamenting each reveal of flesh with a kiss, you withdraw enough to grab his attention.

"You're not fucking me in a car."

"What?" Rafe breaths, unable to snap out of the trace you had him in. Delirious with want, his mind warped around the idea of you being so close to attainable, that all rational manners left his system. He tries to kiss you again, to resume the moment, but you pull enough to send him a deadly glare, pouty and spoiled.

"Rafe, take me somewhere nice or we're not fucking at all."

He can't believe what he's hearing. He can't believe he's contemplating it. But Rafe doesn't understand that you have it all planned out to result in a perfect moment. You won't let it be disrupted just because Rafe can't drive the extra mile to take you somewhere nice. You'd rather leave him with blue balls.

"Are you serious?" He asks slowly, his eyes drawn to your swollen lips, the little pout, and the desperation to have them back on his. Sure, Rafe's had girls who wanted something more than a casual fling. He had them ask him for a better spot, but he never obliged. He never cared. But you're different. He wants you, and it's been a hell of a chase to get you here. He'll be damned if he lets it slip away because of a pretentious standard.

"Does it look like I'm joking?" You cross your arms over your chest, pushing your breasts further up. He nearly groans at the sight. "We're not having sex here."

"The nearest place has to be at least a fifteen-minute drive," Rafe argues. And it makes you upset, brows pinched together. "We can just—"

"I don't care," you snap. "Take me somewhere nice or I'm leaving."

You're serious. He sees it on your face. Rafe can't risk that, despite wanting to protest, because he knows he if he messes this up, he won't have another chance. Swearing under his breath, he drags himself out of the backseat and into the driver's side, pulling the car out of the parking lot.

Dangerously, Rafe speeds down the road, while you're sitting in the backseat with a self-satisfied demeanor, fixing your makeup through the rearview mirror. Occasionally, Rafe spares a glance through the same reflection, connecting with your gaze, and while there's subtle bitterness coiled in his chest, he recognizes the bigger prize at hand.

And what he can do with it.

Because, despite your bratty attitude, Rafe is a person who wants control. You want perfection. You two can have both.

That's how you find yourself in a newly-booked penthouse suite at one of the bougie hotels in Kildare, your head digging into the soft comforter of the bed, your ass in the air, as Rafe drills into you from behind.

When you reached the room, everything moved frantically. Rafe slammed you against the nearest wall to kiss you again—needing your lips, needing your taste—while his hands roamed over your dress and pulled down your cleavage, revealing your tits. Your hands wandered down his pants, unbuttoning them hurriedly, needily, and he assisted you by pulling them off alongside his boxers. His cock was big, slightly red with a pearly bead of pre-cum that rolls off the tip. And you could tell by the look on Rafe's face that he wanted you to suck it.

But you told him, "I don't do blowjobs."

So fucking pretentious.

It didn't matter. He hauled you over to the king-sized bed and pushed you onto the mattress. You landed with a soft thump, while Rafe hauled you up to your ass, pushing up your dress, until it became nothing but a bundle around your waist. His movements were urgent, and he wanted—no, needed—to be inside you because a bratty girl was going to be a great fuck.

And he was right.

You're perfect. The way you wrap around him, the way he sinks inside you. He doesn't know if it's because of the delirium of wanting you so desperately, of chasing you for so long—but he never had better pussy. And it doesn't help that your moans are sweet, breathy, and loud—begging him to go faster.

"Such a pretentious brat," Rafe grabs your throat, hauling you upwards till your spine rest on his chest, airway constricted by his harsh grip. "Making me wait this fucking long."

"R—Rafe," you mewl, eyes rolling to the back of your skull at the way he's angling his cock deep into your cervix, bullying the sensitive spot over and over again until you're seeing stars.

"Had to get the princess treatment, did you?" He murmurs hotly into your ear, nibbling a spot on your neck as you rest the back of your head on his shoulder. His thrusts grow more erratic. "Had to make me earn you, didn't you?"

"You weren't going to fuck me in a car," you persist, and despite how cockdrunk you became, and how much of an attitude you're willing to sacrifice to feel good, you were still adamant about receiving what you deemed enough. He respected that. "I'm not one of your whores."

"But I'm fucking you like my own personal slut. Is that any better?" He bites the lobe of your ear, and his other hand wanders up to grab a handful of your breast, squeezing the fat before rolling your perked nipple between his fingers. You moan louder. "What does that make you?"

You can't seem to answer him, can't seem to find your senses. The words Rafe uses are vulgar, but there’s still no regrets about this entire thing. Rafe wanted you so badly, that he was willing to spend hundreds of dollars on a hotel he probably won't even stay the night in. All because you demanded it.

You win.

"Shut up," you stammer, your stomach tightening. "Shut up and just fuck me, Rafe."

Rafe grins. The hand playing with your tits slips between your thighs to assist, finding your clit easily as he rubs it with his thumb in sync with his thrusts. Breathy moans escape you as you arch into his palm, while he pistons deeper inside of you, bottoming out.

"You sound so pretty, doll," Rafe murmurs against your heated skin, "Come on, take my fucking cock."

Everything’s so dirty. The way he handles you, the way your wetness drips down your thighs, the way his words breathe onto your skin and tighten your core. But you love it. You do, but you're not willing to give in so easily. No matter how good it feels. No matter how much he feels like a prize.

"You don't deserve me." You whisper with a mewl, body tightening with the familiar wave of your undoing.

Yet, Rafe merely grins.

"But you're sucking in my cock like you need me," Rafe taunts, pleasure coursing through his body at the way your walls grip him in a vice. The way your words spark challenge and invitation. He knows, despite your spoiled attitude and pretentious demands, he'll do anything to get another chance like this. "Now, behave like a good girl or you're not coming tonight."

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

[sttoru]

Omg could we see reader getting jealous of Sukuna having sec with his other concubines? And maybe liek the other concubine rubs it in readers face?

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. angst (no comfort), suggestive \\ smut aspects. size difference. one tiny mention of reader being a crybaby. reader gets called ‘little one, brat’ \\ kuna’s an asshole! not proofread, excuse the grammar. no part 2. wc: 3.3k

you’ve been away from the estate for three days; three days too long for the king of curses. so much had happened while you were away to take some well deserved rest—a small vacation that sukuna had granted you because you needed it.

perhaps that was his first mistake. giving you permission to leave his side ended up being a bad decision. he hates that faint feeling in his chest, the feeling of missing something.

missing someone.

it couldn’t be. sukuna doesn’t have any weaknesses, and yet he can feel his body reacting to that unfamiliar emotion again. all because of you— that one human who always succeeds to occupy his mind.

he couldn’t let himself succumb to it—he’s not going to. sukuna is not going to let a mere human like you deter him from his superior identity that he’s had for decennia. he’s not going to let you have that power over him and his body.

and thus, when you return to the estate, you find yourself being laughed at. you were unpacking your luggage when two concubines stand at your doorway, hiding their evil smiles behind their handheld fans.

they don’t waste a single second and immediately rush to ruin your carefree mood.

“you know, you shouldn’t have returned at all,” the brunette giggles, her laugh sounding like nails scraping against a chalkboard. she looks to the other woman next to her before glancing back at you, “i mean—heh—lord sukuna definitely didn’t seem to mind your absence.”

you figure it’s just another way to get you riled up, so you do your best to ignore them. you put your packed kimonos in your wardrobe as your back faces the two.

yumi, the second concubine, nods along. she knows what she’s about to reveal will get on your nerves. and deserved, if you ask her. they had successfully caught the attention of their king while you were away. for the first time in a good while since your arrival in the estate.

the fact that they managed to spend quality time with sukuna again, is a wonderful first step to your downfall. one that will surely crumble your confidence as his so-called ‘favorite’.

“mhm,” yumi grins as she recalls the memories of her time with sukuna. time spent together that you were unaware of, “lord sukuna definitely didn’t seem to mind your absence when he had me in his bed last night.”

you freeze.

your brows furrow and the corners of your lips twitch. you don’t know if you should believe them—they could’ve lied about it for all you know. although, the voice in the back of your head had already rang the alarms.

guessing by the way they were dying to talk to you the second you came back - which never happens - you realise that they’re probably telling the truth. they’re only telling the truth to agitate you. it’s so painfully obvious, and yet so. . . hurtful.

“what?”

you don’t recall when you’ve choked up. you feel a lump in your throat. it shouldn’t even be there. you promised yourself to not get attached to a monster like sukuna.

so what if he went to bed with his other concubines?

but of course he’ll get pleasure from his other women when you aren’t around. he doesn’t feel any love, he sees it as worthless, so why did you expect him to not indulge himself? he still has his other concubines around for a reason.

you really shouldn’t be surprised by this revelation.

“what do you mean ‘what?’ - you heard me,” yumi shrugs, that cocky smirk still on her face. she’s clearly enjoying your reaction to everything she’s revealing. all the two concubines wanted to get out of this encounter with you, is to break that delusion of yours.

the delusional thought that you’re special to the king of curses—the delusion that sukuna considers you as something more than a toy to emotionally manipulate and play with until he’s tired of you.

“my lord spent all night with me in his chambers until the sun rose,” yumi continues without an ounce of shame. she bites her lip as she remembers the way sukuna had her body positioned on his large bed. for her, it was a dream come true.

though for you, it’s a living nightmare. even if you try to deny the fact that it physically and mentally hurts. there’s a painful twist at your heart—reminding you of the truth.

the truth being that you had truly thought that sukuna wasn’t really a monster of a man. you thought he was a different, more softer person around you.

you should’ve listened to the servants when they told you to not get tricked by sukuna’s special treatment, that he could easily manipulate you and make you do and act as he pleases.

“do you want me to explain it in detail?” yumi crosses her arms over her chest as she looks down at you with a menacing glare. both of the concubines are loving that face you’re making. that face of defeat that you’re attempting to hide from them, “how he held me and pleasured me until i—”

“enough,” you cut them off with your hands clenched into fists. you don’t want to hear another word. you’re already feeling awful; already, not even an hour into your return. you can never catch a break.

you have an urge to throw things around. you already feel stupid, and if you decide to throw a fit, you bet that you’d feel even dumber. you truly do not know why you’re getting this worked up about it.

maybe it’s because of the special treatment. the delusional thoughts you have about your relationship with sukuna. you really thought that you two had something special. an unofficial romantic relationship, perhaps, or something that resembles it.

a secret, unspoken deal where you’re promised his loyalty in exchange for your body and soul.

although, those dreams have been shattered this very instance. you’re once again reminded of the animalistic nature of the being called ryomen sukuna.

he told you clearly that he’d never tie himself to someone, a human no less. devotion to one person? why would he.

“out of the way.”

you push the brunette and her sidekick the other way. you’re going to confront the man yourself. or at least, you’ll try to. you can hear their sick laughs and chuckles fade into the background as you stomp your way towards sukuna’s chambers.

the other concubines seem to have gotten the gist. some peek their heads out of their rooms, grinning at you in victory. seeing your confidence slowly crumble and the realisation kick in - the realisation that your dear lord’s special treatment means absolutely nothing - is a sight for sore eyes to them.

you enter sukuna’s room and close the heavy doors behind you. you swallow the lump down your throat and try your best to look presentable.

no tears, you promise yourself. you’re not going to waste them on something like this.

“oh, it’s you, little one,” the familiar voice calls out. sukuna’s low and husky voice rings from his bed. he’s laid back against the many silky pillows, blowing smoke from his kiseru. he lays there like he doesn’t care about your reappearance at all.

he eyes you up and down, “how was your vacation, hm?”

sukuna asks like it’s the most normal thing to do. it seems like he’s trying to catch up with you, to ask you how you’ve been enjoying your time alone, though it also seems like he couldn’t care less at the same time.

“just absolutely fine, my lord,” you reply with gritted teeth and an obvious hint of sarcasm. there’s also a bitterness to your tone that doesn’t go unnoticed by the pink-haired man. he frowns—this cold greeting is not what he expected nor what he wanted to hear from your mouth. he expected you to at least smile at him like you usually do, but you didn’t.

on top of that, you seemed to be annoyed with him. that unexpected attitude of yours made something inside of him snap. it irritated him somehow; the fact that you’re so comfortable talking to him like that . . . it reminded him of the recent inner conflict he had which you were the cause of.

one of his hands tightens into a fist at his side. his jaw clenches and his eyes narrow into slits. you’re physically in front of him, which means that he’s also about to experience those complicated feelings again. the same ones he tried fleeing from by letting you go on a break, and by physically taking his mind off you.

he did the latter by taking his frustrations out on his other women. the stress that came with the thought of him possibly liking a human, relieved by pure animalistic sex.

that’s exactly what you’re upset about.

there’s an urge inside of sukuna to act normal. to ignore those difficult emotions and just treat you like he usually does. yet, another part of him is trying to protect his sense of superiority by trying to push you away.

there’s a war going on in his mind as he tries to calm himself down. you’ve always had this effect on him and it’s becoming unbearable. he has to show you, no - remind you, that you’re nothing to him. you mean nothing—nothing at all.

he’s the king of curses, you’re but a human. he’ll need to remind himself of that obvious statement as well. he’s got all the power in this situation. not you.

you cannot rule over him or his mind.

“you dare come back with an attitude? tch,” sukuna scoffs, nearly breaking the kiseru with his fingers as they squeeze around the solid material. he’s turning off whatever emotion present in his body. that doesn’t belong there anyway. he won’t care if you cry—he won’t care at all.

you notice the sudden change in sukuna’s tone as well. you’re sure you’re the reason for it. perhaps you crossed a boundary with how sassily you replied to him when he was simply asking you how your vacation went.

“my apologies,” you murmur with a sigh. you try to avoid getting on sukuna’s nerves any further, yet when you remember the words from the concubine, how she implied that sukuna had given her the best night of her life when you were away, you get mad again.

your eyes have a fiery look in them. you don’t want to get worked up. you don’t have the right to. you were warned from the very beginning to not get attached to an asshole like ryomen sukuna.

you’re to blame for feeling like this. it could’ve been prevented if you just weren’t so weak. if you just stayed away from him.

“did you have fun while i was away, my lord?” you continue, your voice shaking a little. you need the confirmation. you’re sure sukuna knows what you’re referring to by now, especially because of the way you’re acting out of character.

the king of curses raises a brow at your question. you sound even angrier, even more pissed off. he tilts his head after taking a deep inhale of the tobacco from his kiseru. he tries to figure out what you’re hinting at, “what are you—”

and that’s when everything fell into place. the dots connect.

sukuna’s jaw clenches. he realises that you’ve found out about him receiving services from his other concubines while you were away. there could be no other explanation behind your sudden attitude. besides, he knows how his other concubines could be. they must have told you the moment you came back.

normally, he’d say that it’s none of your business. what he does is up to him—he does not care about the consequences of his actions. though, seeing the slight hurt in your eyes, mixed with sadness and disappointment stirred something inside of him. he brushes that feeling away and stares at you intently, awaiting another comment. perhaps you’d cuss him out or bawl your eyes out in front of him.

either way, he promises himself that he won’t care.

sukuna is the king of curses. feeling bad for a human like you would only further tarnish his image, that image of superiority and power he has.

he’s a man of many needs. you should’ve kept that in mind when you left him. he wanted to keep you with him—to hold you down and refuse to let you leave—but that would be another sign of weakness. one sukuna could not manage to show.

when you departed, he was irritated by the fact that he had no one to turn to with his needs. from simple needs like wanting your company to sexual needs like craving your body.

keeping you by his side or letting you go; both decisions seem to clash. either way, there’s one thing he’s sure of, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it: he missed you.

sukuna can’t believe that he can feel an emotion like that. he can’t accept that fact. that’s why his irrational mind took over—his dark urges that strived to prove himself to still be the same old ryomen sukuna. the monster that did not need a single soul. the ruthless man that did not depend on anyone else, especially not a human. a woman like you.

he thought he’d forget all about you if he’s surrounded himself with other women. but, he was quick to be proven wrong, and that only caused to enrage him more and more.

every time sukuna fucked a concubine, his thoughts still manage to drift away to you. to how he wished that it was you he was holding.

nothing hit the same with the other women and that frustrated him. he’d keep them around in his room after he fucked their brains out, something he never allowed a woman to do except for you, yet kicked them out again after a few minutes.

it doesn’t hit the same.

you’re just different. your presence is soothing and calming to the chaotic soul of the pink-haired man. no one else could compare. that realisation made him feel inferior; a feeling he loathes.

sukuna’s red eyes glow. he hates seeing you look so defeated, but he cannot give in. if he tells you the truth, he’ll admit his weakness. he’ll admit that a human like you has completely taken over his brain. that’s no good.

if he doesn’t tell you the truth, he’ll save face. he’ll feel like himself again. his old self—the cold ruthless monster that he was before he met you. one without a soft spot for a human.

it’s an active dilemma that’s running through his mind as he slowly blows out another cloud of smoke. you cannot guess what’s going on behind those intimidating eyes staring you down.

sukuna tilts his head back and scratches his neck, smacking his lips as he makes his decision.

“yeah, i did. i had lots of fun.”

the words sting. they hurt you and make your heart ache in a way that makes you physically weak. you should’ve expected that answer. your shoulders tense up and your fingers curl around the material of your kimono—feeling a sense of anger and betrayal.

you can see a ghost of a smirk on sukuna’s lips, which only reminds you of his nature. his nature as an independent, aloof and cold man who likes to play with his prey. a natural disaster that knows no emotion, that shows no mercy to anyone.

you’re naive for thinking that you could be the exception. all of those times with sukuna were confirmed to be but a lie in that moment. as your gazes meet, you can now easily interpret what that look in those red eyes meant.

‘know your place,’

that’s what it means. you’re foolish, dumb. you take a deep breath to compose yourself after you’ve been made out to be a total fool. you should’ve listened to those warnings, you should’ve known that you were getting played.

this is exactly what sukuna desired to achieve. to build up your trust, to make you comfortable enough with him, to think you’re special and that he won’t need any other woman other than you — just to shatter your pathetic delusions when the time comes.

“tsk tsk. no need to look at me like that,” sukuna scoffs, a mocking laugh leaving his lips. he can hear a small voice in the back of his head telling him to shut up and let you go, to not make it worse, but who is he to listen to that irrelevant thought? he can decide for himself.

“y’ weren’t around, so the other concubines simply did their job by serving me,” he stares the other way, seemingly not interested by your presence anymore. his face is as expressionless as ever, “what do y’ think i keep them ‘round for, brat? for decoration purposes? hah, nah.”

another loud mocking laugh makes you nearly burst out in tears. you don’t know if it’s in anger or sadness. you take a deep, shaky breath for the last time. you unclench your fists and nod, accepting the reality check you’d just gotten.

it’s a slap to the face, but it helped you get out of your delusions. the delusions that sukuna is a man capable of loving someone, even if it is just for a tiny bit. this visit confirmed that there’s not an ounce of love or appreciation in that man’s body.

“i’m glad you had fun, my lord,” you answer after a bit of silence. you bow at sukuna in an attempt to stay polite while struggling with that inner turmoil. you don’t even glance up at him anymore. you need another break already.

sukuna isn’t dumb. you may think that you’re good at hiding your emotions, but you’re not. at least not around the king of curses. he’s spent enough time around you to realise that you’re going through a lot right now.

he’s the reason for it, yet he cannot bring himself to feel an ounce of empathy. he just looks at you with a blank stare, thinking that this is for the best.

“good night then,” you add and turn around to walk out of sukuna’s room. your steps are slow as you secretly hope to be called back, like sukuna would do every time you’d leave his room after an intimate night. you just want him to tell you that this was a test of some sort—a cruel joke.

you want to feel like his favorite again. you don’t want to be thrown away like this. you don’t want to be on the same level as all the other concubines. you want to stand out to him.

unfortunately, you don’t hear sukuna’s voice anymore. he lets you walk away without a care in the world. the heavy doors of his chambers close behind you and you feel your knees buckle. “fuck,” you cuss to yourself and clench your chest.

you lean back against the closed doors and try to regain your composure. crying can be done when you’re in your room—not in the hallway where anyone could catch you. you don’t want to give the other concubines more reason to bully you.

you drag your feet across the wooden flooring. all those times with sukuna, all those slight glimpses of his soft side that only you’re allowed to see— all of that is thrown into the trash.

you really shouldn’t have gotten so attached to him on an emotional level.

meanwhile, sukuna is silently sitting on his bed, thinking back to what just happened. he usually never doubts his decisions, but this is an exception. why couldn’t he just tell you the truth?

his mouth had moved before he could let his mind process all that he was feeling. a small part of him regrets it, though strangely, he couldn’t feel any real sympathy for your situation.

sukuna drapes an arm over his eyes, clicking his tongue at himself. he just wants to let the situation go, though his brain isn’t letting him to. the image of you standing at the edge of his bed, clearly hurt by his actions, flashes through his mind again.

he sighs. he’s sure that he’s going to forget about you soon enough. he needed an excuse to get rid of you for the sake of regaining control over his own being and he took the chance. he should be glad that he did—it meant that he’d be his usual self—with no weaknesses to look out for.

sukuna blows out another cloud of smoke through his mouth. as much as he’s proud of himself for not giving in to you, he can’t help but let his thoughts wander again. you’re probably crying in your room. he knows you’re sensitive. you would always cry about the smallest of things and he’d hold you (feigning reluctance) until you’ve calmed down.

he can’t do that now.

well, he can, but he won’t. sukuna has made his decision today: it’s power and status over you. that’s what it’s always been. you were but a toy he used to get a stronger grip on himself.

perhaps he simply is what people make him out to be; a monster. nothing more, nothing less.

[hearts4hughes]

ೃ࿔:･ bsf!rafe is a ‘gentleman’?

“he opened the door for me.” sofia says it all dreamy, like it means something. like it’s rare, fragile, and blooming with potential.

you don’t even look up from your phone. “mm,” you hum. “he’s been doing that since he was thirteen.”

sofia blinks and scratches the back of her neck. “seriously?”

sarah snorts. “it’s true. he used to forget, and she’d just stand there in front of the door with this little princess expression until he realized.”

“okay-” you cut in, glancing up finally, a little smug. “it wasn’t like that.”

“oh my god, yes it was,” sarah says. “you wouldn’t move until he circled back like a sad little butler. even my mom started calling him your footman.”

you roll your eyes but don’t deny it because it was kind of true. it started small in the second grade. at the school doors, you just… paused and expected, with your foot practically tapping the ground. rafe, confused but eager to impress even then, jogged back and opened it. you smiled and he lit up.

then it was car doors…and pulling out your chair…and standing on the traffic-facing side of the sidewalk. not because you asked, but because you expected. you’d grown up around the kind of southern men who took off their hats when they walked inside and never let women pump their own gas.

and rafe just adapted. he learned your world like it was a second language. you never noticed. not until girls like sofia started fawning over “how sweet” he was.

you didn’t have the heart to tell them he still slammed doors when you weren’t around. that his idea of flirting was practically insults and bruised knuckles. that the only reason he even knew to grab your coat when it was cold was because the one time he didn’t, you gave him the silent treatment for an hour.

“he brought me a drink before i even asked,” sofia adds now, hopeful. “that’s sweet, right?”

you shoot sarah a look. she doesn’t even try to hide her laugh. “he only does that because of her.”

“what?”

“i mean, come on. you think he was out here reading etiquette books? he learned all that shit from being around her twenty-four-seven.”

sofia falters. “i…guess that makes sense.” her cheeks burn with something unusual.

you hum again, biting back a smile as you scroll. because rafe may be a lot of things—loud, reckless, occasionally unhinged—but to you, he’s always been the guy who brings your favorite snacks when you’re pissed. who pulls you behind him in a crowd without thinking. who mutters “careful, babe” every time you trip over your own feet, even though he’s the reason the hallway lightbulb’s still out.

and when he walks in ten minutes later, sweaty from god-knows-what and shirt halfway untucked, he barely glances at sofia. he sees you on the couch, sees your blanket slipping, and without a word, tugs it up over your shoulder before dropping down beside you.

you smirk. he doesn’t notice. but sofia does and for the first time, she finally gets it. rafe doesn’t do those things because he’s nice. he does them because he was raised on your standards. even if he never says it, you both know the truth…

if rafe cameron’s a gentleman, it’s only because you trained the beast yourself.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @restinpaece @illumoria @meetmeintheemeraldpool @miaaaoa @imtalkinnonsense @strawberrymilk99 @angel06babysworld @rafesteddy @drewrry @urcoolgf @thegirlnextdoorssister @sydneysslove @dsfault @missabsey @ivysturnss @kisses4rafey @katiebby04

[jaesblogstuff]

The Lines I Crossed For You

Happy (early) father’s day i guess LOL. I might write something a little better, best fit for the occasion.

Simon’s been divorced six years.

She left without a fight — just said she was tired of a man who worked too much and smiled too little.

He didn’t beg. Didn’t chase. Just stood in the kitchen while the door shut behind her. Since then he’s been steady. Alone.

Liam —his only continuation of Riley blood, his son — moved in after burning through money and excuses. Said he was trying. Said he’d “try and get back on his feet” Simon didn’t ask. Just gave him a room. A second chance.

But he knew the truth. Liam wasn’t trying. He was coasting. Still a boy in a man’s world.

And then you came along.

At first, just weekends. Then overnights, shifts too long, Liam too distracted to show up. You were always moving. Always tired. Always giving.

Simon saw it all. Quietly. Every forgotten pickup. Every brushed-off look. And the way you stayed anyway. He knew that lingering in the doorway, cooking for you, waiting up even when you didn’t ask. It was too much. But there was a point where watching became unbearable.

He told himself to stay out of it.

But tonight? He can’t, He wouldn’t.

⸻

It’s almost 11 p.m. when you show up. No text. No call.

You hadn’t planned to really. You’d finished a 14-hour shift, head splitting, feet throbbing, too exhausted to go home. You’d asked Liam to pick you up — just this once — and when he didn’t answer, you sat in your car with your keys in your hand and your chest tight with something between shame and fury. Simon’s house was closer than your apartment. That’s the only reason you came. At least… that’s what you told yourself.

He opens the door in sweatpants, barefoot, hair a mess, face unreadable — and the moment his eyes land on yours, something in you buckles. You’re not okay. And he sees it. “I didn’t know where else to go,” you murmur. “Just… need a quick crash.”

He doesn’t hesitate. Just steps aside. “You’re here,” he says. “That’s all that matters.”

You walk in. He doesn’t ask questions. Just takes the bags and load from your hands, sets them gently on the counter, and looks at you like he’s trying to memorize you. You swallow and glance toward the hallway. “Is Liam here?”

Simon’s jaw shifts, barely, but you catch it. “He left a few hours ago,” he says. “Went out with friends, I think. Didn’t say much.” A pause. Then quieter, “Haven’t seen him since before dinner.”

You nod once, like it doesn’t matter. Like it didn’t sting.

“I called him… three times,” you say, mostly to yourself. “Guess he forgot.” You rub your hands over your face, the fatigue crashing down all at once. “I can go… if this is weird. I don’t want to—”

“Stop.” Simon’s voice is low, firm. “You’re staying. Sit down.”

You do. Not because you’re told, but because for once, it feels like someone means it.

He places a warm mug in front of you — tea from the pot he made not long ago. You wrap your hands around it like it’s the only heat you have left. He sits across from you, watching you sip. “Rough day?”

You nod. “I don’t even know what happened. Just… non-stop. Four admits. One code. Everyone short-staffed again.”

You shrug lightly, stare into your cup. “It’s whatever.”

Simon watches you a long moment, his eyes careful, searching. “And Liam?”

You let out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh — hollow. “Didn’t show. Again. I waited outside the hospital like a fucking idiot for fifteen minutes before I gave up.”

The silence that follows is thick — not awkward, just loaded. Something in Simon snaps. Not loudly. Not violently. Just… breaks.

“I’ve watched you give him everything,” Simon murmurs, voice low and sharp. “And I’ve watched him give you nothing. That’s not fair. That’s not love.”

You blink hard. Swallow. “I don’t want pity.”

“You think this is pity?” he says, eyes locked to yours.

Then, softer, steadier. “I don’t look at you and see someone weak. I see someone who’s been strong for too long.”

His hand finds your knee. His thumb moves in slow, grounding circles.

“I’d give you everything if you let me. Every minute. Every drop. Just to watch you breathe easier.”

Your throat tightens. Something inside you splinters. You’re tired. Spent. But right now — right here — you’re also seen. Not just as someone who’s holding it together. But someone worth being held.

And Simon? He’s still waiting. Still giving you room.

“I don’t want to think,” you whisper.

“I know,” he murmurs. “That’s why I will.”

Then you nod, barely a movement, and say, “Yes.”

⸻

He fucks you like someone who’s had years to imagine it.

Because he has.

Celibacy might as well have been stitched into the collar of his shirts — not by choice, but by the kind of quiet, aching resignation that comes from too many years of going untouched. No one since his wife.

And not once does he rush.

He undresses you slowly, reverently. Like your body is something to earn. His hands are warm and a little rough from yardwork and tools, but his touch is gentle. Intentional. His lips brush the inside of your wrist. Your collarbone. The skin just beneath your navel.

He doesn’t move to tease. He worships. When his mouth finds your thighs, you’re already trembling.

His tongue circles your clit. Soft, controlled, devastating, and the moan that leaves your throat is so quiet it startles you. It’s the kind of sound you don’t mean to make. The kind that lives deep in your chest and only comes out when someone really knows what they’re doing.

“Please,” you whisper, hips twitching, too gone to be embarrassed.

“Not yet,” he murmurs. “Let me feel you first.”

Two fingers slide into you — slow, deep — and the groan he lets out is nearly broken. Like he’s mourning all the days he didn’t get to touch you like this.

His mouth doesn’t stop. And neither does your unraveling. You writhe under him, hand fisting the sheets, tears pricking at your lashes from how tender it all is. He doesn’t stop until you break — gasping, breathless, your back arching and legs shaking as you come hard against his mouth.

Only then does he rise, chest heaving, and kiss you like he’s starved. And then, just before he sinks inside you, he presses his forehead to your shoulder, voice rough and trembling

“I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” Simon says, his voice low and raw against your shoulder. “To have someone like you. Someone so strong, so fucking hardworking, and beautiful, and kind — and just… look away. To not show up for you.”

“If you were mine—”

He stops himself. Shakes his head again like he’s trying to clear it. Like the thought hurts too much to say out loud.

But you feel it. You need it.

“No,” you whisper, voice shaky. “Say it.”

His throat works around the words. And when they come, they’re not smooth — they’re wrecked.

“I’d never stop touching you,” he says, voice cracking. “I’d never stop showing you. Every day. That you’re wanted. That you’re seen. That you’re safe. That you deserve it. All of it.”

You let out a broken sound, a breath that turns into a moan because the way he says it is what finishes you.

Not the touch. Not the friction. Him.

When he finally pushes in — slow, thick, achingly deep — the sound that leaves your mouth is a strangled cry.

“Oh my god—Simon—”

He groans, low and guttural. His hands grip your hips, firm but careful. “That’s it,” he pants. “Take it. Let me give it to you. Let me fucking have you.”

You nod wildly, mouth open, no words left. Your moans are quiet, breathy, raw. Real. They spill out of you like confessions. Like relief.

Simon moves slow — deliberate — each stroke heavy and deep, angled just right to drag a new gasp from your throat. His eyes never leave your face. His hands never stop touching.

It’s not just sex. It’s reverence. It’s grief. It’s a man making up for all the years he didn’t believe he’d ever get to feel this again.

It’s a man giving you everything his son never even thought to.

“You’re so full,” you whimper.

“You deserve it,” he breathes against your mouth. “Deserve to be filled until you can’t think.”

And when you come again, harder this time, your whole body clenched and trembling, he fucks you through it with nothing but praise:

“Good girl.”

“So fucking perfect.”

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

When he comes, he doesn’t pull out. He stays there — still buried inside — holding you like he’s terrified the moment might vanish if he lets go.

Later, when your breathing slows and the room fades to a quiet hum, Simon wraps his arms around you from behind. Anchors you to him. Then softer, at your temple: “Sleep.”

And for the first time in a long, long time — you do.

(i don’t know what i was thinking oh my goodness i’m sorry)

[hoshifighting]

Nerd!Seungcheol

— Synopsis: After finding Nerdy!Seungcheol crying in the corner of the locker room because his girlfriend broke up with him to be with a jock after joining in the cheerleading team, you decide to help him and do everything he wished his ex-girlfriend had done. — WC: 6.6k — WARNINGS: smut, fluff, crack, some bickering—slight enemies2lovers plot, he cries, seungcheol is not a virgin (but his ex never gave him blowjob), mentions of alcohol (beer), mentions of glow-up, reader uses short dress and mentions short skirt, oral (f. & m. receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, cock riding, answering phone in the middle of the sex—voyeur?, hickeys, body fluids (cum) and cringey mentions of hands mimics (fingering/blowjob).

As you head to the dressing room to grab your things after your Friday lonely practice, the usual silence from the night is broken by a faint, muffled sound. You pause, listening intently. It’s a sniffling noise, followed by broken pants. Curiosity piqued, you follow the sound deeper into the lockers, your footsteps echoing softly against the tiled floor.

Turning the corner, you find Seungcheol, huddled in a corner, hugging his knees to his chest. 

“Seungcheol? What are you doing here?” you ask, a smirk tugging at your lips. Teasing him is practically second nature to you.

His head snaps up, eyes wide and red-rimmed. “What do you want?” he snaps back, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

You place a hand on your waist, raising an eyebrow. “I think the better question is, why are you in the women’s locker room?”

His eyes widen in realization. “Seriously?” he mutters, scrambling to his feet, the embarrassment clear on his tear-streaked face.

You roll your eyes and turn to leave. 

You wait just outside, leaning against the wall with your phone, scrolling through messages, pretending not to notice the state he’s in.

A few moments later, Seungcheol emerges, his face still blotchy from crying but now trying to pull himself together. He dries his tears on his sweatshirt, still hiccuping softly.

“Spill it,” you say, not looking up from your phone. “What happened?”

He hesitates, but he knows that on Monday, everyone will know about it. “Minji broke up with me,” he admits, his voice cracking. “She’s dating Jaehyun from the basketball team now.”

It’s a stereotype for a reason. “And you didn’t see that coming?”

Seungcheol’s face crumples again, and you immediately regret your harsh words.

But you can't help it! Jaehyun is the quintessential jock, the kind of guy who always ends up dating cheerleaders. It’s almost cliché.

Seungcheol nods continuing, looking down at his feet. “I knew she wanted more popularity, but I didn’t think she’d...”

“Look, Seungcheol, she’s not worth it if she’s willing to dump you for some jock just to boost her social status.” You shrug as you walk toward the hallway exit.

He looks up at you, eyes filled with confusion. “Why are you being nice to me?”

You shrug, slipping your phone into your bag. “I can’t let you mope around like this. It’s pathetic.”

He manages a weak smile at that. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Come on, let’s get out of here. I’ll walk you back to your dorm,” you say, starting to walk again.

You leave Seungcheol at his dorm, giving him a final glance. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you need to toughen up.” 

The weekend passes in a blur of volleyball practice and social events. You don’t see Seungcheol at all, not even a glimpse. Sunday night, you find yourself at a party, scanning the crowded room. There she is—Minji, with Jaehyun, surrounded by people. They look like the picture-perfect couple, a stark contrast to the image of Seungcheol crying in the women’s locker room just two nights ago.

After the party, you head to the convenience store near the university dorms to grab a late-night snack before heading to bed. As you wander down the ramen aisle, you almost bump into someone. You look up and see Seungcheol, his face so fucking swollen and hidden under a hood.

“What the fuck happened to your face?” you whisper, startled, clutching your snacks.

He scoffs, “What do you think? Been crying all weekend.”

You furrow your brows. “Seriously? You’ve been crying the whole time?”

“What do you think?” he repeats, more bitterly this time, grabbing a pack of ramen.

You both head to the cashier, the cashier glancing curiously at Seungcheol's disheveled appearance. As you walk towards the dorm buildings, it strikes you how funny you must look together—your party dress barely covering your ass, and his baggy 'I'm not going to see anyone I know' clothes.

“Man, if you’re going to show up looking like this tomorrow, you might as well ask to leave college for real,” you say, shaking your head.

He sighs, his voice weary. “I’m not going to drop out because of her.”

“Then stop crying,” you reply, exasperated.

He snaps at you, “What do you even know about it?”

You pause in your tracks and give him a hard stare. “While you were crying your eyes out all weekend, she was giving Jaehyun head in his car, like, minutes ago,” you say, your face contorting with disgust at the memory.

His eyes open wide. “She gave him head?! What a whore. She never even gave me a blowjob.” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

You raise an eyebrow, munching on your snack. “She never did? Seriously?”

He looks even more pissed, fists clenching at his sides. “I swear! And I always—never mind…” 

“Dude, you were crying over someone who’s not even worth it,” you say, shaking your head. “She’s obviously just using Jaehyun for popularity. She’s not worth your tears.”

He kicks a pebble on the sidewalk, the anger beaming off him. “I thought she loved me.” 

“Pfft! Clearly, she didn't,” you reply, shrugging. “She’s a social climber. She’ll do whatever it takes to get to the top.”

He looks at you, grabbing a handful of your snacks “You’re right. I’m done with her.” he mutters, chewing monstrously. Seungcheol frowns, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “How did you even know about that?”

“I was at the party,” you admit with a shrug.

He glances at you, taking in your outfit and the faint smell of feminine perfume mixed with alcohol. “Now it makes sense why you smell like that and why you’re dressed like this at 11 p.m. on a Sunday,” He glances down, taking in your party dress that’s riding high.

He recalls the moment in the convenience store when you bent down to grab some Takis from the bottom shelf, your ass almost completely exposed. He had glanced, unfortunately and quickly moved to stand behind you, rolling his eyes, blocking the cashier's view, who was wide-eyed and staring. 

“Man, I gotta tell you about all the crap I had to put up with.” he begins.

You listen attentively, craving some juicy gossip to cap off your weekend. He needed to vent, and you were going to end the day with some top-tier gossip. A win-win situation.

At his dorm, Seungcheol sits on his bed, and you are plopping down on the chair, eager to hear the tea.

“Can you believe she made me cancel our anniversary dinner because she wanted to go to some stupid party instead?” he says, shaking his head.

“No way!” you exclaim, licking Takis powder off your fingers, your eyes wide with interest.

He nods, exasperated. “Yeah, and she didn’t even tell me until the last minute. I had this whole thing planned, and she just ditched me.”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, munching on another Takis. 

“And she always made me do her assignments. I spent countless nights writing essays for her while she was out partying.” 

“She did that?” you ask, genuinely shocked.

“Yep,” he sighs, moving restlessly on his bed. “And get this—she once made me wait for three hours outside her dorm because she was ‘getting ready.’ When she finally came out, she said she didn’t feel like going out anymore.”

“That’s insane!” you gasp, shaking your head in disbelief. “She’s the worst.”

“She really is,” he agrees. “And she never wanted to do anything I liked. It was always about her and what she wanted.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “That’s because you’re too nice, Seungcheol. If it were me, I’d have shown up the next day in a mini skirt like this—” You make a gesture with your fingers, indicating something tiny, “—just to rub it in her face.”

He snorts, amused by the thought. “Yeah, well, I guess it’s different for a guy.”

“Maybe,” you reply, pausing as an idea strikes you. “Wait, do you have contact lenses? Or maybe a clipper?”

He looks confused. “What? Why?”

You step closer, gently moving his hair out of his forehead. “Because if you’re going to move on, you need a new look. Let’s start with this mess of hair.” 

He looks at you, confused. “You really think that’ll help?”

“Bro, trust me,” you say, determined. 

You walk around his room, rummaging through his things, looking for the clipper. Seungcheol sits on his bed, looking at you… Nervously. 

As you plug in the clipper, the buzzing sound fills the room. Seungcheol’s eyes widen in alarm. “You’re not going to make me bald, are you?”

You smirk, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t you remember who did the girls’ undercuts below their ponytails for last semester's game?”

His eyes light up in recognition. “That was you?”

You walk back smugly, opening your arms. “Yep, that was all me.”

As you begin cutting his hair, he starts talking again. “You know, she once told me that my glasses made me look like a nerd, and she hated it when I wore them in public.”

You roll your eyes. “Ya! That’s ridiculous. Your glasses suit you. But we can always get you contacts if you want a change.”

You skillfully give him an undercut, trimming his hair and revealing a fresh look. He looks at himself in the mirror, his forehead and thick eyebrows finally getting the attention they deserve. You help him with the contacts, and before you leave his dorm, you give him a final piece of advice.

“No sweaters,” you say firmly.

The next day, as you finish getting ready in your dorm, you hear a knock on the door. Opening it, you find Seungcheol standing there, looking surprisingly handsome in his new look.

“Look at you!” you exclaim, giving him a knowing smile and nodding for him to enter. As you finish getting ready, you ask, “What are you doing here?”

He shuffles his feet, looking a bit shy. “I don’t know, just felt weird going alone.” “You look healthy,” he says, his eyes taking in your appearance.

“Yeah, I took a bath,” you reply, deadpan. “You should try it sometime.”

He chuckles, the nervousness fading a bit. 

Together, you head towards the university building. As you walk beside him, you notice people glancing at him, some even doing double-takes. You stand proudly, shoulders squared, almost waving like a beauty queen.

As you and Seungcheol make your way down the hallway, you spot Minji in the middle of the corridor, surrounded by a group of people. Your eyes dart between her, Seungcheol, and Jaehyun, and you think to yourself that this moment is straight out of a movie. You almost wish you had popcorn to complete the scene.

You and Seungcheol walk closer, and you can see Minji's eyes light up as she spots him. She opens her mouth, probably ready to deliver some dramatic line or apology. 

But Seungcheol, simply ignores her and doesn’t give her the satisfaction of a glance. His chest puffed out slightly.

You take a fine distance from them, your jaw practically dropping in disbelief. “I can’t believe you actually did that, did you really just ignore her?” you ask, laughing.

Despite his impressive new look, Seungcheol didn’t end up mingling with the jock crowd as you might have expected. 

Instead, during recess, you spotted him from afar, sitting with his book club friends. The contrast was cute—here he was, looking like he could easily fit in with the jocks, but he chose to hang out with his old crew, surrounded by books and enthusiastic chat. He stayed true to his roots, hanging out with the people who truly mattered to him

He had the whole package—stylish haircut, fresh look, and yet, he was still the same Seungcheol. Still maintaining his original traits and habits.

The bell rings, signaling the end of classes, and you head towards the dorms, looking forward to a bit of downtime. Suddenly, you hear someone calling after you.

“Hey! Wait up!”

You turn to see Seungcheol jogging towards you, his new look making him stand out even more than before. He’s out of breath but manages a grin. “How can I show my appreciation for what you did?”

You wave him off with a smile. “You don’t need to do anything.”

He pouts, looking genuinely disappointed. “Come on, please!”

You roll your eyes, teasingly. “Calm down, nerd! Hmm, maybe just a beer or something?”

His face brightens at the suggestion. “Beer? That sounds perfect!”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you both start walking together.

As you and Seungcheol sit at a small corner table in the campus bar, nursing your beers, he takes a swig and shakes his head in disbelief.

“I can’t believe I’m drinking on a Monday,” he says, looking at his beer as if it might somehow magically make the week less mundane.

You laugh, leaning back in your chair. “Sometimes it feels like drinking just becomes a part of the routine. It’s like college fucks you up so much that you need these little escapes to keep your sanity.”

Seungcheol nods in agreement, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Yeah, it’s kind of messed up how we end up just normalizing this stuff.”

You both sip in comfortable silence for a moment before he glances at his phone, scrolling through a chat. “Oh, hey, look at this,” he says.

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? What’s that?”

He shows you a photo on his phone. It’s from the party you were at on Sunday—Minji inside Jaehyun’s car, Minji’s head is down, clearly giving him a blowjob, and Jaehyun’s face is smug. Your face scrunches up in disgust as you look at it.

“Ugh, yeah, that’s what I saw,” you say, cringing. “I didn’t want to think about it again.”

Seungcheol sighs heavily. “It’s just... seeing that, after everything that happened, it’s like she’s moved on and I’m left here...”

You take a deep breath, considering his frustration. “Yeah, I get it. It’s a shitty situation.”

He looks at you. “You know, I never really got why she never... I mean, she never did that for me. Not that I’m complaining or anything.”

You blink, taken aback by his confession. “She has never given you a blowjob? You were serious then?”

Seungcheol nods, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Yeah, and now seeing her do it for Jaehyun... it just feels like a slap in the face.”

You sip your beer, thinking it over. The whole situation has him worked up, and you can’t help but feel a bit sympathetic. 

“Damn, that’s rough. I can see why you’d be so pissed.”

“it’s like, she was so willing to do it with Jaehyun, but never with me,” he says, clearly frustrated.

“Well, now you know,” you say, a bit smugly. “She was obviously saving that for Jaehyun.”

He looks down at his beer, indeed annoyed. “Yeah, she was a piece of work. I guess I should have seen it coming.”

“Well, we could always find a way to have some fun and blow off steam. I’m sure there’s a way to make you forget about Minji’s bullshit.”

Seungcheol’s eyes narrow with curiosity. “Like what?”

“I’m sure we could figure something out. Maybe even something you’ve been wanting for a while.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh really? And what’s that?”

You lean in even closer, your voice barely a whisper. “Let’s just say, I know a thing or two about making someone forget their ex and feel a lot better. Are you interested?”

You smirk, is he acting, or he's that bad at catching hints?

He looks at you, catching the hint. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

You grin, leaning in a bit closer. “Depends on what you think I’m saying.”

He blushes slightly, his eyes meeting yours. “Careful, Y/N. You’re making it sound like you’re fishing for something specific.”

“Maybe I am. Just putting it out there.” you shrug.

“Are you serious? Stop playin' with me.”

“I'm dead serious.”

He looks at you, contemplating the offer. “You know what? Let’s do it.”

You can't quite pinpoint if it's the alcohol working its magic, loosening up inhibitions, or if it’s just the chemistry between you and Seungcheol, but his attempts at flirting are hitting all the right notes. There’s a certain charm to the way he’s leaning closer, trying to gauge your reactions with every word he says.

He takes a sip of his beer, his eyes meeting yours. “You know,” he starts, his voice a bit slurred, “I’ve always admired how you can just say whatever you want.”

You laugh softly, leaning in to match his tone. “Oh really? And what else do you admire?”

He smiles, his cheeks slightly flushed. “Well, for starters, your confidence. And the way you’re not afraid to call me out. It’s actually pretty sexy.”

The alcohol seems to be giving him a boldness you’ve never seen before. He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face a bit clumsy.

“You’re drunk,” you tease, though you can’t deny the flutter of excitement his touch brings.

“Maybe,” he admits, his gaze lingering on your lips. “But I’m not too drunk to know when something feels right.”

“Seungcheol,” you say softly, trying to keep things light but feeling a pull towards him, “are you sure you want to go down this road?”

He nods, his eyes never leaving yours. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

[...]

The scent of your dorm—so unmistakably you—fills Seungcheol's senses, making him harder than ever. As he stands before you, your naked form on your knees, your hand between your legs touching your throbbing clit, and the sight of you looking up at him with hunger in your eyes, it’s enough to make his head spin.

You stroke his cock with one hand, licking your lips like you’re about to devour him. 

His cheeks are flushed, maybe from the alcohol, maybe from the very embarrassment of the situation. He bites his bottom lip, eyes wide with anticipation, his cock starting to ache with need. The handjob you’re giving him is good, but it’s not nearly enough.

“Fuck, you’re so hard,” you murmur, your voice dripping with lust. You can feel his cock twitching in your hand, the head sticky with precum.

He lets out a shaky breath, his eyes glued to the sight of your hand moving up and down his shaft. 

You lean in, your tongue flicking out to taste the precum at the tip of his cock. The salty, slightly bitter taste coats your tongue, and you hum appreciatively, savoring the flavor. Seungcheol's breath hitches, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.

“Oh, fuck!” he groans, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

You smile up at him, loving his reaction. You want this to be memorable, to engrave this moment into his mind permanently. You give the head of his cock a few teasing licks before enveloping your lips around it. 

“Holy shit, Y/N!” he groans, his voice ragged. As you slide your mouth further down, taking him deeper, his body curls inward, every muscle tensing. It’s like you’re sucking every ounce of energy from him, and he can barely stand it. Your mouth is so wet, so warm, and you look so devoted, so gorgeous.

You look up at him through your lashes, seeing the absolute ecstasy on his face. You’re dedicated, giving all of yourself to make this perfect for him. You bob your head, sucking him deeper, your cheeks hollowing with the effort. Your tongue works along his length, swirling around the tip before you take him in again.

Seungcheol’s efforts to hold back his moans crumble. “Fuck, Y/N, that feels so good,” he whimpers, his voice loaded with desperation. He grips your hair, not to control but to anchor himself, as his arms on the bed threaten to give out.

You hum around his cock, the vibrations making him shudder. You suck harder, your hand stroking the base of his shaft in beat with your mouth. You can feel him throbbing against your tongue, his neediness evident in every spasm and moan.

His moans become louder, more ragged, filling the room. The sound of his pleasure fuels your horniness, and you touch yourself more frantically, your fingers rubbing your clit in time with the movements of your mouth. You’re giving him everything, and you love the way he’s falling apart above you.

“Y/N, I’m so close,” he chokes out whiny. “I can’t… I can’t hold it…”

You look up at him, and suck him even harder, your mouth sliding up and down his length faster. You want to push him over the edge, to give him the orgasm he so desperately needs. Your hand strokes his shaft with more speed, your mouth working tirelessly.

You can't believe that Minji never gave Seungcheol a blowjob. Just the sight of his cock is almost enough to make you cum. With your hand still slick from touching yourself, you grab the base of his shaft and take him as deep as you can, sinking him down your throat. 

You hold him there for some seconds, feeling the tears from your gag reflex forming. When you pull back, you see him nearly losing his balance.

Determined to make this unforgettable, you’re willing to suck his very soul out if it means you get to see his face as he cums and hear those incredible moans from him.

Seungcheol’s body tenses, his muscles locking up as the pleasure becomes too much to bear. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he cries out.

Seungcheol’s entire body convulses, his hips jerking uncontrollably as you milk every drop from him. His eyes roll back, and he lets out a guttural moan, the sound of someone utterly lost in pleasure. You keep sucking him gently, drawing out his orgasm, until he’s left trembling and spent.

When you finally release him, Seungcheol collapses onto the bed, needing to lay down to recover. 

You laugh softly, brushing your fingers through his hair, feeling a rush of pride at the look of utter bliss on his face. His eyes flutter open, and he smiles so wide it makes your heart swell.

He sits up slightly, his hand wrapping around your throat. He grips you gently, his thumb brushing over your skin. You’re caught off guard when he leans in, not giving you just a peck, but sliding his tongue into your mouth. You thought he might find it weird after cumming in your mouth, but he does it without hesitation, moaning at the taste.

You can feel your pussy immediately dripping onto the sheets. His kiss is hungry, filled with gratitude and lingering fascination, and you kiss him back just as fervently, your hands tangling in his hair.

When you finally pull away, you both are breathing heavily.

“Damn, Y/N,” he bites his bottom lip. “You’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

Seungcheol's eyes roam over your body, and you can see the determination in his gaze. He wants to pay you back, to show you what he can do. Gently, he lifts you onto the bed, laying you down. He positions himself between your legs, his stomach pressed against the mattress. You hear him hiss slightly as his sensitive dick makes contact with the sheets, but his focus remains on you.

“I’ve been studying up on this, Y/N,” he says with a proud smile, like he’s presenting a perfect exam result. “Time to show you what I’ve learned.”

He starts by kissing your inner thighs, his lips soft and teasing against your skin. You shiver, your breath hitching in tension. When his mouth finally reaches your pussy, he doesn't hesitate. His tongue darts out, tasting you for the first time, and he lets out a low, appreciative hum.

“You taste so good,” he says, almost to himself, before diving in.

He licks a long, slow stripe up your slit, his tongue parting your folds and flicking over your clit. You moan, your hips twitching involuntarily. Seungcheol’s hands grip your thighs, holding you firmly in place as he starts to work his tongue with more ambition.

His tongue encircles your clit, teasing and tormenting, before he sucks it into his mouth, creating a delicious pressure that makes you gasp. He alternates between sucking and licking, his mouth hot and insistent. 

You can hear the wet sounds of his mouth on you, mingling with your moans, and it’s driving you even more soaked.

“Oh god, Seungcheol, that feels so good,” you moan, your fingers tangling in his hair, urging him on. “You’re so good at this, nerd.” you smile looking at him.

He looks up at you eyes light up at the praise. “You like that?” he asks, his voice muffled against your pussy.

“Yes, yes, don’t stop,” you plead.

He continues to be concentrated on you, his eyes sharp and focused, studying every reaction. His tongue flicks over your clit, and your hips buck against his mouth. He smiles against you, clearly pleased with your response.

Seungcheol grins and shifts slightly, bringing his fingers into play. He teases your entrance with one finger before slowly pushing it inside you, curling it just right to hit that sweet spot—finding it embarrassingly fast. You shout, your back arching off the bed.

“Fuck, Seungcheol, just like that,” you pant, your hips grinding against his face.

He adds a second finger, pumping them in and out of you while his mouth continues its assault on your clit. The combination is mind-blowing, and you can feel yourself hurtling towards the edge. His fingers twist and curl inside you, like they're calling you, pressing against your sweet spot, and your moans become louder, more desperate.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs.. “I can feel you clenching around my fingers.”

“Don’t stop, please, don’t stop,” you beg, your thighs squeezing around his head. 

You feel a bit guilty for trapping him like this, but Seungcheol looks delighted, his thick eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he reads every reaction from your body.

He flicks his tongue over your clit in a rapid, persistent move, his fingers moving in perfect rhythm. The wet sounds of his fingers sliding in and out of you, combined with the slick noises from his mouth, are almost obscene, but they only heighten your arousal.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you gasp, your voice breaking. “Don’t stop, Seungcheol, please.”

He doesn’t let up, his tongue and fingers working you with a preciseness that makes your head spin. You can feel the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your belly, ready to snap.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, I’m cumming!” you cry out, your body shuddering violently as the orgasm rips through you.

Seungcheol keeps going, drawing out your orgasm, his fingers curling and his tongue flicking relentlessly. Your moans are loud and broken, your hips grinding against his face as you moan vulgarly, your chest rising as you soak his mouth and face. 

Your body convulses, your thighs squeezing him even tighter, and you scream his name, your voice echoing in the room. He continues to lick and finger you through it, prolonging your orgasm until you’re left shaking and breathless.

Finally, he pulls back, his face shining with your arousal, a pleased smile on his lips. “How was that?”

Your body is still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm, and all you can manage is a breathless moan, your hands smudging your face as you try to collect yourself. Seungcheol laughs softly at your reaction.

“I don’t know if I can ride you right now,” you admit, your voice shaking. “I’m still trembling.”

He smirks, a naughty glint in his eyes. “Who said anything about you riding me? I can fuck you just as good, just lay back and let me take care of you.”

The promise in his words makes you clench, and you nod, eager to feel him inside you. He positions himself between your legs, his cock hard and ready. As he lines himself up with your entrance, you can’t help but gasp at the sight of his size.

When he finally pushes inside you, the stretch is both breathless and blissful. His cock fills you completely, the sensation intensified by how wet you are. Your body welcomes him, and he slides in easily, the friction making you moan loudly.

“Oh god, Seungcheol, just like that!” you breathe out, your hands gripping his shoulders.

He lowers his head, his lips brushing against your neck as he begins to move. His kisses are surprisingly sweet for the roughness of his thrusts, and you find the contrast and incredibly hot.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he moans, his thrusts becoming more urgent. The bed creaks beneath you, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more and more.

“Fuck me like you mean it.” you grit through your teeth. 

Seungcheol’s eyes blacken, and he grips your hips, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper. You cry out, your head falling back against the pillow, your body jiggling with each strong movement.

 “I’m not stopping until you’re screaming my name,” he promises, and you know he means it.

His thrusts become relentless, each one hitting that perfect spot inside you, your eyes watering. Your moans turn into cries, your mind going blank with pleasure. You can feel your orgasm approaching, and you cling to him, needing him closer.

“Seungcheol, I’m gonna—”

The sudden sound of Seungcheol’s phone ringing startles both of you. “Fuck... no,” he mutters, pulling out of you reluctantly. You almost swallow a sob, your orgasm fading away.

"Answer it," you tell him, your voice steady despite your frustration.

He looks at the caller ID, his face contorting in disgust. "Minji," he says, showing the screen to you. You wave your hand, signaling for him to answer. He does, putting the call on speaker. The fact that he's not hiding it, that he wants you to hear, that he doesn't have a problem with it, is unexpectedly hot.

“Seungcheol?” You roll your eyes at her voice.

“Yeah?” he replies, his tone short and uninterested.

“I... I wanted to talk. Can we meet up?” she asks, her voice faltering.

You sit up silently, your mind racing. Seungcheol answers her shortly, clearly wanting to hang up. As he talks, you get an idea. You crawl over to him, your eyes locked on his as you straddle his lap, your breasts pressing against his face. 

He looks up at you, confused.

“What are you doing?” he whispers, his breath hitching.

“Seungcheol, are you listening to me?” Minji’s voice is impatient, and he can't answer.

You just smile, grabbing his cock and sliding it back inside you as his face contorts in silence, jaw slack as he looks inside your eyes. He bites his lip, trying to stifle a moan as you begin to move, slowly at first, then faster, circling your hips around him.

“Seungcheol? Are you there?” She asks, sounding more desperate now.

He tries to answer, but you start moving, slowly at first, then picking up the pace.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he replies, his voice strained. He places a hand on your hip, trying to steady you as you ride him.

“What are you doing?” her voice cuts through the tension, suspicion clear.

You moan slyly, loudly, not even needing to force it. “Oh, Seungcheol,” you purr, the sound sending a cold lick down his spine. He can't help but moan too, his resolve breaking.

Minji’s voice rises in panic. “Seungcheol, what’s going on? Who’s there with you?”

He can’t help but moan too, gripping your hips tighter. “Don’t talk to me anymore, Minji,” he says, his voice strained with pleasure.

“What the hell is happening? Who is that?!” She's furious.

Seungcheol’s hands grip your hips, his body shuddering with each thrust. “Y/N... I can’t...”

“Just a little more,” you whisper, leaning down to kiss his neck. “Let her hear how good I make you feel.”

He groans, unable to hold back any longer. “Minji, I’m fucking done with you,” he says, his voice shaking. “Don’t call me again!”

You moan again, louder this time, and Seungcheol echoes your sound, his head falling back. 

The call disconnects abruptly, but you don’t stop. 

You ride him harder, feeling him throb inside you, his body tensing as he reaches his peak.

“Y/N, I’m gonna—” he starts, but you cut him off with a kiss, swallowing his moans as he comes, his release sending you over the edge as well.

Seungcheol throws the phone aside with a decisive flick of his wrist, his focus entirely on you now—not that he stopped, his mind was imploring for you every second. 

He grips your hips firmly, handling you on his lap with a possessive, almost primal passion, like you’re a fucking doll. The strength of his arms moving you on his lap, makes you gasp, and you abruptly pull away from the kiss, your hand flying to your mouth in a futile attempt to suppress your scream.

It doesn’t work. 

The sound that escapes you is raw and unfiltered—a high-pitched scream that echoes off the walls of the dorm room. You’re cumming all over his cock, your cum spilling over onto his balls and pelvis, the wetness spreading in a deliciously messy explosion.

Seungcheol’s grip tightens, his breathing ragged as he feels the lock of your orgasm. He’s fighting his own demons to keep his eyes open, the pleasure so harsh that it’s almost too much to endure. His eyes are locked on yours, and you see the struggle written all over his face.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groans, his voice wasted with overstimulation. His moves become more desperate, desperate to feel every inch of you.

Your body shakes uncontrollably, every muscle tensed as you fight to keep your eyes open, to stay grounded in the moment. You feel the room spinning, the pleasure so intense that it’s almost blinding. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you struggle to stay upright.

You collapse against Seungcheol. He pulls you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you with a protective, almost desperate grip. Despite his own wavering strength, his desire to hold and shield you is real, overshadowing any fatigue he might be feeling.

With the last of your strength, you gently pull his cock out of you, your movements sluggish. You remain close, still wrapped around him, feeling the warmth and softness of his body against yours. The sensation of his cock slipping free leaves a trail of dampness between you, your orgasms dripping onto his pelvis and the sheets beneath you.

Seungcheol shudders as he feels the wetness spreading across his skin. The soaked feeling on his pelvis, combined with the aftershocks of your orgasm, makes him groan softly. His hands are still firmly clasped around you, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

“Fuck,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I can’t believe we just did that while Minji was on the phone.”

You chuckle softly, your exhaustion making your laugh feel weak but genuine. 

Seungcheol lets out a rueful laugh. “I was trying so hard to keep it together while she was talking, and here you are, riding me like there’s no tomorrow.”

You raise an eyebrow playfully. “So, what did she hear exactly? Did she get the full experience or just a taste?”

Seungcheol grins, his cheeks flushing a bit. “Oh, she heard more than a taste. I was trying to get her off the line quickly, but with you going at it like that, I think she caught on pretty fast. She definitely knew something was up.”

“And now she’s probably going to think you’re a total jerk for just hanging up on her like that.”

“To be honest, I was so caught up in how good you were making me feel that I couldn’t even process what she was saying. All I could think about was you.”

The next morning is a whirlwind of frantic activity and poorly disguised attempts to cover up the previous night's larks. As you glance in the mirror, you notice the indicative signs of sex: red, blossoming hickeys on your neck that stubbornly refuse to be concealed. You grab your concealer and try your best to dab and blend, but the more you work, the more obvious it seems.

Seungcheol, on the other hand, is in an equally frantic state. He’s darting around his dorm room, desperately scrubbing away any remaining proof of the night before. He’s juggling a toothbrush in his mouth while trying to hide the hickeys with his hoodie. He eventually settles on a high-collared shirt that looks formal and slightly out of place for a morning class, but it gets the job done.

You rush out of your dorm, barely managing to grab your things before heading to your first class. The entire way there, you catch glimpses of yourself in shop windows and mirrors, each time cringing at how you might still look too happy, too satisfied.

Seungcheol is nearly out of breath by the time he arrives at the hallways, his face flushed—not entirely from exertion, you suspect.

“Did you manage to get rid of all the hickeys?” Seungcheol whispers walking on your side suddenly, as he tries to adjust his collar without drawing too much attention.

“Not even close,” you reply with a wry smile. “I’m basically wearing a turtleneck now, but it’s not foolproof.”

He laughs, a bit too loudly given the circumstances. “Well, at least we look like we’re going somewhere fancy. If anyone asks, just say it’s a new fashion statement.”

You snicker, shaking your head. “I don’t think that’s going to work. I’m just hoping people don’t look too closely.”

As you both ascend the stairs to your respective classes, the early morning hustle is almost forgotten when Seungcheol suddenly grabs your wrist, his eyes darting around to ensure no one is watching. 

The empty stairwell is the perfect backdrop for his next move.

Before you can react, Seungcheol leans in and steals a quick, tender peck from your lips. The unexpected kiss surprises you, and a smile instantly lights up your face. You respond with another, slightly longer kiss.

You pull back slightly, looking at him with a playful glint in your eye. “So, what about tonight?” you ask slyly.

Seungcheol’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Huh?”

You make a theatrical gesture with your hand, tracing a path up and down to your cheek, poking your cheek with your tongue, mimicking the motion of sucking him off. Your naughty movement is clear and provocative.  

Seungcheol's face flushes instantly, his eyes widening as he processes your meaning.

He bites his lip, his eyes locking onto yours with a glint of playful defiance. With a teasing smirk, he lifts his middle fingers, licking them exaggeratedly before curling them inward, making the motion unmistakably obscene.

“Something like this?” he asks, his voice sultry, his eyes never leaving yours. “Think you can handle it tonight?”

You can't help but be taken aback by Seungcheol's bold gesture, your jaw falling slack in surprise. 

“Meet me at the storage room,” you murmur, urgent. “You’re going to finger me there.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widen. “The storage room?” he repeats, his voice a quiet, thrilled whisper, his breath catching slightly.

He thinks then gives you a quick, eager nod, the hint of a smile playing at his lips.

“Sure thing,” he continues. “Can’t wait.”

A birthday one-shot to my cutie pie hahaha 29 years old—I'm crying n'shit. 😭🥺❤️

[differenteagletragedy]

Something about Simon having seen and been through so much in his life — he’s killed, been shot, beaten, left for dead, just piles and piles and years and years of death and destruction — but he will still treat all of your problems with the utmost care and kindness.

But like, ANY problem. You stayed up too late playing some dumb game on your phone and the next morning you’re tired and grumpy? Poor little sweetheart, he’ll get you some coffee. Had too much caffeine and now you’ve got the jitters? Rest your head on his chest and just let it pass, he’s got you.

Of course if there’s something seriously wrong, he’s your man — he’d do literally anything for you, always — but there’s just something so nice about him having seen the worst humanity has to offer and then putting some goofy little mess you got yourself into on a similar level just because he loves you so much.

If it matters to you, it matters to him. If it bothers you, he’ll do everything in his power to fix it. If he’s bruised and bloody and broken but you have a paper cut, guess which he’s tending to first. You already know.

Because, above all else, Simon is SO PROUD to be yours. And he’ll never, for one single second, give you any reason to regret giving him the opportunity to love you.

[kenyummy]

✰ 03. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 03. each coin can be flipped twice.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: you guys don't know true pain until you have to copy and paste each individual paragraph into a new draft because you forgot how tumblr drafts work </3

n e ways getting into the batfams characterisation yipiieeeee . i tried to incorporate overthinking into tims part realistically bc that's lowkey how i overthink things but hey. im open to respectful criticism. ive also been consuming a lot of batfam media and i tried to my take on their guilt and how it plays into the crazy thing hagaashhaha im going insane fml

prev. ✰ masterlist ✰ next.

You'd always been far too normal. That's what had driven you, all these years, to such a bitter nature. It wasn't like you'd done anything wrong—you'd done everything a regular person would do, and that was the problem.

This kind—your kind—of normality was impossible for a family like yours.

Impossible for them to understand. Relate to. See. Always falling behind, watching as their costumes and capes flutter in the wind, blowing their vision of you. Too wrapped up in the latest villain to spot the regularity in their life.

You'd wake up at 8am, eat a slice of toast with yoghurt and mixed berries—do pilates, and go on with your day.

(Your family would stay up till 8, fighting the crime that riddled the Gotham streets with an iron fist—sneaking out of the house to play dress up with a bunch of mentally insane criminals.)

You'd spend your nights at home, having done everything you'd needed to that day—lazing around with a comic book in hand.

(Your family were far too busy most nights at Arkham—preventing their hundredth breakout and the spread of fear toxin.)

You'd watch, pupils dilated as your siblings, your father came home bruised, beat, and bloodied (with whose blood—you could only guess).

You'd watch in agonising silence as they'd shoo you off after you'd peek from behind their doorframe—saying this kind of work wasn't suitable for eyes like yours.

Those same eyes dimmed that day—staring blankly into nothing as the sight of that sickening crimson red became more common to you, with each passing day.

Dripping down onto the ground—you'd never be able to get rid of that blood. No matter how hard you scrubbed the floorboards, there would always be that stain of red.

You'd grip the sheets—nails digging into mesh fabric—with a steel-knuckled hold. You'd draw what it would be like to be one of them. That same blood-red suit—yet with a different kind of venom to a bat.

Crawling up a water spout—you, the spider—were washed out by the bitterness enrapturing your heart that was once full and blooming like the most beautiful of gardens.

Venom drips from your fangs and yet left unbitten. Never poisoning anything but your own tongue.

To be overlooked and unseen with the most brilliant mind a god could conjure; the world, your family—may never love a spider, but you will find somebody, someday, who will.

Tim Drake was not used to that expression on your face.

... Actually—he wasn't really used to any expression on your face. For a moment, it felt more like a blur to him than anything. Memories of you—they were few and far between.

Except that look of pity you'd always seem to give them. The image appeared in his mind suddenly, for whatever odd reason. That sad, almost puppy-ish, expression that he'd never really given a second thought.

(Though—it made you appear more of a baby to him.)

Perhaps he'd just gotten used to it. After all this time, what could've possibly changed?

He was wrapped up with something strange given to him by Bruce when he'd seen you. A strange, web-like substance—he was just getting ready to study it when it dissolved like nothing were ever there.

Like silk, it was soft. Like glue, it was sticky. Like fibers, it was stringey. Yet—after just a few hours, it was as if it never existed. Like it were nothing but a bad dream.

Bruce and Damian talked about it like it were a spiderweb—fitting, considering the hero that wielded it, they described as looking more arachnid than human.

Regardless—his mind was already frazzled and buzzing with all kinds of thoughts. Spider. Spider Web? Spider.

Where is that fucking web?

The stress crawls under his skin like bugs and he itches. The red left over is so familiar to him—but perhaps never the same at all.

(That same red you'd seen with those big, glassy eyes—unlike that motionless gaze you'd give him sparingly. If he bled again, would you look at him kindly like that once more?)

Then, a shoulder crashes into his. Hard. Enough to almost knock the vial out of his hands. The frustration is just about to bubble over—the words crawling up his throat like bile and his chest tightens with that familiar burst of rage.

(Tim, crash-out, Drake—Steph called him once.)

But he stops.

It's only you.

Why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be at school? He hadn't been to school in a while—being a vigilante leaves a guy's schedule pretty packed—but he's sure...

"[name]? What are you doing here? Isn't it school hours...?" He asks, curiously.

You blink, face blank. He can't get a read on that face. He simply can't decipher it. It bothers him more than it probably should've. "I felt sick, so I decided to come home. Still a bit frazzled from... you know."

His heart beats faster. What? You went to school? You really went to school?

(Even if he realised it beforehand, it's like the shock runs through him again. What's wrong with him?)

You went to school even though you were shot a few days ago? Did that really happen? Did he... not realise? He's supposed to know this stuff, isn't he? Isn't he the smart one? Doesn't he keep tabs on everybody? Doesn't he look at you?

A cold chill fills his body, and he bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. Before he can stop himself, the words spill.

"...Bruce is going to be worried. You know how he feels when you and Damian skip."

You glance to the side, considering something. He wants to know. Will you tell him? He feels like he knows nothing about you anymore. It's dehibilitating.

Since when have you brushed them off so easily? You were never like this before. You used to preen at a simple headpat (not from him—but you seemed to especially love your two oldest brothers) and practically glow when somebody talked with you.

"I think I'll live. Bye." You shrug.

His heart nearly beats out of his chest. What? Why are you acting like this? Don't you care?

Why are you acting like you hate it? You hate them? You don't care? What's wrong with you?

Did you get a concussion when you were shot? Did you hit your head and forget everything? Did you lose your mind after getting lead poisoning? Is this even you? What happened when you were shot?

Every possible question excluding—what has he done?

The bullet he saw in your shoulder flashes in his mind. When Jason practically kicked the door down, carrying your heavily breathing body bridal style and yelling for Bruce to get his ass over here.

Why were you out in the first place? Why weren't you at home? What happened to you? Why were you shot? What could you have done?

He had no time to think about it before. Not when he was so busy, and Riddler was causing up a stir.

Now, he is crumbling.

You're walking away, but his vision shakes. He feels like he's going to crumble. He hates it. This feeling. The feeling of knowing he simply just can't figure this out. He's mad. At you, or himself—he isn't quite sure. Perhaps a mix of both.

Why have you changed? Why did he not realise? Had you even changed? Did he ever know you?

He nearly crushes the vial in his grip. His hand reaches out, to grasp you. Your shoulder. The bullet lodged deep within you. Maybe if he got rid of it, you'd go back. To normal. You'd be your normal self again.

He feels it so deeply.

That crippling, nihilating urge to—

He stops. Watching you walk away. Fast. So fast. He can't catch up. No amount of training could've allowed him to walk alongside his little sibling.

Perhaps he found himself caught in that spider's silky trap—bound and unmoving as he just couldn't seem to tear his eyes away.

The empty vial doesn't concern him much anymore. He stares at it with eyes as hollow as the glass is.

Tim wonders when everything changed.

Dick Grayson watched your convulsing body with shaking eyes. A bullet lodged in your shoulder and crimson dripping onto the ground in a sickening rhythm. He couldn't reach out. He couldn't have touched your face. Not when Jason held you like that. Like a guard dog. His bloody helmet slamming to the ground just for Dick to see the absolute fury on his little brother's face.

Pupils blown—Dick knows what's going on. Better than any of the rest of them, he'd even go as far as to say. He's manic. Absolutely manic. Shouting and yelling for anyone—asking what Bruce was doing, letting you out alone this late. What he was fucking expecting.

Nobody speaks. Nobody can. What could they possibly say? That they didn't notice? That nobody did?

Jason might have taken them all on in your honour if he had truly said those words out loud. He always would've, even if he never stayed for long.

Dick almost wants to sock Jason in the face for keeping you away, so close to his own heart.

(He would've done the same, if only he had you. If only you would let him.)

The only thing he can see in his brothers' arms is that child who used to hide in the most obvious of spots. Crouching behind that large TV with the tips of their hair peeking out. Who used to laugh so gleefully when everyone pretended they couldn't find them.

He sees you, and nearly falls over.

Dick Grayson isn't a stranger to blood. Blood had followed his footsteps wherever he goes. He is made of the blood of everyone he lost and fears to lose.

He didn't think you'd fit into the former so quickly.

(You never thought you were either—did you?)

He can't do anything when he sees Jason carry you out. Slipping into a car with Bruce and Alfred and driving off, far past the speed limit.

He is powerless to move. He is useless. As he was when he watched his parents fall. When he was held back by Bruce when he found that vile man.

He hadn't felt like this for a long, long time.

He was the perfect one. He was the best of them. The first. Everything Batman was supposed to be. Nightwing. Robin. Doing everything he could to be what Bruce wanted.

He was the perfect one.

What use was that when your blood stains the hardwood floors?

What use was him not remembering what you looked like until this moment? The only time he'd ever seen you was when a bullet was lodged in your shoulder, and your body was practically convulsing.

... This should never have happened.

You were always the normal one. The most regular. Never tainted by the horrors of Gotham. Bright. Kind. Your eyes were always so kind. Pitiful. You'd always pity them. Wanting to help, but how could he possibly let you?

How could he possibly let you see the shattered expression on his face each time he'd seen you hurting? (Even if it was you hurting for them.)

You never should've...

He stops his own train of thought.

Why were you out, anyway? Hadn't you known how awfully terrible Gotham is at night?

Hadn't he... warned you...?

Dick walks off, eyes following his retreating figure—he can't find it within himself to care. He storms upstairs—almost frantically.

Everything is so quiet. Nobody here. Nobody waiting here like there usually is.

Where you usually are. The end of the hallway. It's brighter over here. The windows more open. The floorboards more bleached by the sun than back where his childhood room used to be.

He almost kicks the door open when his sweaty hands can't get a good grip on the doorknob.

(He can't. He can't destroy the barrier between you both, no matter how hard he tries.)

It slips open, eventually. Dick takes in the sight, silently, eyes darting around.

There's dust littering the air, highlighted by glittering light. The glow of the sun pours into your room like molten honey. Shining down onto your carpet.

There is nothing else.

Your room is so empty. If he didn't know better, he'd thought this were a guest room. Scuffed—but suitable for a short visit nonetheless.

How long have you stayed here?

Dick tries to ignore the bleakness that fills his head when he tries to answer his own question.

He can't bring himself to step inside. Not without you there. He stands in the doorway, as lost as he felt when he world came crashing down with that tightrope.

He feels like a little kid all over again. As helpless as a little kid is in this world.

As helpless as you were.

As helpless as you are.

Your face looked like a blur for all these years. Lingering in the background, but never for long. His nails dig into the calloused flesh of his palm. Hardened from years of fighting, protecting all he cared about. All those he failed to protect before.

He didn't do anything, did he? Not for so long. For as long as Jason died, was it?

... How long was that?

He wasn't sure when you slipped from his mind. So caught up with those beside him—he hadn't seen you slip behind, silently.

That little kid, staring up with tearful eyes. Asking where Jason was. Asking when they could all play together again.

Behind the capes, the masks—behind him, there was you.

Dick would've fallen over if he hadn't caught himself on the doorframe.

How could he have possibly, ever let you out of his sight? How can he stand to look at you when he let this happen? The most regular thing in his life. Something he had never given a second glance.

His chest hurts with a white-hot pain that stings his entire nervous system.

The best of them all—it was never him. It was always you, wasn't it?

The one keeping him grounded was you—he feels like his heart can't beat properly. Clutching it hard, nothing works. The ache stings, but nothing feels worse than his mind spiralling with thoughts of you laying in a hospital gown with red seeping out your side.

He will never, ever let something like this happen to you again.

Dick will let you know you'll never need to worry about anything again as long as your favourite big brother is here.

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[jupiterpilgrim]

Contracts

Mina x Male Reader

word count: 20K

commissioned fic

Six months is a long time to sit with an unanswered question, but it hasn’t felt like that. The days blurred into each other, filled with relentless work and little else. You buried yourself in it. Meetings that stretched until midnight, furious emails fired off at 2 AM, a stream of initiatives you pushed through without second-guessing. It wasn’t just about productivity anymore—it was personal. An escape, a distraction, a weapon you wielded against your own thoughts.

But Mina still lingers, doesn’t she? Her face, her laugh, the way she looked at you that night before you kissed her. The memory clings to the corners of your mind like a ghost. She disappeared without a trace. No goodbye, no explanation. You’d gone to her apartment a few days after her phone went silent, desperate for answers. You hadn’t planned it, hadn’t thought it through—you just needed to see her, to ask why. But it was too late.

You don’t know what you did wrong. Or if you even did anything wrong at all. You go over every moment you spent with her, from the first time you saw her to the last time she smiled at you, trying to piece together the reason she vanished. But all you’re left with is the memory of her—the mystery, the pink collar, the way she kissed you like she meant it.

You met her on one of the worst nights of your life.

It was the same day the HR audit came crashing down on you and Joy, threatening to turn your office affair into a scandal. You were careful, you always were, but careful doesn’t count for shit when someone decides to start digging. Joy—brilliant, confident, razor-sharp Joy—was collateral damage. They moved her into a new position in another department, far enough away to keep your reputations clean but not close enough to keep her in your orbit.

You were furious that night. Not at her—never at her—but at the situation. At the loss. At the fact that you could still smell her perfume in your office but knew she wouldn’t be back.

That’s why you were at the hotel rooftop bar, whiskey in hand, trying to burn off the frustration of the day. It wasn’t your scene, not really, but you didn’t want to go home either. Your mansion felt too empty, too still.

And then you saw her.

Mina was sitting alone at a small table near the edge of the rooftop, a glass of wine in front of her that she barely touched. Her dark hair fell in loose waves around her face, and a thin pink collar around her neck, catching the light whenever she shifted. She didn’t look like the kind of person who came to places like this. There was no boldness in her, no hunger to be seen. Instead, she looked fragile, almost… lost.

You hadn’t planned to talk to her. Hell, you weren’t even sure why you walked over in the first place. But something about her drew you in, like a song you couldn’t ignore.

“Mind if I sit?” you asked, standing just close enough to catch her attention.

She startled slightly, her dark eyes meeting yours. For a moment, she just stared, like she couldn’t decide if you were a threat or just a stranger. And then, finally, she nodded. “Sure.”

From there, it unfolded in a way you didn’t expect. She was quiet, reserved, but there was something magnetic about her presence. The way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear when she was nervous. The soft lilt of her voice when she finally started to relax. You spent hours at that table, talking about nothing and everything.

She didn’t know who you were. In fact, she disappeared before she even knew your last name. And that's what irritates you the most, she wasn’t trying to impress you or pry into your life. She was just… Mina. Delicate, thoughtful, a little melancholic. And when she finally laughed at one of your terrible jokes, it hit you like a gut punch. That laugh was worth chasing.

When the night wound down, you couldn’t leave it there. You asked if she was free the following Friday, and while she hesitated at first, she eventually said yes. That yes was everything.

Over the next few weeks, you saw her again and again. Dinner dates, quiet walks, coffee in tucked-away cafes. Every time, she wore that pink collar around her neck, like it was her signature. Sometimes she paired it with pink earrings or a soft cardigan, little pops of color that somehow suited her perfectly.

She fascinated you. She was so different from anyone else in your life. While most people around you were loud, demanding, or always trying to prove something, Mina was the opposite. She was quiet, thoughtful, and mysterious. And that mystery—it got under your skin. She was careful about what she shared, especially about her personal life. Every time you asked about her work, she’d deflect or give vague answers, like she was hiding something. It didn’t feel malicious, though—just private. And for a while, you let it slide.

Because being with her felt good. It felt right.

You fell for her without even realizing it. It wasn’t one big moment—it was a series of small ones. The way her eyes lit up when she talked about a book she loved. The way she chewed her bottom lip when she was nervous. The way she’d trace the rim of her glass absentmindedly during your dates.

And then there was the night you kissed her.

It was after dinner, and you were walking her back to her apartment. The street was quiet, the air cool against your skin. She looked up at you, her dark eyes catching the glow of a streetlamp, and you couldn’t stop yourself. You stepped closer, brushing your fingers against her cheek, and when she didn’t pull away, you kissed her.

It wasn’t just a kiss—it was the kiss. The kind that made everything else fall away. Her lips were soft and warm, and when she kissed you back, clutching the front of your jacket like she didn’t want to let go, you thought, This is it. This is the moment.

When you pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, her breath uneven. She looked at you like you’d just knocked the wind out of her, and you knew she felt it too.

But that was the last time you saw her.

The next day, her phone went straight to voicemail. The day after that, her number wasn’t receiving messages anymore. You waited a few days, hoping it was some kind of mistake, but when you went to her apartment to find her, you were told she’d moved out.

No forwarding address. No explanation. Just gone.

You spent the next six months wondering. Did she like you? Did she feel the same way? Was the kiss too much, too soon? Or was there something else, something bigger that you didn’t see coming?

You don’t have answers. All you have is the ache of her absence and the memories she left behind. And that damn pink collar, burned into your mind like a ghost you can’t let go of.

—

The office feels different when you walk in. Not unfamiliar, but strained. It’s subtle—an edge in the air that clings to the walls, the carpet, even the people. You feel it the second you step off the elevator, pulling your carry-on behind you, your suit jacket slung over one shoulder. The receptionist glances up from her desk, her usual smile faltering before she offers a polite “Welcome back.” It’s not much, but you notice it.

You’re too tired for this shit. Ten days of nonstop flights, endless presentations, and late-night negotiations in boardrooms on the other side of the world. Foreign investors who didn’t understand—or didn’t want to understand—the pitch. Cultural nuances you had to navigate carefully, smiling through every insult wrapped in a compliment. You came back expecting at least a day to decompress, but instead, you’re greeted with a summons to the conference room like you’re an employee being called into HR.

The floor is quiet as you make your way down the hallway, your polished shoes muffled against the carpet. Too quiet. You glance into a few open offices, catching glimpses of employees huddled over desks, their eyes darting away when they notice you. It’s not paranoia; you know how they talk when you’re not around. They think you don’t hear it. That you’re too far up the ladder to notice the whispers about Joy, about the HR audit, about your temper. About your recent decisions. But you notice. And right now, you don’t care enough to put on a show.

When you push open the door to the conference room, they’re all there: the board members, key investors, a couple of senior executives. A carefully curated group of people who like to pretend they’re on your side but are really just here to protect their interests.

“Welcome back,” says Marianne from marketing, her tone overly cheerful, like she’s trying to neutralize the temperature in the room before it boils over.

“Spare me,” you say, dropping your bag by the door and shrugging off your jacket. You toss it onto the back of a chair, not bothering to sit yet. “What’s so urgent that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

There’s a beat of hesitation. The group exchanges glances, as if silently debating who’s going to take the hit and speak first. It’s Greg, of course—an older board member who’s been around since the early days but never lets you forget how much he disapproves of how you’ve “changed” since then.

“We wanted to discuss the upcoming gala,” Greg says, his voice slow and deliberate, like he’s addressing a particularly difficult child. “It’s an important event, and we need to ensure we’re putting our best foot forward.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, closing your eyes for a moment. “The gala,” you repeat flatly. “That’s what this is about?”

“It’s not just any gala,” Marianne says quickly, leaning forward in her chair. “It’s the philanthropic tech event of the year. A lot of eyes will be on us, and—”

“And you think I don’t know how these events work?” you cut her off. You can feel the room tense, but you don’t care. “I’ve been to enough of them to know they’re all the same. CEOs patting themselves on the back for donating money they won’t miss, a parade of egos disguised as charity. What exactly do you need me there for?”

Marianne hesitates, her gaze flicking to Greg like she’s hoping he’ll take over. He does. “Because, like it or not, you’re the face of this company,” Greg says, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his stomach. “You can’t just send someone else to represent us. That would send the wrong message.”

“What message would that be?” you snap, finally sitting down at the head of the table. “That I’m too busy actually running the company to waste my time playing dress-up with a bunch of people I can barely stand?”

There’s a silence that stretches just a little too long. Then one of the investors—a younger guy with a suit that probably cost more than your first office did—clears his throat. “Look, we get it. You’re busy. But this isn’t just about appearances. The auto manufacturers will be there. The same ones we’ve been trying to get on board with the software project. This could be the perfect opportunity to… plant some seeds.”

You hesitate, running a hand through your hair. As much as you’d love to blow this whole conversation off, you can’t ignore the opportunity. The car software is a game-changer—your brainchild, built to make vehicles smarter, smoother, and damn near self-sufficient. Real-time diagnostics, predictive maintenance, AI-driven efficiency tweaks—it’s all there, cutting down waste, boosting performance, and making sure no one’s stranded on the side of the road because their engine decided to have a meltdown. It’s not your first rodeo, either. You’ve already spearheaded optimization software for logistics firms, shaving seconds off response times and millions off wasted fuel. The automation tools you built for manufacturing? Same deal—streamlining operations, reducing errors, and making sure no one has to play babysitter to outdated systems. If this gala gets the right people listening, maybe it’s worth putting on a suit and playing nice.

“Fine,” you say finally, your voice clipped. “I’ll go. But I’m not promising anything beyond showing up.”

“That’s all we need,” Marianne says quickly, relief flooding her voice. But then she hesitates, her smile faltering slightly. “Well… almost all.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “What now?”

“It’s just…” She glances around the room, clearly hoping someone else will say it. But no one does, so she presses on. “These events are as much about perception as they are about substance. Most attendees bring someone with them—a partner, a date. It’s… expected.”

You lean back in your chair, staring at her like she’s just asked you to juggle flaming knives. “You want me to bring a date?”

“It doesn’t have to be a date,” she says quickly, holding up her hands. “Just someone. It’s all about the image we present. Polished, relatable—”

“Relatable,” you cut her off, the word dripping with sarcasm. “That’s what we’re going for now?”

Her face flushes, but she holds her ground. “It’s about optics,” she says firmly. “These events are political, whether we like it or not. And if we want to maintain our standing in the industry, we need to play the game.”

The room goes quiet again, all eyes on you. You can feel the unspoken tension, the undercurrent of unease that’s been building ever since the audit. They’re worried about you. About your temper, your decisions, the fallout from Joy’s reassignment. They don’t say it, but it’s written all over their faces.

You stand abruptly, pushing back your chair with a scrape that makes a few people flinch. “I’ll think about it,” you say, your tone cold.

Before anyone can say another word, you grab your jacket and bag and walk out, the door closing behind you with a decisive click. You don’t look back.

You head to your office, shutting the door behind you and sinking into the chair behind your desk. The city sprawls out beyond the glass wall, its lights twinkling like a sea of restless stars. You stare at it, your thoughts drifting despite yourself.

The idea of bringing someone to the gala feels… impossible. You’re not exactly the dating type these days. Work has consumed you, chewed up whatever was left of your personal life after Mina disappeared. And the thought of standing in a room full of egos and ulterior motives, pretending to care about small talk, feels like a special kind of hell.

But the software. The cars. The deals you could make…

You lean back in your chair, exhaling slowly. “Relatable,” you mutter to yourself, the word bitter on your tongue.

—

The week barrels by, every day a relentless stream of meetings, strategy calls, and preparation for the gala. It’s happening in Vienna, a city as gilded and ostentatious as the egos that will crowd into its marble halls for this spectacle of “philanthropy.” Between the chaos of work and the logistics of the trip, you nearly forget about the whole date situation—until the executives start harping on it again.

“You need to bring someone,” one of them had insisted just this morning, his voice grating as he delivered the same spiel you’ve been hearing for days. “These events are as much about perception as they are about deals. A polished image. Approachable. Human.”

It doesn’t matter how much you hate this game, or how fake it all feels—appearances do matter. And the truth is, there’s no one you want to bring. The thought of dragging some boring socialite or ambitious entrepreneur along for the night feels unbearable.

That’s when you remember the card.

You’re halfway through packing for the trip when you spot it in your desk drawer, tucked under a stack of old notes and business receipts. It’s sleek, black, and understated, with only a name and a phone number embossed in silver. One of your friends, another billionaire tech genius with a taste for indulgence, had passed it to you years ago over whiskey in his penthouse. “For emergencies,” he’d said with a wink, and you’d stuffed it in your pocket, brushing it off as something you’d never need.

Now, though…

You think back to the last time you hired an escort. It had been a waste—nothing but a pretty face with no substance, a shallow girl who bored you half to death with vapid chatter before the sex finally salvaged the night. You’d sworn off the idea after that. But this card, this agency, is supposed to be different. Exclusive. No websites, no social media, nothing that leaves a trail. Just a whisper network for the ultra-rich. And right now, with the gala looming and no other options, it’s starting to feel like your best bet.

On your private jet, somewhere over Europe, you make the call.

The woman who answers is professional but guarded, her tone smooth and unhurried. “Yes?”

“I need someone,” you say, skipping past pleasantries. “For an event tomorrow night in Vienna. The best you have, and I don’t care what it costs.”

There’s a pause on the other end, a beat too long. “That’s not quite how we operate, sir,” she says, her voice carefully measured. “Our process is tailored, discreet. We—”

You cut her off, your tone firm and impatient. “I don’t need the details. Just make it happen. I’ll pay triple.”

The offer hangs in the air, and you can practically hear her calculating on the other end. Money talks, and you’re fluent in it.

“Very well,” she says finally, her voice softening just slightly. “We’ll send someone to meet you at the event. She’ll be dressed appropriately. I'll call you later to finalize the details.”

“Good,” you say, and hang up without waiting for a response.

By the time you land in Vienna, you’re running on fumes. The trip has been exhausting, and all you want is a few hours of sleep before the circus begins. The hotel is luxurious but impersonal, all polished stone and muted elegance. You crash almost as soon as you hit the bed.

—

The night of the gala arrives faster than you’d like, and you’re already on edge as you step into the limousine waiting outside the hotel. The city lights blur past the tinted windows, but your mind is elsewhere.

You haven’t thought about Joy in a while, not really. But tonight, as you sit in the back of the car, waiting for your escort to arrive, her memory creeps back in. You think about how effortless it would’ve been to bring her. She would’ve been perfect—her smile, her smart mind, the way she always seemed to put you at ease without even trying. But she’s gone. They took her away from you.

Your security guard interrupts your thoughts with a knock on the window. You roll it down, barely glancing at him. “What is it?”

“She’s here,” he says, holding out the card she gave him. It’s identical to the one in your desk, confirming she’s from the agency.

You nod, gesturing for him to let her in. “Send her over.”

The door opens, and she steps inside, her soft “Good evening” breaking the quiet.

You glance up, expecting nothing more than another pretty face. And then the air leaves your lungs.

It’s her.

Mina.

For a moment, you can’t think, can’t speak, can’t fucking breathe. She’s standing there, halfway into the car, her hand gripping the doorframe like she needs the support. She’s just as shocked as you are—her dark eyes wide, her lips slightly parted as she stares at you like she’s seen a ghost.

“Mina?” you manage to say, your voice rough and disbelieving.

Her name seems to snap her out of it. She swallows hard, her gaze darting away as she steps fully into the car and sits down across from you. “I… didn’t realize it was you,” she says quietly.

You stare at her, still trying to process what the hell is happening. She’s different, but not. Her hair is styled more elegantly, falling in soft waves over her shoulders. Her dress is black and fitted, hugging her slender frame and dipping low enough to hint at the curve of her breasts. But it’s the pink collar around her neck that catches your attention, that unmistakable touch of Mina that tugs at something deep inside you.

“You’re…” You trail off, shaking your head as if that’ll make sense of any of this. “You’re the escort?”

Her cheeks flush, and she looks down at her hands, folded neatly in her lap. “Yes,” she says softly, her voice tight with shame.

Your mind is a mess, a thousand questions crashing into each other. She was gone. Disappeared without a trace. And now here she is, sitting across from you, dressed to kill and working for a high-class escort agency.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The silence is heavy, charged, the air between you thick with unspoken words.

Finally, you lean forward, your elbows resting on your knees as you look at her. “Where the hell have you been, Mina?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she glances out the window, her profile illuminated by the passing streetlights. “It’s… complicated,” she says eventually.

“Complicated?” you repeat, your tone sharper than you intended. “You disappeared. No calls, no messages. Nothing. And now I find out you’re… this?” You gesture vaguely, frustration bleeding into your words.

Her eyes snap back to yours, a flicker of defiance breaking through her shame. “You don’t understand,” she says, her voice trembling but firm.

“You’re right,” you say, your jaw tightening. “I don’t. So why don’t you explain it to me?”

But she doesn’t. She just sits there, her gaze dropping back to her lap, her fingers tightening around the hem of her dress.

You exhale sharply, leaning back in your seat and running a hand over your face. This is not how you expected tonight to go. Not even close.

And yet, despite the anger simmering in your chest, you can’t stop looking at her. Can’t ignore how beautiful she is, how utterly mesmerizing she looks sitting there in the dim light of the car.

Mina. After all this time.

For a split second, you think about kicking her out of the car. The words are halfway out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. “I should make you get out,” you say coldly, the weight of everything—her disappearance, her reappearance like this, her fucking job—all slamming into you at once.

Mina flinches, her body going rigid as she stares at you, her wide eyes glistening like you’ve just slapped her.

But then you catch yourself. The anger, the confusion, the tidal wave of emotions—it’s too much, too fast. You take a deep breath, dragging a hand down your face and forcing yourself to calm the hell down. “I didn’t mean that,” you say, your voice softer now, but still tense. “It’s just… this is a lot to process.”

Mina doesn’t say anything at first, but her shoulders relax slightly. She looks down at her hands, folded neatly in her lap, her fingers gripping the hem of her dress. “I understand,” she says quietly, though her tone is laced with something else—shame, maybe, or resignation.

You lean back in your seat, running your hand over your face again. Part of you doesn’t know whether to be furious or relieved. You’d convinced yourself she was gone for good, a chapter closed without any closure. And now here she is, sitting across from you, stunning and poised, but not at all the person you thought she was.

The car hums quietly as it moves through the city, the tension thick and suffocating. You exhale sharply, glancing at her out of the corner of your eye. “I’m sorry,” you say, your voice low. “For being… rude.”

Mina’s head tilts slightly, and she looks at you with cautious curiosity.

You sigh, shaking your head. “It’s just… you disappearing like that. No calls, no texts. And now… this? It’s a lot. But I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

“It’s okay,” she says softly, her voice almost too quiet to hear.

The silence stretches again, but it feels a little less sharp this time. You glance at her again, really looking at her now. Her dress is elegant, black and perfectly tailored to her slim frame, with a deep neckline that highlights the delicate curve of her collarbone. Her hair is swept over one shoulder in loose waves, and her pink collar—the one she always seemed to wear—stands out against the otherwise dark palette of her outfit. She looks stunning, radiant even, and it’s infuriating how much it still gets to you.

“You look beautiful,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

She blinks, her cheeks flushing faintly as she glances at you. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

“We’ll need to talk after this,” you say, your tone firmer now.

Mina nods, her hands still tightly clasped in her lap. “Okay.”

—

When the car pulls up to the venue, you’re greeted by the inevitable swarm of photographers stationed outside. You force a smile, your jaw tightening as camera flashes light up the night.

The door opens, and you step out first, straightening your jacket as the cameras shift their focus to you. You turn, offering a hand to Mina as she steps out of the car.

For a moment, there’s a murmur from the crowd, a ripple of intrigue as they take her in. She’s stunning, no question about it. You place a hand lightly on her lower back as you guide her toward the entrance, pausing briefly to pose for a few photos. Mina’s smile is soft but steady, her composure flawless despite the cameras flashing in her face.

“Have you ever been to one of these events before?” you ask her quietly as you walk.

“A few,” she admits, glancing at you.

“Good,” you say with a faint smirk. “Then you know how to behave.”

Her lips twitch, almost like she wants to smile but is holding it back. “I think I can manage.”

Inside, the venue is as over-the-top as you’d expected—marble floors, glittering chandeliers, and a sea of impeccably dressed elites mingling with glasses of champagne in hand. The hum of conversation fills the air, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or the soft clink of glasses.

You guide Mina through the crowd, pausing occasionally to greet acquaintances and exchange polite pleasantries. To your surprise, she handles herself with ease, her demeanor poised and elegant. She smiles softly, speaks when spoken to, and moves through the room like she belongs there.

And then, she surprises you again.

You’re speaking with a pair of Italian businessmen, partners of a major European car brand, their thick accents making the conversation a little slower than usual. One of them turns to Mina, asking her a question in rapid Italian, and before you can step in, she responds. In fluent Italian.

The conversation shifts seamlessly, Mina’s voice calm and confident as she speaks with them. She even laughs lightly at something one of them says, her smile soft but genuine.

You don’t realize you’re staring until the older of the two men turns to you, his smile wide and impressed. “She’s incredible,” he says in heavily accented English. “You’re a lucky man.”

You force a smile, nodding stiffly. “Thank you.”

But the surprises don’t stop there. Later, you find her speaking with a group of Spanish executives, her voice slipping effortlessly between English and Spanish as the conversation flows.

By the time she rejoins you, you’re struggling to reconcile the woman standing in front of you with the quiet, almost shy girl you thought you knew.

“You didn’t tell me you spoke Italian and Spanish,” you say, your tone more curious than accusatory.

She shrugs lightly, her lips quirking into a small smile. “You never asked.”

Before you can respond, another acquaintance approaches, drawing your attention away. But even as you smile and shake hands, your thoughts keep drifting back to her.

You’re impressed, no doubt about that. But the lingering frustration, the unanswered questions, the feeling of being blindsided—it’s all still there, simmering beneath the surface.

This isn’t the Mina you thought you knew. But maybe, just maybe, the real Mina is just as captivating.

—

The ride back to the hotel is quiet, the car’s engine humming softly as the city blurs past. You’re drained—mentally, physically, the whole damn package—but there’s a small, smug satisfaction simmering underneath the exhaustion. Three major car brand owners, all genuinely interested in what your software could do for the next generation of vehicles. Real conversations, not just polite nods and empty promises. And Mina? She was a godsend. Every time one of them looked ready to move on, she’d tilt her head just right, flash that effortless smile, and keep them hooked long enough for you to land your pitch. Now, she’s sitting beside you, quiet, hands folded neatly in her lap, staring out at the passing lights. The pink collar around her neck catches in the dim glow, a soft contrast to the sharp perfection of her black dress. You steal another glance, fingers twitching against your knee. You should be thinking about contracts, deals, next steps—but all you can think about is her.

Now, back in the confines of your hotel suite, the performance is over. The mask you’ve been wearing all night slips off the second you shut the door behind you.

You loosen your bow tie and toss it onto the table, shrugging off your jacket before sinking into the chair by the window. The soft glow of the city filters through the glass, illuminating the room in a faint golden light. Mina sits on the edge of the bed, her posture stiff, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She doesn’t look at you, and for a moment, the only sound is the faint hum of the air conditioner.

You lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees as you stare at her. “Okay,” you say. “Talk.”

Mina finally looks at you, her expression cautious. “About what?”

“Don’t play dumb,” you say, a little sharper than intended. “Why did you disappear?”

She flinches slightly at your tone but recovers quickly, her gaze dropping to her hands. “Isn’t it obvious?” she says quietly.

“Humor me,” you reply, leaning back in the chair.

She hesitates, her fingers twisting the hem of her dress. “Because of my job,” she finally says.

You had suspected as much, but hearing her say it still hits harder than you’d like. “That’s it?” you ask, frowning. “That’s why you ran? Because you’re an escort?”

Mina looks up at you then, her dark eyes flashing with something sharp and defensive. “It’s not that simple,” she says. “You don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand,” you shoot back, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “Because it doesn’t make sense. You’re not like the others. High-class escorts are supposed to be confident, polished, untouchable. But you…” You trail off, gesturing vaguely at her. “You’re shy. Reserved. You don’t fit the mold.”

Mina scoffs softly, shaking her head. “What difference does it make when I got into this?”

“It makes a difference to me,” you say, your voice firm.

She narrows her eyes at you, her posture straightening slightly. “Why? So you can tell yourself it wasn’t your fault? That you didn’t miss the signs?”

You bite back a retort, inhaling deeply to steady yourself. “You could have told me,” you say after a beat, your tone softer now.

She laughs bitterly. “And then what? You’d disappear like all the others? Make me feel like I’m disgusting? Like I’m not worth the time or effort because of what I do?"

The way she says that disarms you, and for a moment, you’re silent, trying to process what she’s saying. And then, clear as day, you realize: she was working the night you met her.

“You’re not disgusting,” you say finally, your voice quieter now. “I just—who are you, Mina? Because the girl I met on that rooftop and the woman I saw tonight… they’re not the same.”

Mina stands abruptly, smoothing her dress as she takes a step toward the door. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,” she says, her tone clipped.

You rise from the chair, crossing the space between you before she can reach the handle. “You’re not leaving,” you say firmly, stepping in front of her. “Not yet. I'm paying for your company, remember?"

Mina looks up at you, her expression defiant but tinged with uncertainty. “What are you going to do? Keep me here just to humiliate me?”

“No,” you say, your voice dropping as you reach for her waist, your fingers brushing against the soft fabric of her dress. “I’m not going to humiliate you. I want to know you. The real you.”

Her breath hitches at your touch, her hands hovering near your chest as if she’s not sure whether to push you away or pull you closer. “Why?” she whispers. “What’s the point? I’m not who you thought I was.”

“I don’t care,” you say, your voice steady. “I want all of you. The parts you think I’ll hate, the parts you’re scared to show. I want the truth, Mina. No more running. No more pretending.”

She stares at you, her lips trembling as she tries to form a response. Finally, she exhales shakily, her shoulders sagging slightly. “I liked you,” she admits, her voice barely audible. “On the rooftop, I mean. You were… different. And I was stupid enough to think I could pretend. Go on normal dates. Be a normal girl. But then you kissed me…”

Her voice falters, and she looks away, her hands falling to her sides. “It was too much,” she says softly. “I couldn’t keep going. It would’ve hurt more if I let it continue.”

You don’t give her a chance to say anything else. You close the distance between you in one swift motion, your hand sliding up to cup the back of her neck as you kiss her. It’s nothing like the first kiss. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. It’s deeper, hungrier, fueled by the months of unanswered questions and the tension crackling between you now.

Mina responds instantly, her hands gripping your shoulders as she kisses you back just as fiercely. The taste of her, the softness of her lips, the faint tremor in her body—it’s all intoxicating, pulling you under like a riptide.

When you finally pull back, you rest your forehead against hers, your breath coming in uneven bursts. “You don’t get to disappear again,” you say, your voice rough with emotion. “Not this time.”

She nods faintly, her fingers clutching the front of your shirt as if she’s holding on for dear life. “Okay,” she whispers.

You tilt her chin up, meeting her gaze. “I want you, Mina,” you say, your voice steady and certain. “All of you. No more walls. No more hiding.”

She hesitates for a moment, her eyes searching yours. Then she nods again, her lips curving into a small, tentative smile. “Okay,” she says again, and this time, it feels like a promise.

Your lips crash into hers again, the taste of her intoxicating, the soft, urgent gasps she makes spurring you on. You don’t even realize you’re walking her backward until her legs bump against the edge of the mattress. She stumbles, her balance faltering, and falls back onto the bed with a shy, breathy laugh.

The sight of her—her flushed cheeks, her dark eyes looking up at you, a mix of nerves and anticipation—hits you harder than it should. You lean over her, your hands braced on either side of her as your mouth finds her neck. You kiss her there, firm and insistent, letting your lips brush over the pink collar around her throat. It feels like her signature, soft and delicate and entirely hers.

Mina’s breath catches, her fingers fumbling at the buttons of your dress shirt. She’s careful at first, her movements slow, but there’s a growing urgency as her fingers work their way down. Once the last button is undone, you shrug the shirt off yourself, letting it fall to the floor in a crumpled heap. Her hands hover over your bare chest for a moment, her touch light and hesitant, and you swear the way she’s looking at you might undo you.

You reach for the hem of her dress, tugging it down with deliberate slowness, revealing inch by inch of her soft, smooth skin. When her small, perky breasts come into view, the sight alone is enough to make your pulse hammer in your ears. Her nipples are already hard, and the way her chest rises and falls with each unsteady breath drives you wild.

“Mina…” you murmur, your voice rough, almost hoarse. You run your thumb over one of her nipples, watching the way she shudders under your touch, her lips parting in a soft gasp.

You lower your head, kissing the swell of her chest, letting your mouth trail down until you reach her breast. You take her nipple between your lips, sucking gently at first, then harder, your tongue flicking against the sensitive peak. Mina moans, her hands gripping the sheets, her back arching slightly as she presses herself closer to you.

“Please,” she whispers, her voice shaky, needy. “Don’t stop.”

You don’t. You move to her other breast, your hand cupping the one you’ve just left behind as your mouth closes around her nipple. You suck harder this time, your teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to make her gasp. Her hands are in your hair now, her fingers tugging slightly as you nibble on her, her moans getting louder.

She’s perfect, every sound she makes spurring you on, every little movement pulling you deeper into her. You drag your teeth over her nipple again, your tongue soothing the spot right after, and the way she trembles beneath you makes you want to devour her completely.

“More,” she breathes, her voice barely audible but filled with need. “Please…”

Your kisses trail lower, down her stomach, across the soft, warm skin that seems to shiver under your lips. Her breathing is shallow, quickening with every inch you descend. The dress is bunched up around her hips now, and as you glance down, you see her panties—black, lacy, and sheer, leaving just enough to the imagination to drive you insane. They’re perfect, teasing just enough of the treasure beneath.

You pull back for a moment, standing and tugging your belt loose in one fluid motion. The clink of the metal fills the quiet air between you as your hands move with purpose. Shoes off. Pants next. Mina sits up slightly, her eyes widening when her gaze falls to your cock, straining against the fabric of your underwear as she takes off her high heels. Her reaction sends a thrill straight to your core, and you smirk as you hook your thumbs into the waistband, shoving them down.

Her breath catches when you finally reveal yourself, her eyes locking onto your cock as it stands thick and hard, the tip already slick with pre-cum. You give it a slow, deliberate stroke, your fingers gliding down the length before squeezing lightly at the base. “Like what you see?” you ask, your voice a low, teasing growl.

She nods quickly, her cheeks flushed, her lips parting as she swallows hard. “Yes,” she whispers.

Her answer sends a surge of heat straight through you, but as you step closer, you pause, something pulling at the back of your mind. “Fuck,” you mutter, your hand dropping to your side. “I don’t have a condom.”

Mina shakes her head almost instantly, her expression soft but sure. “I don’t need it,” she says, her voice trembling just slightly. “Not with you.”

Something about the way she says it—the trust, the certainty—makes any hesitation on your part disappear. You don’t waste another second.

Your hands are on her again, sliding her dress the rest of the way down before hooking into her panties. You tug them off slowly, savoring the way the lace clings to her skin before revealing her, already glistening with arousal. The sight makes your cock twitch in your hand, the need to take her overwhelming, primal.

You kneel between her legs, lifting them slightly, and let the head of your cock brush against her slick folds. She gasps softly, her hips shifting instinctively, but you hold back, teasing her, letting the tip barely press against her entrance.

“Beg for it,” you say, your voice low and commanding. “Be a good girl and tell me how much you want my cock.”

Mina’s head tilts back, her cheeks flaming red as she whimpers. “Please,” she breathes, her voice cracking. “Please, I want it. I need it. Please…”

The desperation in her voice pushes you over the edge. You press forward slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until you’re buried inside her completely. She’s tight, hot, and soaking wet, her walls clenching around you as she moans loudly, her fingers gripping the sheets beside her.

You don’t move right away, savoring the way she feels around you, the way her body seems to mold itself to yours. You lean down, brushing a strand of hair from her flushed face as you meet her gaze. “You were beautiful tonight,” you murmur, your voice softer now. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you. No one could.”

Her breath hitches, her lips trembling as she stares up at you. “I was waiting for this,” she confesses, her voice shaky but filled with something raw and honest. “For you. To be… used by you.”

Her words ignite something in you, a darker hunger that’s been lurking just beneath the surface. You grip her thighs tightly, pulling back just enough to thrust into her hard and deep. The sudden movement makes her cry out, her hands flying to your shoulders for support as her body arches beneath you.

You set a brutal pace, pounding into her relentlessly, the sound of your bodies colliding filling the room. Each thrust drags another moan from her lips, her nails digging into your skin as she clings to you. “That’s it,” you growl, your voice rough with exertion. “Take it. Be my good girl.”

“Yes,” Mina whimpers, her voice barely audible over the sound of her moans. “Yes, please…”

Her submission, her eagerness to please, only spurs you on, driving you deeper into her, harder and faster. You want to break her in the best way, to ruin her for anyone else, to claim every part of her until there’s no doubt in either of your minds who she belongs to.

Your hips crash into hers, the sound of skin meeting skin sharp and echoing in the quiet of the room. Mina’s moans fill the air, high and desperate, each one more breathless than the last. She clutches the sheets beneath her, her body trembling as you pound into her without mercy, your thick cock stretching her in ways that make her lose herself completely.

“Fuck,” she gasps, her voice cracking as her head tilts back. “You’re so big. I can feel you so deep.”

You grip her thighs tighter, spreading her open as you drive into her relentlessly. She’s completely at your mercy, her small body taking everything you give her, her pussy squeezing you like she doesn’t want to let go.

“Look at you,” you growl, your eyes locked on her. “Taking my cock like a good fucking girl. You love this, don’t you? Being used like this?”

“Yes!” she cries out, her voice breaking with need. “Please, don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop!”

Her perky tits bounce with every thrust, hypnotic in their movement. You can’t look away, the sight of her completely undone beneath you making it impossible to think about anything else. Sweat glistens on her skin, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from how hard you’ve kissed her.

You lean forward, one hand still gripping her thigh while the other slides up her body. You pause at her throat, your palm resting lightly against her warm, delicate skin. Her eyes snap open, wide and shining with pleasure and trust. She lifts a trembling hand, placing it on your wrist as if to say: I want this. Keep going.

Your fingers tighten slightly around her throat, just enough to make her gasp. Her pupils dilate, her body arching into yours as she lets out a choked moan. The way her pussy tightens around your cock makes you groan, your control slipping as you press harder into her.

“Such a fucking slut for me,” you mutter, your voice rough with exertion and lust. “You like that? You like being choked while I fuck you like this?”

“Yes,” she whimpers, her voice barely audible but dripping with desperation. “I love it. I love it so much. Please, don’t stop. Please…”

Her face contorts with pleasure, her eyes fluttering shut as you pound into her harder, deeper. You watch her completely unravel, her lips parted, her breaths coming in shallow, ragged bursts. Her nails dig into your wrist, not to stop you but to ground herself as the pleasure overtakes her.

“Look at you,” you say, tightening your grip just a fraction more. “So fucking perfect. So desperate for me.”

She nods weakly, her body trembling beneath you, her voice breaking as she tries to respond. “Only for you,” she manages to whisper, her words slurring with pleasure. “I’m yours. Only yours.”

Her submission sends you over the edge, your hips snapping into her with a brutal pace, each thrust hitting so deep that she cries out, her body writhing beneath you. Her pussy clamps down on you, pulling you in, milking you for everything you’re worth.

You don’t let up, your hand still wrapped around her throat, your cock buried to the hilt inside her as you drive her higher and higher. Her legs shake, her moans turning into incoherent sounds of pleasure as she completely gives herself over to you.

Your hand slides from her throat to her mouth, your thumb brushing over her swollen lips. Without hesitation, Mina parts them, her tongue darting out to tease the pad of your finger before taking it fully into her mouth. Her eyes lock onto yours, dark and full of lust, as she sucks sensually, her lips wrapping around your finger like she’s begging for more.

“Fuck, Mina,” you growl, the sight of her completely undoing you.

You keep thrusting into her, deep and relentless, your hips snapping against hers as she moans around your finger. The wet heat of her mouth, combined with the tight grip of her pussy clenching around you, pushes you dangerously close to losing control. She’s perfect, completely in the moment, her body moving with yours in desperate rhythm.

You pull your finger from her mouth, watching the way her tongue flicks out, almost reluctant to let you go. But you’re not done yet. Leaning down, you grab her legs and lift her slightly, repositioning yourself. You press your weight into her, chest to chest, as you drive your cock even deeper. The new angle has her gasping, her head pressing back into the mattress as your pace quickens.

“Oh my god,” Mina cries out, her nails digging into your shoulders. “You’re so deep… fuck, don’t stop.”

“Never,” you growl, your voice rough as you bury yourself inside her again and again, each thrust making her tits bounce deliciously beneath you.

The bed creaks beneath the force of your movements, the sound of your bodies colliding filling the room. You lower your mouth to hers, kissing her hard, swallowing her moans as you fuck her with everything you have. She kisses you back just as fiercely, her nails scraping down your back, leaving a burning trail of pleasure-pain in their wake.

“I’m going to cum,” she gasps against your lips, her voice shaking with urgency. “Oh god, I’m so close.”

“Then fucking cum,” you growl, your hips slamming into her faster, harder. “Cum all over my cock, Mina. Be a good girl and let go for me.”

Her body tenses, her legs trembling as her orgasm crashes over her. She cries out, her back arching off the bed as her nails dig deep into your skin, enough to draw blood. The sting only fuels you, and you keep fucking her through it, slowing your pace just enough to draw out every wave of pleasure coursing through her.

“Fuck, yes,” she moans, her voice shaky and raw. “That was so good… your cock feels so fucking amazing.”

You smirk, leaning down to kiss the corner of her mouth. “Good,” you murmur against her skin. “because I'm not done with you yet.”

Mina’s eyes widen slightly, but there’s no hesitation, only anticipation. You pull out of her slowly, your cock slick and glistening with her arousal, and sit back on your heels. “Ride me,” you command, your voice low and firm.

She doesn’t need to be told twice. She moves quickly, her body lithe and eager as she straddles you, her knees pressing into the mattress on either side of your hips. You grip her waist, guiding her as she lowers herself onto your cock.

“Fuck,” you groan, your head falling back as her tight heat envelops you. “That’s it. Take it all, Mina.”

She gasps, her hands resting on your chest for balance as she starts to move. Slowly at first, rolling her hips in a way that has you gripping her tighter, your fingers digging into her skin.

“You’re such a fucking slut,” you growl, your eyes locked on the way her body moves. “Bouncing on my cock like this. You love it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she breathes, her voice trembling as she picks up the pace. “I love it. I’m your slut. Only yours.”

Her words send a jolt of heat through you, and you reach up, cupping her breasts and squeezing them as she rides you. Her rhythm becomes more desperate, her moans louder as she moves faster, her pussy tightening around you with every thrust.

“Look at you,” you mutter, your voice low and rough. “So fucking perfect. Keep going, Mina. Show me how much you want it.”

She throws her head back, her hands sliding up your chest to your shoulders as she grinds down on you, her movements erratic and wild. She’s completely lost in it, in you, her body trembling as she pushes herself closer to the edge.

“Fuck,” you groan, your hands gripping her hips as you thrust up into her, meeting her movements with equal intensity. “You’re mine, Mina. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” she cries out, her nails digging into your shoulders again. “Only yours. Always.”

Mina moves like she was born to do this. Every roll of her hips is deliberate, every bounce calculated to drive you insane. The shy girl you met on that rooftop—so quiet, so reserved—is nowhere to be seen now. In her place is a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing, her confidence radiating with every moan she lets slip from her lips, every swivel of her body.

Her hands are braced against your chest, her fingers digging into your skin as she rides you with a rhythm that’s almost hypnotic. Her thighs flex and relax with each movement, her slick heat gripping your cock so perfectly it’s a miracle you haven’t completely lost it yet.

“Fuck, Mina,” you groan, your voice thick with lust. “Look at you. So fucking sexy. You ride my cock so fucking good.”

She tilts her head back, her hair falling in dark waves over her shoulders, her lips parted as she moans softly. “Yes,” she gasps, her voice breathy and raw. “I love the way you feel inside me. So fucking deep.”

Her pace quickens, the bounce of her hips becoming more frantic as she starts chasing her own pleasure. You grab her waist, your fingers digging into her soft skin, guiding her movements as she grinds down on you. Her breasts sway with each thrust, sweat glistening on her skin, and the sight of her—completely lost in the moment, consumed by you—is almost too much.

“You’re so fucking good at this,” you growl, your gaze locked on her. “The way you move, Mina… Jesus. You’re going to make me lose my fucking mind.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, but it quickly dissolves into a moan as she shifts her angle, grinding her clit against you with every downward motion. Her eyes flutter shut, her lips trembling as her breathing becomes ragged.

“I’m so close,” she whimpers, her voice high and desperate. “Oh god, I’m so close.”

“Then cum,” you tell her, your grip tightening on her waist as you thrust up into her. “Cum for me, Mina. Let me see you fall apart again.”

Her body trembles, her movements growing more erratic as she spirals toward her peak. Her moans turn into cries, high and uncontrollable, and her hands slide up to your shoulders, clutching at you like she’s trying to hold on for dear life.

And then she’s there.

Her orgasm crashes over her, her head snapping back as she cries out your name, her voice breaking. Her body tightens, her pussy clenching around your cock like a vice, her thighs trembling as wave after wave of pleasure washes over her. Her face wrinkles in ecstasy, her brows furrowed, her lips parted in a silent scream.

She’s breathtaking, her sweaty body glistening in the low light, her chest rising and falling as she struggles to catch her breath. Her hips move in small, involuntary circles, riding out every last shudder of her climax.

“Fuck, Mina,” you groan, watching her come undone on top of you. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

She collapses onto your chest, her body still trembling, her breaths coming in shallow, uneven bursts. For a moment, neither of you moves, the room filled only with the sound of your heavy breathing.

You brush her hair out of her face, tilting her chin up so she’s looking at you. “Get on your knees,” you say, your voice low and commanding.

Mina’s eyes widen slightly, but there’s no hesitation. She nods, sliding off of you with shaky legs and sinking to the floor between your knees. Her dark eyes meet yours as she leans forward.

She knows exactly what you want. And she’s more than ready to give it to you.

Your hand grips the base of your cock, the slickness of her pussy still lingering on your skin as you look down at her.

“Suck it,” you growl, the heat in your voice unmistakable. “Make me cum, Mina. Show me what that mouth can do.”

She nods slightly, leaning forward without a word. Her hands wrap around your cock first, small and delicate against the thick length of you. Her tongue flicks out, teasing the tip, swirling around it before she takes you into her mouth.

The warmth of her lips, the wet heat of her tongue—it’s perfect. She starts slow, deliberate, her head bobbing gently as she works her way down your cock. Her eyes flick up to meet yours, and the sight of her like this—on her knees, her mouth full of you, her eyes wide and obedient—makes you groan, your head tilting back as pleasure rolls through you.

“Fuck, Mina,” you mutter, your voice tight with arousal. “You’re so fucking good at this. Taking me so well.”

She hums around your cock, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine. Her hands move in sync with her mouth, stroking the base as she sucks harder, her tongue swirling with every movement. It’s like she knows exactly what you need, every flick of her tongue, every suctioned pull perfectly calibrated to drive you wild.

You lose yourself in the sensation, your hands finding their way to her hair, tangling in the soft strands. At first, you guide her gently, setting the pace, but as the heat builds, as your cock twitches in her mouth, your control starts to slip.

You grip her hair tighter, pulling her down further onto your cock, forcing her to take more. She gags slightly, the sound muffled but unmistakable, and it sends a bolt of heat straight to your core.

“Take it,” you growl, your voice rough. “Take it all, Mina. I’m going to use that pretty little mouth of yours.”

You start thrusting into her, shallow at first but quickly building to a relentless rhythm. Her hands grip your thighs for balance as you fuck her mouth, your cock sliding deeper with every thrust. She gags again, her throat constricting around you, but she doesn’t pull away. If anything, she leans into it, her nails digging into your skin as she lets you use her.

Drool drips from the corners of her mouth, slicking your cock, her chin glistening as you push her harder. Her eyes are watering now, tears slipping down her flushed cheeks, but she doesn’t stop, doesn’t pull back. She’s determined, her soft moans vibrating around you as she takes everything you give her.

“Fuck, Mina,” you groan, your head tilting back as the pleasure builds to an almost unbearable peak. “You’re so fucking perfect. Taking my cock like a good little slut. That’s what you are, isn’t it? My good girl.”

She moans around you, the sound muffled but desperate, and it’s all you need to push you closer.

You pull out of her mouth suddenly, your cock glistening and drenched in her spit, twitching with need. Mina looks up at you, her lips swollen and shiny, her tongue darting out to lick them as she waits. Her mouth stays open, her eyes full of trust and anticipation.

You stroke yourself, your hand tight and fast, your cock slick and aching as you chase your release. “Keep your mouth open,” you command. “Don’t move.”

She obeys, tilting her head back slightly, her tongue out and ready. The sight of her like this—on her knees, her face flushed, her mouth open and waiting—sends you over the edge.

You groan loudly as you cum, thick ropes of it spilling onto her tongue and lips in hot, pulsing bursts. Mina moans softly as you fill her mouth, her body shivering with pleasure even as she stays perfectly still, letting you coat her tongue.

When you’re done, you kneel down in front of her, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Show me,” you say, your voice softer now but still firm.

She sticks her tongue out slightly, and there it is—a pool of your cum glistening on her tongue, thick and creamy. The sight sends a fresh wave of heat through you, and you cup her chin gently, tilting her face up toward you.

“Good girl,” you murmur, your thumb brushing her cheek. “Swallow it. All of it.”

Mina closes her mouth, tilting her head back slightly as she swallows. When she opens her mouth again, it’s empty, her tongue clean, and she looks at you with a small, shy smile that somehow makes your chest tighten.

You exhale slowly, your hand still on her face as you study her. “From tonight on you will not go out with any other man,” you say quietly, the words more a promise than a statement. “I'm serious. No one else. Just me.”

Mina nods, her voice soft but certain. “Just you.”

—

The transition from occasional meetings to something closer to a routine happens so gradually it almost doesn’t register at first. After that night at the gala, you find yourself booking Mina more and more, under the guise of needing her for “company” during your frequent travels. But you both know the truth: you can’t fucking get enough of her.

You were torn at the outset. Why on earth would a man as powerful as you be so desperate for a girl like her? But the truth is: she’s perfect—so perfect it’s almost maddening. Every time you’re with her, she becomes exactly what you need in that moment. In bed, she’s your personal plaything, your perfect little slut, ready and eager to take whatever you give her. On your private jet, she’s perched prettily in lingerie, always obedient, always ready to be fucked, her body an open invitation. Hotel rooms become your private playground, the kind of places where nothing is off-limits, where she lets you push her boundaries because she craves it just as much as you do.

It borders on obsession. No—fuck that. It is obsession.

In Tokyo, you have her wrists tied to the bedposts with silk scarves, her body stretched beneath you like a gift. The glow from the city outside bathes her skin in soft light, highlighting the tension in her muscles as she squirms, testing the bonds.

“You’re not going anywhere,” you say.

“I don’t want to go anywhere,” she whispers back, her voice breathy, her wide eyes filled with trust and something deeper—something that pulls you in and refuses to let go.

You take your time with her, trailing kisses down her neck, over her collarbone, across her chest. Her breathing turns shallow, her body trembling as your mouth and hands explore every inch of her. When you finally slide inside her, she’s soaking wet, her moans breaking apart into cries as you fuck her harder, watching her tied hands clench the silk in desperation. She comes so hard you think she might shatter beneath you, her body arching, her face contorted in pure ecstasy.

In Dubai, the energy is different—hotter, darker. You’re wound up from tense meetings and late-night calls, and Mina knows it the second she steps into your suite. She’s wearing nothing but a black lace bra and panties, her signature pink collar around her neck.

She kneels without a word, her hands behind her back, her eyes on yours. You don’t ask if she’s ready—she always is.

You bend her over the edge of the bed, her perfect ass in the air, and slide your belt free from your pants with a deliberate snap. The sound makes her gasp, but she doesn’t flinch.

“Count,” you command, your voice low and rough.

“One,” she whispers when the first strike lands.

Her skin reddens as you bring the belt down again and again, each strike met with a shaky gasp or a soft moan. By the time her ass is glowing red and hot to the touch, she’s trembling, her arousal unmistakable. You grip her hips and thrust into her from behind, leaving bruises in your wake. Her cries fill the room, a mix of pain and pleasure as you take her harder, deeper, until she’s nothing but a writhing mess beneath you.

Then there’s New York. That night, you make it clear you’re not letting her waste a single drop. She smiles at you, shy but teasing, already knowing what’s coming.

She rides you with abandon, her small body taking every inch of your cock, her tits bouncing as she moans your name like a prayer. When you cum inside her the first time, she doesn’t stop. She keeps grinding, keeps fucking herself on you until you’re hard again, thrusting up into her like you’re starving for it.

By the time you’re finished, her thighs are slick with your cum, her pussy swollen and drenched. She’s trembling, her body exhausted, but instead of collapsing, she slides down your body and wraps her lips around your cock.

Her tongue works over you, her mouth hot and wet as she moans softly, licking and sucking until there’s not a single drop left.

“Fuck, Mina,” you groan, your hands tangled in her hair as she looks up at you with those dark, needy eyes. “You love it, don’t you? You love the taste of me.”

She hums in agreement, nodding slightly, her lips never leaving you.

Every night with her is different. One night, you’re tying her up and making her beg for release. The next, you’re spanking her until her ass is red and she’s dripping down her thighs. And sometimes, you just fuck her senseless, cumming inside her again and again until you’ve marked every inch of her.

But there’s more to Mina than the way her body bends to your will, more than the way she moans your name like it’s the only word she knows. She listens. Actually listens. And you realize, between the wild nights and stolen afternoons, you talk to her. About the shit that weighs on you, the things you can’t tell anyone else. The pressures of running an empire, the endless fucking grind, the rare moments when even winning feels hollow.

Mina doesn’t offer advice, doesn’t try to solve your problems. She just listens, her dark eyes steady and attentive, her presence soothing in a way that catches you off guard every time. It’s almost unfair how she makes it so easy to let your guard down.

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? You don’t just want her when you’re fucking her. You want her all the time.

The realization hits you like a freight train one night after you’ve had her pinned against the window of your hotel room, the city lights framing her naked, trembling body as you fucked her into oblivion. She’s lying beside you now, her head resting on your chest, her finger sliding in circles on your skin.

You think about how empty the room would be if she wasn't here. How empty you’ll feel.

“You should work for me,” you blurt out, the thought spilling out of your mouth before you can stop it.

Mina props herself up on one elbow, her brows furrowing in confusion. “What?”

“Work for me,” you repeat, more certain this time. “Be my secretary.”

She blinks, caught off guard. “I’m not a secretary.”

“You don’t have to be,” you say, sitting up slightly. “It’s not about the work. I’ll hire a team to handle the complicated shit. All I need is someone to keep me organized. And I’ll pay you triple what you’re making now.”

Mina gives you a skeptical look, her lips twitching like she’s holding back a laugh. “Triple?” she echoes. “You must be desperate.”

“I am,” you admit without hesitation, your voice steady as you meet her gaze. “Desperate to have you close. All the time. Whenever I need you.”

Her expression softens, her eyes searching yours like she’s trying to figure out if you’re serious. “You’re offering me a job just to keep me around?”

“Exactly,” you say, your tone firm. “It’s not just about the sex, Mina. It’s about you. I need you. And I want you close, always.”

She hesitates, biting her bottom lip as she looks away, clearly thinking it over. “It’s a little… unorthodox,” she says finally, her voice soft but thoughtful.

You smirk, leaning closer to her. “You’re not exactly conventional either, are you?”

That earns you a small laugh, and she shakes her head, her hair falling into her face. “Fair point.”

“Come on,” you say, your tone more coaxing now. “You’re already spending most of your time with me. This just makes it official. And you’ll still get to do all the things you love—travel, nice hotels, insane shopping sprees.”

She raises an eyebrow at that, clearly unimpressed by the pitch. “You think that’s all I care about?”

“No,” you say seriously. “I think you care about me. And I know you don’t have to admit it, but I think the idea of staying close to me doesn’t sound all that bad to you.”

Mina’s quiet for a moment, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the edge of the sheet covering you both. When she finally looks at you again, there’s a hint of a smile on her lips, soft and almost shy.

“You’re not wrong,” she admits quietly. “Being close to you… I do want that.”

“Then say yes,” you urge, your voice low and steady. “Let me take care of you, Mina. Let me give you everything you need.”

She exhales slowly, her eyes holding yours. And then, after what feels like an eternity, she nods.

“Okay,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

You lean forward, cupping her face in your hands as you kiss her deeply, your relief and satisfaction pouring into the kiss. Mina melts against you, her hands sliding up your chest as she kisses you back with equal intensity.

“You’re mine now,” you murmur against her lips, your tone possessive but laced with affection. “Completely mine.”

She smiles, her eyes soft but full of mischief. “Completely yours,” she echoes, and you know she means it.

—

Mina’s heels click against the polished floors as she follows Joy through the office, her new world opening up piece by piece. She’s dressed for the part—her blouse crisp, her pencil skirt snug but professional, her legs encased in sheer pantyhose that give her a glossy, polished look. She looks the part of a perfect secretary, but inside, she still feels like she’s playing dress-up.

Joy, ever the professional, explains everything with a bright, polite tone. She gestures at different parts of the office, outlining schedules, expectations, and protocols, her sharp heels and tailored blazer giving her an air of authority. Mina listens intently, nodding at all the right places, but there’s a slight tension between them.

Though Joy doesn’t say anything outright, her expression gives her away. The slight smirk when she points out where you keep your coffee mugs. The deliberate pause before she mentions how you like your coffee—"black, one sugar, and hot, always hot.” The unspoken understanding that Mina being here, in this role, is exactly what it looks like.

“And one more thing,” Joy adds, stopping in front of the large windows that overlook the city. She turns to Mina, her tone casual but with an edge of amusement. “He likes his secretary to look polished. Always. Makeup, hair done, dressed appropriately. A bad appearance isn’t tolerated. But,” she glances over Mina’s outfit with an approving nod, “I don’t think that’ll be a problem for you.”

Mina forces a polite smile, brushing down the front of her skirt. “Got it,” she says.

Joy leads her further down the hall, showing her where the copier is, which rooms are used for what, and how to deal with the insufferable HR manager if she comes sniffing around. The tour feels endless, and Mina’s starting to wonder if she’ll remember any of it when she hears footsteps behind her.

You appear at the other end of the corridor, walking toward them with a small group of sharply dressed men. You’re talking, your tone commanding but easy, and the men hang on your every word. When you glance up and see Mina, your lips curve into a subtle smile, one only she would catch.

Mina’s breath hitches, but she composes herself, offering a small, shy smile in return.

Joy notices the exchange, of course. Her smile tightens, but she keeps moving, walking Mina back to her desk. “He’s busy, as always,” Joy remarks, gesturing toward your office. “But you’ll see. He’ll find ways to keep you occupied.” There’s no mistaking the implication in her tone.

Mina settles into her desk as the morning stretches on. She organizes papers, files emails, and starts getting into the rhythm of things. It’s nothing like what she imagined doing with her life, but then again, neither was the career she fell into before this. Compared to that, this feels… almost normal.

Almost.

The intercom on her desk buzzes, pulling her from her thoughts. Your voice comes through, smooth and firm. “Mina, coffee. Black, one sugar.”

“Yes, sir,” she replies automatically, standing and smoothing her skirt before heading to the break room.

By the time she gets to your office, the coffee steaming in her hand, she’s nervous. Not visibly so, but inside, her stomach twists slightly as she knocks on the door.

“Come in,” you call.

She steps inside, her heels clicking softly on the hardwood floor. Your office is spacious, with floor-to-ceiling windows that bathe the room in light. You sit behind your desk, leaning back slightly in your chair, your jacket off, the sleeves of your crisp white shirt rolled up to your forearms.

She places the coffee on your desk, careful not to spill a drop.

“Lock the door,” you say casually, not looking up from the paper you’re skimming.

Mina hesitates for only a second before walking to the door and turning the lock. The soft click echoes in the quiet room, and when she turns back, you’re looking at her, your gaze steady and unreadable.

“Come here,” you say, gesturing her closer.

She steps around the desk, her heels sinking slightly into the plush rug as she moves toward you. When she’s within reach, you take her hand and pull her gently onto your lap.

The action surprises her, but she doesn’t resist, settling awkwardly at first before relaxing slightly against you.

“You look pretty in this outfit,” you say, your voice lower now, more intimate.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, her cheeks flushing faintly.

Your hands rest on her thighs, sliding slowly down over the smooth nylon of her pantyhose. The sensation is electric, the soft, subtle texture under your palms.

“You look better than Joy ever did,” you add, your lips curling into a small smirk.

Her eyes widen slightly, and she glances down at you. “She’s nice,” Mina says cautiously.

“She is,” you agree, your hands tightening slightly on her thighs. “But she’s not you.”

You lean in, brushing your lips against hers. Your hand sliding higher on her thigh. Her lips part slightly, and you take the invitation, your tongue brushing against hers in a slow, deliberate tease.

Mina’s breath catches, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders. She’s warm, soft, her perfume faint but intoxicating. You pull back just enough to look at her, her lips slightly swollen, her cheeks flushed.

“You’re perfect,” you murmur, your voice thick.

And then you kiss her again, harder this time, pulling her closer as the world outside your office fades away.

—

Your routine with Mina shifts quickly, sliding into something that’s almost second nature. From the outside, she’s the perfect secretary—always punctual, dressed immaculately, her makeup and hair pristine, her skirts tight enough to catch eyes but not enough to scream unprofessional. Inside your office, though, she’s something else entirely. She’s your pet.

It starts subtly, a blowjob here, a lingering kiss there. But soon, it becomes routine. Every morning when she brings you coffee, Mina doesn’t just set the cup down and leave. She locks the door behind her, her heels clicking on the floor as she steps around the desk. She drops to her knees without a word, her dark eyes looking up at you as she unzips your pants.

“Good morning, boss,” she murmurs, pulling your cock free.

You smirk, leaning back in your chair as her lips wrap around the head, warm and wet and eager. She works like it’s her job—and in a way, it is. She sucks you with purpose, her tongue swirling, her cheeks hollowing as she takes you deeper. Her hands rest on your thighs, steadying herself as her head bobs, the slick sounds of her mouth filling the room.

“Fuck, Mina,” you groan, gripping the back of her head, your fingers tangling in her hair. “You love this, don’t you? My good little slut.”

She moans around you, her eyes fluttering shut as she takes you to the back of her throat. It’s every morning now. You sip your coffee while she sucks you off, her mouth working you until your grip tightens, and you thrust into her mouth. When you finally cum, she swallows every drop, her tongue sweeping over your cock before she sits back on her heels, wiping her mouth.

“Thank you, boss,” she says sweetly, standing and smoothing her skirt like nothing happened.

And if she ever forgets to call you boss? You remind her.

One day, she slips, murmuring a soft, “Sorry,” instead of “Sorry, boss.” The slap is sharp and deliberate, your palm cracking against her face. She gasps, her body jolting slightly, but when she looks back at you, there’s nothing but arousal in her eyes.

“What was that?” you ask, gripping her chin and forcing her to look at you.

“Sorry, boss,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

You smirk, brushing her hair out of her face. “That’s better.”

There’s the time you decide to train her ass, a test of how far she’s willing to go for you. You order her to bend over the desk, lifting her skirt and sliding a small plug into her tight hole. She gasps, her nails digging into the wood, but she doesn’t complain.

“You’re going to wear this all day,” you tell her, smoothing her skirt back down. “And if you’re good, I’ll take it out myself.”

She obeys, spending the entire shift with the plug buried inside her. You watch her squirm every time she sits down, the faintest wince crossing her face when she shifts in her chair. But she doesn’t complain.

When you finally call her into your office, she’s already trembling with anticipation. You bend her over the desk again, pulling her panties down and sliding the plug out slowly.

“You’ve been good today,” you murmur, positioning yourself behind her. “Now let me reward you.”

You fuck her ass slowly at first, savoring the way she clenches around you, the way she gasps and moans with every thrust. But it doesn’t take long before you’re pounding into her, your hands gripping her hips as you bury yourself deep. She screams your name, her nails scratching the surface of your desk, and when you finally cum, you watch as it leaks out of her used hole, dripping onto her thighs.

Another time, you’re both restless. You sit back in your chair, stroking yourself lazily as Mina perches on the desk, her legs spread, her fingers working her pussy.

“Look at you,” you mutter, your eyes fixed on her. “So fucking wet. You love being my little slut, don’t you?”

“Yes, boss,” she moans, her back arching as she rubs her clit faster.

When you’re both close, you tell her to get on her knees. She obeys immediately, unbuttoning her blouse and letting it hang open, exposing her small, perky tits. You stand, stroking yourself over her chest, your cock glistening with pre-cum.

“Keep still,” you command, your voice rough.

She nods, her lips parted as she watches you. When you finally cum, it’s all over her tits, thick ropes of it painting her skin. She moans softly, running her fingers through it, her eyes locked on yours.

“Good girl,” you murmur, brushing her hair out of her face.

Mina smiles up at you, her lips curving into that familiar, submissive grin that you’ve come to crave. She’s yours now—completely, unapologetically. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

—

The hallway is quiet, almost eerie, as you step out of your office. It’s late, the kind of late where even the overachievers have gone home. Mina left hours ago, heading home to get ready. A car is scheduled to pick her up and bring her to your place. Just the thought of seeing her tonight—her hair down, her slim body in something tight and teasing—makes you quicken your pace.

You’re halfway to the elevator when you hear the familiar click of heels behind you. You glance back and see Joy walking toward you, her bag slung over her shoulder, her stride as graceful as ever.

It’s been a while since you’ve had a proper conversation with her. She looks the same—polished and confident—but there’s something in her expression, a faint tension around her eyes, that you don’t remember being there before.

“Joy,” you greet her, pausing to let her catch up. “I was missing your pretty little face. How’s the new position treating you?”

She gives you a polite smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Fine,” she says, her tone clipped.

You frown slightly. “Fine?”

She hesitates, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. “It’s… complicated,” she says finally.

You stop walking, turning to face her fully. “Complicated how? Is someone giving you trouble?”

Joy exhales sharply, glancing away. For a moment, you think she’s going to brush it off, but then she looks back at you, her expression guarded. “It’s the rumors,” she says quietly. “The ones about us.”

Your jaw tightens. You knew the whispers were going to happen, but you thought they would fade over time, with the new distance established between you and Joy.

“They don’t have proof,” you say.

“Proof doesn’t matter,” she replies, her tone sharper now. “They think I’m only in this position because the boss fucked me. And no one takes me seriously because of it. Half of them ignore me, the other half treat me like I’m disposable. It’s exhausting.”

You knew this move would be complicated for her, but hearing it spelled out like this—knowing that the shit people are saying about her has roots in truth—it leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

“Joy, I didn’t—” you start, but she cuts you off with a shake of her head.

“It’s not just you,” she says, softening a little. “It’s the whole culture around here. Women like me don’t get to just… exist in positions of power without people assuming we fucked our way there. When I got involved with you, I didn't plan on making any big leaps in this company. I wasn't being driven by interest, you know that. And it's funny that they were the ones who put me in this position… At this point, I think being fired would have been better.”

“Still,” you say, guilt creeping in, “I didn’t want it to be like this for you. If there’s anything I can do—”

She raises a hand, cutting you off again. “It’s fine. I’ll deal with it. I always do.”

There’s a pause, heavy with unspoken words, before Joy changes the subject, her tone deliberately lighter. “What about your new secretary? Mina, right? How’s she doing?”

“She’s good,” you say, nodding. “Really good, actually.”

Joy raises an eyebrow, her smirk faint but unmistakable. “Really? She doesn’t seem like the type who’d… you know… submit to the role.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Yeah. But maybe that’s why I like her.”

Joy’s smirk grows, her eyes glinting with mischief. “You really like her, huh? So, how’s she in bed? Better than me?”

You laugh, a little caught off guard by her bluntness. “She’s… amazing,” you admit, leaning in slightly. “As good as you were. Maybe even better.”

Joy laughs, the sound warm but tinged with something you can’t quite place. “You really went and hired yourself a sexdoll,” she says, shaking her head.

You shrug, smirking. “I won’t deny it.”

Her laugh fades, and her expression grows more serious. “Just be careful,” she says. “You’ve got a lot on your plate, and people are watching you. Everyone here knows she was the woman you took to that gala. And now she's suddenly here as your secretary, it's a little suspicious. No, actually, it's very suspicious. If you’re not discreet, it’s going to come back to bite you. What happened to me could happen to her.”

The warning lingers in the air, and you know she’s right. Things at the company have been tense lately. The other big names—investors, board members, even senior management—have been pushing back on you more than usual, challenging your ideas, undermining your authority. The software project you’ve poured your energy into has been warped by sudden adjustments, political interests, and compromises you never wanted to make.

For the first time in years, you feel like you’re losing control.

“Thanks for the advice,” you say finally, your tone dry but not ungrateful.

Joy nods, her gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before she steps toward the elevator. “Take care, boss,” she says over her shoulder, her voice laced with just enough irony to make you smile.

“Goodnight, Joy,” you call after her, watching as she disappears into the elevator.

As you head to the parking garage, her words stick with you. Be careful. Be discreet. You think about Mina—her laugh, her smile, the way she looked kneeling in front of you earlier—and wonder if you’re in too deep already.

But the thought of giving her up doesn’t even cross your mind. Not for a second.

—

The dining room is cavernous, a long expanse of polished wood and shining glass. The chandelier overhead casts a warm glow, but the room still feels cold, the vast space swallowing up any sense of intimacy. At the far end of the table, it’s just you and Mina. She’s sitting quietly, her pink dress soft against her skin, matching the delicate pink collar resting at her collarbone. Her hair falls in loose waves, framing her face, and she looks up every so often to glance at you before returning to her meal.

The silence between you stretches, not quite uncomfortable but thick enough to notice. The scrape of your fork against the plate echoes in the room, and for a while, it feels like that’s the only sound.

Then, without warning, you cut through the quiet.

“You’re the only good thing happening in my life right now,” you say, your voice steady but quiet.

Mina’s head lifts, her dark eyes meeting yours across the table. For a moment, she looks surprised, but then her lips curve into a soft smile. “I’m flattered by that,” she says, her voice equally soft.

You set your fork down, leaning back slightly in your chair. “I mean it,” you continue, your gaze unwavering. “These past few months… things have been a mess. The company, the board, all these people pushing me, pulling me. It’s like I’m losing control of the one thing I thought I had a handle on. But then you… you’re here, and for once, something feels right.”

Mina’s smile deepens, her cheeks flushing faintly. “I didn’t expect that,” she says after a pause. “Especially not from you.”

You exhale, glancing down at your plate before looking back up at her. “I was hurt when you left, Mina. When you just… disappeared like that.”

Her smile fades slightly, and she lowers her gaze. “That wasn’t my intention,” she says softly.

A silence falls between you again, this one heavier, tinged with the weight of everything unsaid. Mina fidgets slightly, her fingers brushing the edge of her plate.

“I didn’t think you’d want me back,” she says suddenly, breaking the quiet. Her voice is hesitant, careful, like she’s testing the waters. “After what happened, I thought… well, that you’d move on.”

You shake your head, leaning forward now, your elbows resting on the table. “I get it,” you say simply. “Why you left. Why you thought you had to. It’s not like your reasons didn’t make sense.”

She looks up at you, and for a moment, you see something flicker in her eyes—surprise, gratitude, something warmer. “You’re the first person to ever say that,” she murmurs.

You’re not sure how to respond. Finally, you let out a quiet laugh, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t even remember the last time I opened up like this to someone,” you admit, glancing around the room.

Your eyes land on the massive chandelier, the ornate decor, the sheer emptiness of the space. “This place has always felt empty,” you say, gesturing vaguely at the room. “Even with the parties, the people, the noise. It’s like… I don’t know. I built something, but it doesn’t feel like it belongs to me.”

You turn back to her, your gaze softer now. “But now… it feels a little less empty.”

Mina chuckles, the sound light but genuine, and it warms the cold edges of the room. “For a ruthless millionaire CEO,” she teases, “you’re pretty cute.”

You smirk, shaking your head. “That’s your fault,” you reply.

“Mine?” she asks, tilting her head, her smile playful.

“Yeah,” you say, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. “You come in here, looking like that, with that pink dress and that smile, and suddenly I’m a fucking open book.”

Mina laughs softly, her eyes sparkling as she looks at you. “Maybe you needed someone to read it.”

For a moment, the room doesn’t feel so big, so hollow. It feels warmer, smaller, like the space between you and Mina is all that matters. The food on the table grows colder, forgotten, as the conversation shifts to something lighter—stories, jokes and little glimpses into each other’s lives.

Tonight the mansion doesn't seem so empty after all.

—

You pace the hallway, phone pressed to your ear, your hand gripping it tightly enough to crack. The voice on the other end drones on, and you’re barely holding back the urge to snap.

“I’m telling you, this is a terrible idea,” you say, trying to keep your tone measured, though irritation seeps through. “Relocating the software development to another project? One tied to the government? You realize how much that’ll complicate everything, don’t you?”

The voice responds, and your jaw tightens further. “Yes, I get the supposed benefits,” you cut in, your words sharp. “‘Forming alliances,’ ‘building national interest’—all of that sounds great on paper. But it’s not what we’re building. This isn’t about politics or consolidating power. This is about the tech. About the future of the fucking industry.”

There’s a pause on the other end, followed by a placating response that only makes you angrier.

“No, I don’t agree with the direction this is heading,” you say firmly. “We had a meeting with the car brand owners last week. They’re on board with what we pitched. Changing the focus now isn’t just reckless—it’s fucking insulting.”

The voice keeps talking, suggesting another meeting to iron things out, and you force yourself to take a deep breath. “Fine,” you bite out. “Schedule the meeting. But don’t expect me to sit back and watch this project get gutted for the sake of optics.”

You hang up before they can say anything else, your frustration simmering just below the surface. It feels like the walls are closing in lately, your authority being chipped away piece by piece. Everyone thinks they know better, thinks they can twist your vision to suit their agendas.

You exhale hard, running a hand through your hair as you walk toward your room. You’re still stewing in irritation as you push the door open, but the sight that greets you stops you in your tracks.

Mina stands near your dresser, her back to you, her fingers lightly brushing over some of the items there. She’s already taken off the pink dress, leaving her in matching pink lingerie that clings to her slim frame like it was made for her. The pink collar around her neck—soft and delicate—catches the light, completing the vision.

For a moment, you just stare, your irritation fading as your eyes trace the curves of her body. She looks unreal, something out of a dream, her small, perky breasts barely hidden by the lace of her bra, her long legs leading down to those perfectly arched heels she always wears.

You close the door quietly, stepping closer. “Mina,” you say softly.

She jumps slightly, startled, turning to look at you. Her cheeks flush when she sees you staring, but she doesn’t move, her hands dropping to her sides.

“You look beautiful,” you murmur, stepping behind her and wrapping your arms around her waist. You kiss her shoulder, your lips lingering against her warm skin.

“Thank you,” she says shyly. “I… I like your room.”

You chuckle lightly, glancing around at the sleek, modern space—floor-to-ceiling windows, dark wood, and minimalist furniture that cost more than some people’s cars. “It’s no big deal,” you say, though you know damn well it is.

She shakes her head slightly, smiling. “No, it’s… amazing. Like you.”

Your hands tighten on her waist, and you kiss her neck, drawing a soft sigh from her lips. “You’re the amazing one,” you say against her skin.

She turns slightly, looking up at you. “Is everything okay?”

You hesitate, the earlier frustration flickering back to life for a moment. “No,” you admit, your voice quieter now. “But I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

She nods, her expression soft with understanding. “Okay.”

You take her hand, leading her to the center of the room. When you reach the bed, you open one of the drawers, pulling out a length of smooth, dark rope.

“Are you ready?” you ask, your tone low and steady.

“Yes,” she replies, her voice trembling slightly but full of trust.

“Good,” you say, setting the rope on the bed. “Take off your panties.”

First, she takes off her heels, then she moves without hesitation, her hands hooking into the waistband of her panties and sliding them down her legs. She steps out of them carefully, then stands there, exposed, her hands clasped in front of her.

You pick up the rope, stepping behind her again. Gently, but firmly, you guide her hands behind her back, binding her wrists with practiced ease. The rope is snug but not tight, wrapping around her slim wrists in neat, secure knots.

“You look perfect like this,” you murmur, running a hand down her side.

She shivers under your touch, her breathing quickening as you move to the drawer again, pulling out a small vibrator. You kneel in front of her, the sight of her bare pussy inches from your face making your cock twitch. You press the tip of the vibrator against her entrance, teasing her, and she gasps softly, her hips shifting instinctively. then slowly you push it deep inside her until it is firmly lodged in her tight pussy.

“On your knees,” you command, standing and stepping back.

She sinks to the floor gracefully, her bound hands resting against the curve of her back, her dark eyes gazing up at you. You start unbuttoning your shirt, slowly, your eyes never leaving hers.

“Lately,” you say, your tone conversational but tinged with bitterness, “my orders and decisions have been questioned. At work. Everyone thinks they know better than me.”

Mina’s lips part slightly, her gaze flicking over your chest as you shrug off the shirt.

“I hope you don’t plan on doing that,” you add, unbuckling your belt with a sharp clink of metal.

Her voice is soft but steady. “No, sir. I’ll do whatever you tell me. I’ll take whatever you give me.”

You smirk, tossing the belt aside. “Good girl,” you murmur, unzipping your pants and letting them fall to the floor. You're not wearing any underwear.

Her eyes widen slightly when you step closer, her gaze dropping to the hard, thick length of your cock. She licks her lips unconsciously, and the sight of her, bound and kneeling, sends a jolt of heat straight through you.

“You’re fucking perfect,” you mutter, reaching down to stroke her cheek.

She’s the picture of surrender—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and a gaze that flickers between nervousness and pure, unfiltered lust.

You take a step closer, your cock brushing against her face. Mina doesn’t pull away. If anything, she leans into it slightly, her lips parting as a soft sigh escapes her.

“Stay still,” you murmur, your voice low and steady.

She nods faintly, her breath warm against your skin. Slowly, you drag your cock across her cheek, letting the weight of it rest there for a moment. The contrast of your hard flesh against her soft skin makes your pulse quicken.

“You feel that?” you ask, your tone conversational but commanding.

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

“Good.” You run your cock along her jawline, then back to her lips, watching as they part instinctively, a faint sheen of spit forming as she breathes heavily.

Her cheeks are flushed, her dark eyes darting up to meet yours. You see the hunger there, the submission, the way she’s completely at your mercy.

“Things are changing,” you say, your voice soft but deliberate. “I’m about to do something I should’ve done a long time ago. I didn’t have the right reason. Or maybe I didn’t have the right person.”

You let the head of your cock rest against her lips for a moment, watching the way she shivers.

“But now I do,” you continue, dragging it across her cheek again, slower this time. “I think I need this. I need someone who listens. Someone who understands me. Someone like you.”

Mina leans into the touch, her lips pressing soft kisses against the side of your cock. Her voice is quiet but sincere when she speaks. “You understand me too,” she says, her words muffled by your skin. “No one’s ever made me feel the way you do. When I’m with you, I feel… surrendered. Like I can let go.”

Her confession is soft, hesitant, but you can hear the weight of it.

“And that scared you,” you say, your tone sharpening slightly. “That’s why you ran.”

She nods, still kissing your cock, her lips trailing along the shaft. “I didn’t know what to do,” she whispers. “I’d never felt like this before. But I’m not scared now.”

You tilt her chin up slightly, making her look at you. “Good,” you murmur. “You don’t need to be scared. Not with me.”

She nods again, her lips brushing against you as she speaks. “I trust you. That’s why I want you to ruin me tonight.”

Her words send a surge of heat straight through you, your cock twitching against her lips.

“Good girl,” you murmur, stepping back just enough to grab the vibrator control.

You flick it on, starting on the lowest setting, and she gasps softly, her thighs trembling as the soft hum fills the air.

“There,” you say, your voice low and teasing. “Something to keep you focused.”

Mina whimpers, her hips shifting slightly, but she stays still, her eyes locked on yours.

“Now,” you command, stepping closer, letting your cock rest against her lips again. “Suck.”

She obeys immediately, her lips parting as she takes the head of your cock into her mouth. Her tongue flicks out, swirling around the tip, her movements slow and deliberate. The wet heat of her mouth makes you groan softly, your hand moving to the back of her head.

“Good girl,” you murmur, your voice thick with arousal. “Just like that.”

She takes you deeper, her tongue pressing against the underside of your cock as her lips slide down the shaft.

“Fuck, Mina,” you groan, your hand tightening in her hair. “You’re so fucking good at this.”

She moans around your cock, the sound vibrating through you, sending a jolt straight to your core. Her pace quickens slightly, her head bobbing as she works her mouth over you, her tongue teasing every sensitive spot.

Your free hand moves to her cheek, your thumb brushing over the flushed skin as you watch her. The way she looks up at you, her lips stretched around your cock, her eyes glassy with lust, is enough to drive you mad.

“Take it deeper,” you command, your voice rough.

She does, her lips sliding further down, the head of your cock pressing against the back of her throat. She gags slightly but doesn’t pull back, her nails digging into her bound wrists as she steadies herself.

“That’s it,” you growl, your hand tightening in her hair. “Take it all, Mina. Be my good girl.”

She moans again, her throat tightening around you as she swallows, the wet sounds filling the room. You can feel her thighs trembling from the vibrator, but she doesn’t stop, her mouth working you with a determination that leaves you breathless.

The sound of the vibrator hums softly between you, its rhythm pulsing in sync with the wet, obscene sounds of Mina’s mouth as she works your cock. She’s kneeling, completely at your mercy, her hands bound behind her back, her head bobbing up and down with a messy, desperate determination. Her lips stretch around your thick shaft, spit dripping down her chin, mixing with her moans as she chokes and gags on you.

You tighten your grip on the vibrator, clicking it up a notch. The sound shifts slightly, sharper, more insistent, and Mina’s body jolts. Her thighs quiver, her pussy clenching around the toy as the stronger vibrations hit her, and she lets out a muffled moan around your cock.

“Feel that?” you murmur. “That’s for you, baby. To remind you who you belong to.”

Mina nods weakly, her eyes watering as she tries to take more of you, her throat constricting as she gags again. The heat of her mouth, the tightness of her lips, the way she lets you use her—it’s perfect. She’s perfect.

“Fuck, Mina,” you growl, tilting your head back for a second before looking down at her again. “Look at you. Such a messy little thing. You’re addicted, aren’t you? Addicted to my cock.”

She whimpers, her moans vibrating against you as her tongue swirls around your shaft. You grab her hair, pulling her back slightly so the head of your cock rests on her tongue, glistening and slick. She looks up at you with glassy, lust-blown eyes, her lips swollen and dripping with spit.

“Say it,” you command, your tone sharp.

“I’m addicted,” she gasps, her voice hoarse from choking. “I’m addicted to your cock, boss. Please, let me have it. Let me taste all of it.”

You chuckle darkly, sliding your cock back into her mouth. “Good girl,” you murmur, thrusting shallowly into her. “Take it. Take every inch like the good little fuckdoll you are.”

You start moving your hips, slow at first but quickly picking up speed, fucking her mouth with deliberate, controlled thrusts. She doesn’t resist, doesn’t pull away—instead, she leans into it, her throat relaxing as much as it can to take you deeper. The slick, wet sounds of her sloppy blowjob echo through the room, mixing with the sharper hum of the vibrator still buried in her pussy.

You glance down, watching the way her chest heaves as she struggles to keep up, spit pooling at the corners of her mouth and dripping onto her knees. She’s completely wrecked, completely yours, and the sight makes your cock throb with barely-contained need.

“You like this, don’t you?” you growl, pulling her head down further so your cock presses against the back of her throat. “Being used like this. Being my little toy.”

Mina moans around you, her eyes rolling back slightly as the vibrations between her legs push her closer to the edge. Her body trembles, her bound hands flexing uselessly behind her as she gives herself over to you completely.

“That’s right,” you mutter, watching her choke on your cock. “You don’t need to think. Just open that pretty little mouth and let me use you.”

You thrust harder, holding her head in place as you fuck her mouth with abandon. She gags again, tears streaming down her cheeks, she moans louder, her body shivering as the vibrator sends wave after wave of pleasure coursing through her.

“You’re such a slut for me,” you growl, your voice tight with control as you keep moving. “My perfect little whore. You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you?”

Mina nods frantically, her moans growing more desperate as she gags again, your cock sliding deeper into her throat. Her whole body is shaking now, the vibrations pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

“You don’t get to cum,” you growl, pulling her head back slightly so she can breathe, her lips still wrapped around the tip of your cock. “Not until I say so.”

She whimpers, nodding weakly. Your cock glistens, coated in a mix of her spit and your pre-cum, while Mina kneels before you, completely wrecked. Her face is a mess—drool dripping from her chin, streaks of it running down her chest, pooling at the curve of her collarbones. Her lips are red and swollen, parted as she gasps for air, and her dark eyes are glossy, wide, and brimming with need.

You pull the vibrator from between her legs and click it off, the sudden silence deafening in the room. Mina trembles, her bound hands flexing behind her back as she tries to steady herself.

“Do you want me to stop?” you ask, your voice low but firm, your tone sharp enough to demand an honest answer.

Her head shakes frantically, her words spilling out in broken, desperate gasps. “No, please, don’t stop. Don’t stop. I need more.”

Your cock twitches at her plea. This is what you love about her—that insatiable drive, the way she pushes herself, the way she matches your own hunger to ruin and be ruined. She’s perfect, absolutely fucking perfect.

A smirk tugs at your lips as you click the vibrator back on—not at the soft hum of earlier, but at full blast. The sound cuts through the room like a sharp blade, and Mina jerks, her body trembling violently as the powerful vibrations slam into her.

She moans loudly, her thighs shaking as she struggles to keep herself steady, but you don’t give her the chance to adjust. You grip your cock and guide it back to her mouth, sliding past her parted lips before she can even try to take control.

“I’ll handle this,” you growl, your voice thick with dominance.

Mina whimpers around you, the vibrations pushing her closer to the edge as she struggles to keep up. Her throat tightens instinctively, the sound of her gagging mixed with the muffled moans spilling from her. She’s a fucking mess—her body trembling, drool pouring from her lips, soaking your cock as she tries to keep up with your relentless thrusts.

“That’s it,” you growl, your hands gripping her hair tightly. “Let me use that pretty mouth. You love it, don’t you? Being treated like this.”

She moans her agreement, the sound muffled but desperate, and her throat convulses around you as you push deeper. Her whole body is shaking now, writhing with the overwhelming force of the vibrator as it pulls her closer and closer to the edge.

“God, you’re such a fucking slut,” you mutter, your hips slamming forward as you fuck her mouth harder. “Look at you, trembling like this, gagging on my cock. You want me to ruin you, don’t you?”

Mina’s muffled moans rise in pitch, her body jerking uncontrollably as her orgasm starts to crest.

Just as her thighs clench and her muffled cries grow louder, you pull out of her mouth and click the vibrator off again.

Her head snaps up, her lips glossy and swollen as she gasps for air. Her chest heaves, her body trembling, and she moans loudly, frustration dripping from her voice. “Please, I—oh god—I was so close! I was going to cum, it’s so strong—please let me!”

You shake your head, smirking as you cup her jaw and make her look at you. “You don’t get to cum yet,” you say firmly. “Not until I say so.”

She whimpers, her entire body quivering with pent-up need, but she doesn’t argue. You release her jaw, stepping back. “Get up,” you command.

Mina obeys, her legs shaking as she rises to her feet. Her eyes are glossy with frustration, her body a wreck of sweat, spit, and arousal, but she doesn’t hesitate.

You pull the vibrator from her pussy, the toy dripping wet, her slick coating your fingers and her inner thighs. You look at her, smirking at the state she’s in. “You’re soaked,” you say, your voice filled with amusement.

She doesn’t respond, her lips trembling as she waits for your next order.

“Go to the bed,” you command, your tone sharp.

She stumbles slightly as she turns, her legs unsteady, and you follow behind her as she moves to the bed. When she reaches it, you place a hand on her shoulder and push her down. She falls forward, landing on her stomach, her bound hands pressed against the small of her back.

“Stick your ass out,” you growl, stepping closer.

Mina obeys, lifting her hips off the mattress, her face pressed into the sheets as her ass arches into the air. She’s completely exposed to you, her pussy glistening, her thighs trembling with the effort to hold herself steady.

You step closer, your cock throbbing as you grip her hips, positioning yourself behind her. “You look so fucking good like this,” you mutter, dragging the tip of your cock through her folds. “Completely ruined. Completely mine.”

You waste no time. As soon as your cock lines up with her soaked, swollen entrance, you thrust into her hard, burying yourself to the hilt in one brutal motion. Mina screams out, the sound muffled by the mattress as her pussy clenches tight around you, still hypersensitive from the vibrator. The heat, the slickness—it’s almost overwhelming, and for a second, you have to remind yourself not to lose control too soon.

“Fuck,” you growl, gripping her bound wrists tightly. “You’re so fucking tight, Mina. So wet for me.”

Her moans come fast and loud, her voice trembling as she presses her cheek into the sheets, her body writhing beneath you. “It’s all for you,” she gasps, her words barely coherent. “Please, don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop.”

“Oh, I’m not stopping,” you snarl, pulling back just enough to slam into her again, harder this time.

Your pace is relentless, every thrust driving into her soaked, pink pussy with an unforgiving rhythm. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with her breathless moans and the creak of the bed.

Your grip on her wrists tightens as you use them to pull her back onto your cock, forcing her to take every inch. Mina cries out, her body arching as the force of your movements sends shivers down her spine.

“You like this, don’t you?” you growl, leaning forward slightly, your chest grazing her back. “Being fucked like this. Rough. Hard.”

“Yes!” she screams, her voice muffled by the sheets. “I love it. I love how rough you are with me.”

Her confession only spurs you on, your hips slamming into her harder, your cock hitting her deepest spots with every thrust. You release one of her wrists, your now-free hand sliding down her back to grab her ass.

“You’re such a fucking slut,” you mutter, squeezing the soft flesh roughly. “Taking me like this. So desperate to be ruined.”

She moans in response, her body trembling as your fingers dig into her skin. Then, without warning, you raise your hand and bring it down on her ass with a sharp slap.

Mina cries out, her voice high and broken, but she doesn’t pull away. If anything, she arches her back further, presenting herself to you like the obedient little slut she is.

“That’s what I thought,” you mutter, spanking her again, harder this time.

The sound echoes through the room, sharp and satisfying, and you watch as a red handprint blooms across her pale skin. You don’t give her time to recover before you spank her again, and again, alternating between cheeks until both are flushed and burning.

“You like that?” you growl, your hand coming down on her ass once more. “You like being punished, don’t you?”

“Yes!” she moans, her voice trembling with desperation. “I love it. Please, more. Don’t stop.”

Her pussy tightens around you, her walls clenching rhythmically as her pleasure builds. She’s close, so close, and you can feel it in the way her body shudders with every thrust.

“Look at you,” you mutter, gripping her ass tightly, your fingers digging into the soft, reddened skin. “A fucking mess. My mess. You’re not cumming yet, though. Not until I say so.”

Mina whimpers, her legs trembling as you drive into her harder, deeper, your cock stretching her perfectly. “Please,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “Please, I’m so close. I can’t take it.”

“You’ll take whatever I give you,” you snap, spanking her again for good measure. “Now shut up and keep moaning for me.”

Her cries grow louder, her voice hoarse from screaming, but she doesn’t argue. She just takes it, her body shaking with need, her pussy dripping onto your cock as you pound into her without mercy.

Your hands grip Mina's burning, reddened ass, the color matching the flushed glow of her skin. She’s a mess, writhing beneath you as you fuck her relentlessly, every sharp thrust dragging high-pitched moans and gasps from her throat. Her pussy clings to you, wet and tight, taking you so perfectly that it’s driving you insane.

“Oh god,” she sobs into the mattress, her voice cracking. “Your cock… it’s so fucking thick. I can feel everything. You fuck me so good—so fucking good. Please, don’t stop.”

Her words only push you further, your nails digging into the raw heat of her ass. You squeeze the soft flesh hard, watching it bounce each time your hips slam into her. The sight, the sounds, the feel of her—all of it has you teetering on the edge of control.

“You’re addicted, aren’t you?” you growl, your voice low and dangerous. “Addicted to my cock, to the way I ruin you.”

“Yes!” she screams, her body arching beneath you. “I’m addicted! I fucking love it! I love the way you fuck me!”

Her cries are music to your ears, her submission feeding your hunger. You thrust harder, your pace brutal and unforgiving, and Mina whimpers, her head turning to the side as tears of pleasure streak down her flushed cheeks.

“Good girl,” you snarl, delivering one final, violent thrust before pulling out. Mina lets out a desperate gasp at the loss, but before she can say anything, you grab her by the hips and flip her onto her back.

Her bound hands press awkwardly into the small of her back, but she doesn’t complain. Her legs fall open instinctively, her swollen, glistening pussy on full display, her thighs trembling from the pounding you’ve already given her.

You climb onto the bed, positioning yourself between her legs. She looks up at you with glassy, tear-filled eyes, her lips parted, her entire body trembling. She’s completely wrecked, a vision of perfect submission.

“You look so fucking ruined,” you mutter, gripping her thighs as you press your cock back into her soaked heat.

Mina cries out as you fill her again, her body arching as your cock stretches her tight pussy. You waste no time, slamming into her with the same ferocity as before, her bound hands shifting awkwardly beneath her but neither of you caring.

“Look at me,” you command, your voice sharp.

Her eyes snap to yours, wide and desperate, her lips trembling as she moans incoherently.

“Look at me as you cum,” you growl, leaning over her, your hands gripping her waist tightly as you fuck her harder, deeper. “I want to see your fucking face when you fall apart.”

Mina’s face is a mess, streaked with tears and drool, her lips swollen and glossy. Her moans grow louder, more broken, her words slurring as the pleasure overwhelms her.

“You,” she gasps suddenly, her voice trembling as she tries to speak. “You're gonna—”

You lean over her, cutting her off with a sharp slap across the face. The sound echoes through the room, her head snapping to the side.

“Call me boss,” you snarl, your hand gripping her chin and forcing her to look at you.

“I’m sorry,” she moans, her voice high and shaky. “I’m sorry, boss.”

“Good girl,” you growl, your lips curling into a wicked smirk. “Now keep taking it.”

Your thrusts grow faster, harder, the sound of your bodies colliding filling the room. Mina’s cries reach a fever pitch, her bound hands twitching uselessly behind her as her body trembles violently.

“I’m close,” she sobs, her voice breaking. “Boss, I’m so fucking close. Please, let me cum.”

“Not yet,” you snap, your grip on her waist tightening as you slam into her with brutal precision. “Not until I say so.”

Her face contorts with pleasure, her mouth open in a silent scream as her entire body tenses beneath you. She’s right on the edge, teetering dangerously close to release, but you’re not letting her go yet.

Your thrusts are relentless, pounding into Mina with all the force you can muster. Her bound hands dig into the mattress beneath her, her face turned to the side, tears streaking her cheeks as her cries fill the room. She’s a vision of complete surrender—her trembling body stretched beneath you, her pussy soaking wet and clenching tight around your cock, her flushed skin glistening with sweat.

As you maintain your brutal rhythm, your free hand moves down between her legs, your fingers finding her swollen, throbbing clit. The moment you touch her, Mina jerks violently, her moan rising into a sharp, desperate wail.

“No, please,” she gasps, her voice breaking as she writhes beneath you. “I—I can’t. I’m too sensitive. I can’t take it—”

“You can take it,” you growl, cutting her off as you rub her clit with deliberate, teasing circles. “You’ll take everything I give you, Mina. You always do.”

She sobs, her body bucking against you as your fingers press harder, rolling her sensitive nub between them in perfect time with your deep, punishing thrusts. She’s completely at your mercy, unable to move, unable to escape the overwhelming sensations tearing through her.

“Look at you,” you mutter, your voice low and rough. “Writhing like this, begging me to stop, but your pussy’s clenching so fucking tight around me. You love this, don’t you? Being completely mine.”

“Yes,” she cries, her voice hoarse and desperate. “Yes, I love it. I love how you ruin me. Please—please, I’m so close. I can’t hold it—”

“Don’t,” you snap, your tone sharp and commanding. “Not until I tell you to.”

Mina’s head thrashes against the mattress, her cries growing louder as your fingers work her clit faster, your cock slamming into her with unrelenting force. Her body trembles violently, her thighs shaking as she teeters on the edge, her bound hands clawing uselessly at the sheets.

“Boss,” she sobs, tears streaming down her reddened eyes. “Please—please, let me cum. I’m begging you.”

You slow your thrusts just enough to lean down, your breath hot against her ear. “Cum for me,” you growl, your voice like a trigger pulling her apart.

The moment the words leave your mouth, Mina breaks.

Her body arches off the bed, her mouth falling open in a scream so loud it nearly echoes. Her pussy clenches hard around you, and then it happens—a sudden, powerful jet of liquid sprays from her, soaking the sheets beneath her.

“Fuck,” you groan, pulling your cock out just in time to watch the next jet shoot out, her thighs trembling as more streams of liquid gush from her.

“Good girl,” you mutter, your voice thick with awe as you rub her clit harder. “Keep going. Cum for me. Let it all out.”

Mina convulses beneath you, her body shaking violently as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over her. Her sobs mix with her moans, her face twisted in pure ecstasy as more jets of liquid spray from her, soaking the bed and your thighs.

You guide her through it, your fingers never leaving her clit, your voice a steady command in her ear. “That’s it,” you growl. “More. I want more.”

Her screams grow louder as her body obeys, her pussy releasing another powerful jet, soaking everything beneath her. She’s a mess—tears streaming down her face, her chest heaving, her entire body trembling as she squirts uncontrollably, completely at your mercy.

When her squirts finally slow, her body collapses onto the bed, her chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven breaths. Her hands remain bound behind her, her face turned to the side, her eyes glassy and unfocused. She’s completely ruined, her thighs slick with wetness, the bed beneath her drenched.

You brush a strand of hair from her flushed face, leaning down to kiss her cheek softly. “You’re incredible,” you murmur, your voice softer now. “Absolutely perfect.”

Mina doesn’t respond, too wrecked to speak, but the faint, satisfied smile on her lips tells you everything you need to know.

You’re far from done with Mina. She might be lying there on the bed, ruined and panting, her body still trembling from the intense orgasm that just ripped through her—but she’s not finished.

You climb off the bed, ignoring her soft, ragged breaths, and pick up the vibrator from where it landed on the floor. It’s slick with her arousal, glistening in the dim light, and you turn it over in your hand as you glance back at her.

When you return to the bed, she looks up at you through hazy, tear-filled eyes, confusion flickering across her face. “What are you doing?” she asks, her voice hoarse, her body twitching involuntarily.

You smirk, climbing onto the bed and pressing the vibrator against her sensitive, overstimulated pussy. “You’ll finish,” you murmur, your tone sharp and commanding, “when I’m done with you.”

Before she can protest, you flick the vibrator back on, setting it to its highest intensity. The sudden jolt of vibrations against her oversensitive clit makes her cry out, her back arching as her legs tremble violently.

“Wait—please, I can’t—” she gasps, but her words dissolve into a strangled moan as the relentless vibrations assault her already wrecked nerves.

“You can,” you say, your voice low and firm, pressing the vibrator deeper against her slick folds. “You will.”

Her cries are desperate, her body squirming beneath you as the toy pushes her to the brink again. But you’re not just here to watch her unravel—you’re here to take her completely.

You straddle her chest, your cock thick and heavy as it hovers just above her face. “Open your mouth,” you command, gripping the base and stroking it slowly.

Mina obeys immediately, her lips parting as her teary, lust-filled eyes meet yours. You guide your cock into her mouth, the warm, wet heat of her lips wrapping around you like they were made for this.

“Good girl,” you murmur, your voice thick with pleasure as she takes you in.

The combination of the vibrator and your cock is too much for her, her body trembling violently beneath you. Her moans vibrate against your cock as she sucks desperately, her tongue swirling around the shaft, her lips stretching to accommodate your size.

“That’s it,” you growl, your hand gripping her hair tightly. “Suck me like the good little slut you are.”

Mina moans in response, the sound muffled but filled with desperation. Her face contorts with pleasure and sensitivity as the vibrator continues its assault, her cries muffled by your cock sliding in and out of her mouth.

You thrust slowly at first, savoring the sight of her—her flushed cheeks, her teary eyes, her lips glistening with spit and pre-cum. But as your own pleasure builds, you start to lose control, your hips moving faster, your cock hitting the back of her throat with every thrust.

“You look so fucking perfect like this,” you mutter, watching her face contort with overstimulation as the vibrator continues its relentless work. “Sucking my cock while you’re falling apart. You’re mine, Mina. Every fucking inch of you is mine.”

She moans again, her cries muffled as her body shakes beneath you. You can feel her reaching her limit, her desperation palpable, and just as her tears start to spill freely down her cheeks, you pull your cock from her mouth.

Mina gasps for air, her chest heaving as she looks up at you with glassy, tear-streaked eyes. But even now, with her face red and soaked with tears, she’s still begging.

“Please,” she whimpers, her voice trembling. “Please, cum for me. I need it. I need you to cum.”

Her plea sends a jolt of heat straight through you, and you stroke yourself harder, faster, your cock slick and throbbing as you hover over her ruined face.

“Fuck,” you groan, your breath hitching as you reach your peak.

The first thick rope of cum hits her cheek, warm and sticky against her flushed skin. Mina moans loudly, her lips parting as her tongue flicks out instinctively, trying to catch the next spurt. You oblige, aiming for her mouth, her lips, her chin, painting her with each powerful burst.

“God, Mina,” you mutter, your voice low and raw as you watch your cum drip down her face, mixing with her tears and spit. “You look so fucking good like this. Completely fucking ruined.”

She moans softly, her body still trembling as the vibrator finally pushes her over the edge again. Another sharp cry escapes her lips as her hips buck uncontrollably, her legs shaking as she rides out the intense waves of pleasure.

You reach down, finally flicking the vibrator off, and Mina collapses against the bed, her chest heaving, her face still glistening with cum.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice hoarse and filled with exhaustion.

You lean down, brushing a strand of hair from her sweaty forehead as you admire her. She’s a mess—tear-streaked, cum-covered, and completely wrecked. And she’s perfect.

—

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, the blue light from the screen casting a faint glow over the room. The meeting’s scheduled. The weight of it settles on your shoulders like a slow, creeping ache. You toss the phone onto the bed, letting it bounce to the side, and drop your head into your hands.

The company, the decisions, the scrutiny—it’s like the walls are closing in, and you’re stuck, watching as everything you built gets twisted into something you barely recognize.

You don’t hear her at first, the soft padding of her bare feet on the carpet. It’s not until her arms wrap around you from behind, her warmth pressing into your back, that you lift your head.

“Hey,” Mina says softly, her voice gentle. “Are you okay?”

You let out a heavy sigh, leaning into her touch. “Not really.”

She steps around you, her delicate hands sliding to your shoulders as she kneels in front of you. She looks incredible, even now, wearing the pink nightgown you bought for her. The soft fabric clings to her slim frame, the lace teasing at the swell of her breasts. The matching pink collar rests against her collarbone, the glow of it almost distracting enough to make you forget the storm in your head.

But not quite.

Her dark eyes search yours, full of concern. “What’s wrong?”

You rub the back of your neck, exhaling slowly. “Everything feels… off. This business, this company—it’s not what it used to be. Priorities have shifted. People care more about playing politics than innovation. And I let it happen.”

She shakes her head, squeezing your shoulders gently. “It’s not your fault.”

“It is,” you say firmly. “I made bad calls along the way. I compromised when I shouldn’t have. Now we’re here, and it feels like I can’t fix it.”

Mina frowns, her hands sliding up to cup your face. “You built this empire practically from nothing,” she says, her voice steady but soft. “You took an idea and turned it into something the entire world knows about. That’s not nothing.”

You lean into her touch, your jaw tightening as her words sink in. “Do you really think I can do it again?”

She nods without hesitation, her eyes shining with certainty. “I do. The more time I spend with you, the more I am impressed by your talent. Your mind, the way you think, the way you create—none of that’s gone. No one can take that away from you. You’re the reason this exists. And you can do it again, if that’s what you want.”

Her words stir something inside you, a small flicker of hope in the middle of all the noise. You reach up, gently taking her hand in yours, and press a kiss to her palm.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice quieter now. “For being here. For… everything.”

Mina smiles, her cheeks tinged with the faintest blush. “Always,” she says softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You shift slightly, leaning forward to meet her gaze more closely. “How about you? How are you feeling?”

She laughs lightly, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Tired,” she admits, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “You were a little hard on me today.”

A low chuckle escapes you, some of the weight lifting as you smirk at her. “I was, wasn’t I?” you say, your tone playful. “I can’t help it. Seeing you like that… so obedient, so submissive. It makes me lose my mind.”

Mina’s blush deepens, but she doesn’t look away. “It’s okay,” she says, her smile softening. “I like it. And I expect more of it.”

You grin, leaning closer until your forehead nearly brushes hers. “As long as you stay by my side, you’ll have all that and more,” you murmur.

Her breath catches slightly, her lips parting as your hand cups her cheek. You close the gap, your lips meeting hers in a slow, deliberate kiss. It’s softer than earlier, less frantic, but no less intense. There’s a tenderness to it, a quiet understanding passing between you as her hands slide up to rest on your chest.

When you finally pull back, you rest your forehead against hers, your voice low. “You’re everything, Mina. Don’t forget that.”

She smiles, her hands tightening slightly on your shirt. “I won’t,” she whispers. “And neither will you.”

For the first time all night, the chaos in your mind quiets, replaced by the steady presence of her. And in that moment, nothing else matters.

—

Two months of chaos. That’s what it took to pull yourself free from the machine you’d spent years building. Contracts to review, lawyers to meet with, and an endless stream of bureaucratic bullshit. Resignation letters, termination agreements, negotiations about what you could and couldn’t take with you. Every step was a battle, but you played it perfectly.

The car software—your brainchild, your vision—was never officially signed over or patented under the company’s name. That little loophole became your salvation. It gave you the leverage to walk out the door with your idea intact, no strings attached. And in the process, you secured the interest of three key players in the automotive industry, three brand owners who were already circling the idea like sharks in bloody water.

You’re at your desk, your laptop open as you finalize another email to your lawyers, ensuring every loose end is tied up. Your focus is sharp, but the tension lingers in your shoulders. The future’s uncertain, but it’s yours.

What you don’t expect is for the door to your office to fly open.

You flinch slightly, your head snapping up as an executive storms in, his face red with irritation. He doesn’t even knock.

“What the hell is this?” he demands, his voice sharp as he throws a folder onto your desk. “You’re taking the entire car software project with you? You’re gutting us for your new company?”

Your eyes narrow, your jaw tightening as you sit back in your chair. “First off,” you say coolly, “you’re in my office. Uninvited. Do you not know how to knock?”

He glares at you, but you don’t flinch.

“Second,” you continue, “everything I’m taking is mine. Legally. I created it, and your precious contracts never signed it away. So yeah, I’m taking what’s mine. Don’t like it? Take it up with my lawyers.”

The man’s hands ball into fists at his sides, but he doesn’t say another word. He knows he has nothing to stand on. With a final, furious glare, he turns on his heel and storms out, slamming the door behind him.

The room goes quiet, and you exhale, leaning back in your chair. Beneath your desk, Mina shifts slightly, her movement brushing against your thighs.

“He’s gone,” you say, glancing down.

Mina looks up at you, her cheeks flushed, her lips shiny. Your pants are pushed down around your thighs, and her small hands rest lightly on your legs as she kneels there, her body hidden from anyone who might’ve walked in.

“You should have locked the door,” you mutter, your tone half-annoyed, half-amused.

Her eyes widen slightly, and she pulls back just enough to say, “I’m sorry, boss. I forgot.”

You smirk, shaking your head. “It’s fine,” you say. “Just don’t forget next time.”

“Yes, boss,” she says softly, a teasing smile tugging at her lips before she leans back in, taking your cock into her mouth again.

The warm, wet heat of her mouth makes you groan softly, your hand resting lightly on the back of her head as she starts to move, her tongue swirling around the tip before sliding down the shaft.

“Good girl,” you murmur, your voice low. “Now, where was I?”

Mina hums softly around your cock, her eyes flicking up to meet yours as she sucks you with slow, deliberate movements.

You lean back slightly, your hand stroking her hair as you speak. “I’ve been talking to Joy,” you say casually. “She’s going to work for me at the new company.”

Mina pauses, pulling your cock from her mouth with a soft pop. “That’s great,” she says, her voice breathy but cheerful. “I like Joy.”

You smirk, brushing a thumb over her flushed cheek. “She’ll be good for this. She’s sharp, and she knows how I work.”

Mina nods, her smile widening slightly before she leans back in, taking you into her mouth again. Her pace quickens slightly, her hands resting on your thighs as her lips slide up and down your shaft, her tongue teasing the sensitive underside.

You groan, your fingers tightening in her hair as you guide her movements. “And you,” you murmur, looking down at her. “You’re going to stay by my side through all of this, aren’t you?”

Mina moans softly around your cock, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through you. She doesn’t pull back this time, doesn’t speak—she just nods, her dark eyes locking onto yours as she sucks you with growing intensity.

“Good,” you mutter, your voice rough. “Because I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Mina’s warm, wet mouth moves expertly over your cock, her tongue swirling around the head before sliding down your shaft. Her hands grip your thighs lightly, steadying herself as she works, her soft moans vibrating against your skin. You lean back in your chair, one hand resting on the desk, the other buried in her hair, guiding her rhythm.

“Deeper,” you mutter, tightening your grip on her hair. “Take it all, Mina.”

She hums softly, her lips stretching further as she pushes down, her throat tightening around you. A guttural groan escapes your lips as her gag reflex flutters slightly, sending jolts of pleasure up your spine.

“That’s it, good girl,” you say, your voice thick with arousal. “God, you’ve gotten so good at this.”

Her dark eyes flick up to meet yours, glistening with tears from the effort, and the sight of her—completely submissive, completely yours—fuels you.

“Let’s talk plans,” you say, your tone shifting just slightly, though your voice is still rough. “Start small. The new company needs to earn trust first—no overreaching. I’ve already got three brands interested. They see the potential in the software, and that’s the hook. But we’ll grow slow, steady.”

Mina doesn’t stop, her head bobbing up and down as her lips glide over your cock, her spit slick and warm. You can barely focus on your own words, her mouth feels so fucking good.

“Joy will be a big help,” you continue, your grip tightening slightly in her hair as you guide her down further. “She knows how this industry works, and she’s sharp as hell. With her managing operations, I can focus on building relationships with the brands. The software’s going to change the market. They’ll see that soon enough.”

Mina pulls back slightly, her lips glistening as she catches her breath. “Joy’s smart,” she says softly, her voice hoarse but sincere. “She’ll do great.”

“You’ll keep your role too,” you say, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “You’ve learned so much already, Mina. You’ve picked it up faster than I expected. You’re doing an amazing job.”

Her lips curl into a small smile, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Thank you, boss,” she murmurs, her voice low. Then, without warning, she leans lower, her tongue flicking out to tease your balls.

“Fuck,” you groan, your head tilting back as her warm tongue licks a slow, deliberate path. She takes her time, her mouth soft and teasing, her hands still resting on your thighs.

“You really do know how to keep me happy,” you mutter, your voice strained as she sucks one of your balls into her mouth, her tongue swirling around it.

She hums softly in response, the vibration sending shivers through you.

“All the papers are talking about it,” you say, your words a little rushed now as you struggle to focus through the haze of pleasure. “This whole move—it’s bold, radical. People are calling it insane. But fuck, the adrenaline… it’s good. Keeps me sharp.”

Mina pulls back with a soft pop, her tongue flicking over her lips as she shifts back to your cock. She wraps her lips around the head, sucking softly, her tongue pressing against the sensitive underside.

You groan loudly, your hand tightening in her hair as your hips lift slightly, pushing deeper into her mouth. “Mina,” you mutter, your voice low and rough. “You’re so fucking good at this. Keep going. I’m almost there.”

She moans softly around your cock, the sound vibrating against you as she sucks harder, her rhythm quickening. Her dark eyes lock onto yours, filled with lust and submission.

“Don’t stop,” you growl, your grip firm as you guide her movements. “Fuck, I’m so close. Just keep doing what you’re doing, baby. You’re perfect.”

Mina’s pace quickens, her lips gliding over your cock with obscene precision. Every movement is deliberate, calculated, as if she’s determined to milk every ounce of pleasure from you. Her mouth is warm, wet, and relentless, her tongue teasing the sensitive underside with every deep, eager stroke.

“Fuck, Mina,” you groan, your head tilting back slightly as you grip her hair tighter.

Her moans vibrate around you, her hands joining the effort as she strokes the base of your cock in rhythm with her mouth. She’s messy, spit dripping down her chin, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks harder. The sound of her sucking is loud, lewd, and perfect, filling the room and mixing with your heavy breaths.

The pleasure is overwhelming, growing with every second, every flick of her tongue. She pulls back briefly, her lips red and glistening, her hand still stroking you as she looks up at you through her lashes.

“Cum for me,” she whispers, her voice breathy and thick with desire. “I want it in my mouth. Please, boss. Let me taste you.”

The way she asks—so full of need, so desperate—sends a surge of heat straight through you. Your cock twitches in her hand, and you groan, your fingers tightening in her hair.

“You want it?” you growl, your voice rough.

“Yes,” she breathes, her eyes locked onto yours. “Please. I need it.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, leaning back in and taking you into her mouth again, deeper this time, her throat relaxing as she swallows more of you. She moves faster, her head bobbing, her tongue swirling, her lips sealing around you with perfect pressure.

“Fuck,” you groan, your hips lifting slightly as the pleasure becomes unbearable. “Mina… I’m gonna—fuck, don’t stop.”

She moans around you, her hands gripping your thighs as she takes you even deeper, her pace frantic. The combination of her mouth, her hands, and her raw need drives you over the edge.

Your body tenses, a guttural moan ripping from your throat as you cum hard, spurts of hot cum flooding her mouth. Mina chokes slightly but doesn’t pull away, her throat working to swallow as much as she can.

“Good girl,” you mutter, your voice strained as you ride out your orgasm. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl.”

You stay inside her mouth, your cock still throbbing as the last few spurts spill onto her tongue. Mina’s lips remain wrapped around you, her eyes half-lidded as she looks up at you, swallowing every drop.

You’re about to lean down to touch her when the door suddenly opens.

Your head snaps up, and there’s Joy, standing in the doorway, a folder in her hand. She pauses, her eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in your expression—the faint flush on your cheeks, the way you’re slouched in your chair, your hand still resting suspiciously on your desk.

“They’re calling you,” she says, her tone casual but laced with curiosity.

You clear your throat, straightening up as much as you can without giving anything away. “I’ll be there in a minute,” you reply, your voice steady despite the situation. “And maybe next time, knock before you come barging in.”

Joy raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Sorry about that,” she says, though her tone doesn’t sound sorry at all. She steps further into the room, glancing around. “Where’s Mina?”

Your jaw tightens, and you glance toward the desk briefly before looking back at her. “She’s… somewhere,” you say vaguely.

Joy’s smirk widens, and her gaze drops to the floor, lingering for a moment before she shakes her head. “Oh.. I get it,” she mutters under her breath, realizing exactly where Mina is.

She lifts a hand, waving dismissively as she backs toward the door. “Okay, okay. I’ll leave you two alone. But hurry up. People are waiting.”

Just before she leaves, she glances over her shoulder with a mischievous grin. “You’re killing it, by the way.”

The door clicks shut, and the room is silent again.

Beneath the desk, Mina pulls back slightly, her lips shining as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She looks up at you, her cheeks flushed, a playful smile on her face. “She’s right, you know,” she says softly.

You chuckle, reaching down to brush a strand of hair from her face. “Yeah? Killing it, huh?”

She nods, leaning into your touch. “Always.”

You stroke her cheek gently, your thumb brushing over her warm, soft skin. “And you’re perfect,” you murmur.

Her smile widens, her eyes shining with warmth as she rests her head against your thigh, completely content.

—

It didn’t take long for the shift to happen. Two months after pulling yourself out of the corporate machine that had become a prison, you were already laying the groundwork for your comeback. The new company—a lean, hungry startup fueled by your vision and unrelenting drive—rose quickly, faster than even you had anticipated.

The car software, once just an idea others wanted to bury under politics and bureaucracy, became your flagship. A revelation in the market. Investors flocked to you like moths to a flame, and the deals you struck were smart, strategic. It wasn’t just about money; it was about power, control, showing everyone who dared doubt you that you were still here—and better than ever.

Your competitors? They felt it. Hard. Market shares plummeted, millions evaporated, and their weak attempts to counter your software only made your success more prominent. You’d created something they couldn’t match.

And through it all, the people who mattered most stuck by you. Joy, sharp as ever, was now more than just a former secretary or a trusted confidante—she was a critical piece of this machine, managing operations with an efficiency that made you wonder how you ever did without her.

A handful of employees from your old company came aboard too, loyal to the end, believing in you even when the others whispered doubts. They recognized what the world was starting to see again: you don’t lose.

Then, there was Mina.

Mina wasn’t just a constant; she was the steady hum beneath the chaos, the quiet fire that kept you grounded. She was still your secretary, still that eager-to-please presence at your side, but now she was more—so much more. The late nights at the office turned into intimate moments stolen in shadowed corners, in your private jet, in hotel suites during business trips. She was your confidante, your release, your everything when the world outside demanded too much.

And now, as you sit in your sleek new office—your name etched in chrome on the door, the skyline stretching out before you—it feels like everything is finally falling into place.

Joy steps into the room without knocking, a habit she never quite abandoned. She’s holding a tablet, her eyes scanning the screen as she approaches your desk.

“We’ve got numbers from the latest rollout,” she says, placing the tablet in front of you. “It’s better than we projected. Way better.”

You glance at the screen, a slow smile spreading across your face as you skim the data. “Of course it is,” you say, leaning back in your chair.

Joy smirks, crossing her arms. “Cocky as ever.”

“Confident,” you correct, meeting her gaze. “There’s a difference.”

She shakes her head but doesn’t argue. “You’ve earned it,” she admits. “But don’t let it go to your head. There’s still work to do.”

“There always is,” you say, standing and moving to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city stretches out before you, a sprawling testament to your return.

Joy follows your gaze for a moment before nodding toward the door. “I’ll let you get back to it. Just don’t forget the investor dinner tonight. Try to charm them instead of bulldozing, yeah?”

“No promises,” you say with a smirk, and she laughs as she leaves.

The door clicks shut, and you exhale, letting the moment sink in. You’re back. Not just back, but on top again, exactly where you belong.

There’s a soft knock at the door, and you already know who it is.

“Come in,” you call, turning back to your desk.

Mina steps inside, dressed in a fitted pencil skirt and blouse, her usual professional polish. Her hair falls in soft waves, and she’s carrying a tray with your usual coffee, her heels clicking softly against the floor as she approaches.

“Your coffee, boss,” she says with a small smile, setting the tray down carefully.

“Thank you,” you say, sitting back down and watching her as she moves around your desk to stand beside you.

“How’s everything going?” she asks.

“Better than I could’ve hoped,” you say honestly, reaching for the coffee. “The numbers are in, and they’re blowing expectations out of the water.”

Her smile widens, and she rests a hand lightly on your shoulder. “I knew you’d do it,” she says softly.

“You’re part of that,” you reply, glancing up at her. “You’ve been incredible, Mina. I don’t say it enough, but I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Her cheeks flush, and she ducks her head slightly, her fingers tightening on your shoulder. “You don’t have to say it,” she murmurs. “I know.”

You set the coffee down and reach for her hand, pulling her gently into your lap. She goes willingly, her arms wrapping around your neck as she settles against you.

“This is just the beginning,” you say, your voice low. “We’ve got so much more to do, so much more to build. But as long as you’re here, I know I can handle it.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she says, her tone firm.

You smile, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Good. Because this empire? It’s just getting started. We’ve got so much more to build, so much more to prove. And I want you right there with me, every step of the way.”

She leans in, her lips meeting yours in a slow, deliberate kiss, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel it—the power, the fire, the unshakable certainty that together, you’re unstoppable. The world’s yours for the taking, and she’s the one who makes it all worth it.

[dokyumms]

seventeen's reaction to you overworking yourself (hyung line) !

pairings: hyung line x reader (find maknae ver. here)

genre: fluff, angst

word count: 1.6k

cw: light cursing, overworking, fatigue, fainting

a/n: i had to cut this in half since it was getting too long and i wanted to make sure i posted today! i have NO idea why i made seungcheol's so long lmao. hope you enjoy kings ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ also, i will be closing my requests so i can catch up on them over the weekend, i'll try to get them done by monday! thank you for all the support, it means so much to me ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

seungcheol - seungcheol is livid. you're still at your second part-time job when seungcheol calls you, "send me your location, y/n." you didn't tell seungcheol you had taken on a second job. you've never been comfortable with money, always having to work multiple jobs to stay afloat. that was until you met seungcheol, and since then he's always taken care of your expenses, even offering to pay for part of your tuition, and you decided it was enough. you didn't want for your (millionaire) boyfriend to think you were using him, so you told him you took on some evening classes.

today, you're covering someone else's shift. originally, you weren't going to, but after their promise of sending you a little extra money for it, you accepted.

"cheol, i told you i'm-"

"at class still? don't bullshit me, y/n. you didn't take on any new classes, you left your paper schedule on the counter."

your stomach drops. ah hell, you must be stupid. "y/n, what are you really doing?" he asks, almost pleading. there's absolutely no fighting it at that point, "i'm... at work. shift just ended, i'll send you my location." in defeat, you sit on a barstool at the restaurant and wait for seungcheol.

when he walks in, his eyes are immediately on you, walking over and grabbing your hand. "let's go," is all he says. the car ride is silent with tension; he only asks about it once you two are both home. "why? y/n there's no reason for you to be working another job. i'm right here; if you needed financial help, i could've helped you." he says gently, trying to maintain his frustration, but his brows are furrowed, exposing his true emotions.

"that's just the thing seungcheol, you're always here to help me. i don't want to use you because i can't support myself." you reason, but seungcheol obviously isn't buying it. "y/n, you're not using me, even if you did i wouldn't care. i don't want to watch you struggle when i know i can help." he takes your hand into his own. "don't do this to yourself, please. i love you too much to let this keep going." looks like you're quitting that job.

jeonghan - you and jeonghan are walking home from your date night. it's supposed to be romantic, you two walking hand in hand, but you're feeling the weight of the all nighters you've been pulling all week to finish your project, walking wobbily on the side walk.

"did you drink or something? you're walking a little funny babe." jeonghan teases before giving you a genuine look of concern. you try to laugh it off, "hah, maybe." but then your eyes start to droop ever so slowly. jeonghan notices, "have you been sleeping?" damn. did your concealer wear off or something? you're about to respond, but your legs give out and jeonghan catches you before everything goes dark.

you wake up on the couch, tucked in with a blanket with jeonghan caressing your forehead lovingly. "so i'm guessing the answer to my question is no," jeonghan murmurs, giggiling. "but seriously y/n- don't scare me like that," he adds. "i know i know, sorry-" you say, trying to sit up, but jeonghan interupts. "i don't think so, you need to rest baby," he gently pushes you back down before joining you on the couch. "we'll talk about this seriously later, let's just sleep for now." wrapping his arms around you, leaving you no choice but to comply.

joshua - joshua wants to trust you, knowing that you're fully capable of taking care of yourself, but he can't help but worry when he looks over at you. you've been sitting at your desk for hours now, trying to finish all your assignments before the end of the grading period.

he walks over, putting his hands on your shoulders and massaging them. "you've been working for a bit, love. how about a break?" he suggests. you turn around, giving him a small smile, "i really would shua, but i've got like 2 hours till this is due. just let me finish this and i'll take a break." he frowns, "you promise?" "i promise," he hums in response, giving you a quick peck on the cheek before retreating to whatever he was doing.

2 hours later, joshua is back at your desk, only to find you slumped over your papers. he sighs, shaking his head before taking a look at your laptop. "hm, looks like you made the deadline," he says softly, gently shaking you awake.

"you did it, love. i'm proud of you, but i don't want you doing this often- it makes me worried." he murmurs, "come on, you need to take your well deserved break in a more comfortable space," taking your hand and guiding you to your room.

jun - honestly he gets it, between his singing and acting career, he knows what it's like to always feel like you're on the clock. he still doesn't approve of this though.

you just got home from working over time, it's 11:35- you both should be asleep, but he's waiting for you on the couch. looking at you, his heart breaks, noticing the eyebags, the bad posture, the way you're barely holding onto your bag, all of it. he makes his way over to you.

"oh, y/n," you don't process what's happening, about 30 seconds from fall asleep as he holds you. taking your bag from your hand, he then ushers you toward the couch. he helps you take off your jacket and shoes.

"do you want something to eat? water?" he asks while laying you down. you shake your head, but he still hands you a waterbottle anyway. "i'm always scared when you're like this bǎo bèi," he comments softly. "please take care of yourself, but if you can't, i'll be here." he gives you a kiss before laying your head down, falling asleep almost immediately.

hoshi - hoshi is nothing short of assertive, literally showing up to your job. "soonyoung, what are you-" "do you know what time it is? i'm taking you home." he leaves no room for argument as he drags you out of your work place. you're going to need to explain this to your manager.

"i'm not letting you do this to yourself, y/n. it's late. why are you still trying to work at this hour?" he asks, frustrated. "soonyoung, you know why. i don't have a roommate anymore; i can't pay rent with one income." he sighs, "i know, but you just look so- i don't know- tired now. i can help y/n, just let me."

there's no talking your way out of this, you just let him drag you all the way back to your apartment while rambling about how bad working late could be for your health: what if someone kidnaps you on the way home? what if you faint while you're walking up the stairs because you're so tired? what if you're so sleepy you don't notice someone walking by and you run into them and fall into a storm drain?

wonwoo - he doesn't scold you, but he'll get all nerdy and tell you terrible facts about not taking care of yourself.

you're bent over your laptop, trying to finish a whole group project on your own since you got assigned terrible partners. he sits down besides you, whispering in your ear, "keep sitting like that, and you won't be able to walk properly at 40," you scoff, but adjust your posture anyway, you don't want to test this guy. smiling in victory, he kisses you before walking away, reminding you to take a break.

you don't listen to him though, getting carried away in your work. wonwoo comes back every so often to tell you that your brain will start eating itself because you haven't eaten, you'll get terrible wrinkles because you're dehydrated, all that stuff.

once you're finally done and in bed, he scolds you, of course. "i know you think i'm joking, but i'm not y/n. this isn't good for you, next time you do this, i'm forcing you to stop, okay?" he strokes your hair and gives you a kiss. "i love you a lot, so take good care of yourself, can't have you dying on me."

woozi - out of all the members, he's definitely the one who relates to you the most. he knows you'll drown out the sound of people telling you to take breaks, so he takes things into his own hands.

you're working at your desk when woozi turns your chair around and grabs your hand, dragging you to the couch. you try to argue, you really need to finish this so your group doesn't fall behind on the project, but he doesn't take no for an answer.

"shush y/n, just let me talk." he starts, "i know what it's like, i really do. you feel like everyone is depending on you, and maybe they are, but you don't have to do it all alone," when you try to dismiss him and get back to work, he's actually pinning you to the couch. in any other circumstance, you'd be turned the hell on... but he's serious about this. "listen, stop trying to shut me out y/n. i'm someone you can rely on, and i want you to. don't do this to yourself, i won't let you."

you nod in agreement. "good, now let's just stay here for a second," he lays on top of you, trapping you under him so there's nothing you can do but rest.

[heeluvv]

TEACH ME.ᐟ

pairing ᝰ.ᐟ stepbro! park sunghoon x stepsis! reader

warnings ᝰ.ᐟ stepcest, oral (m), face fucking, etc.

natty’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

sunghoon never let up with his teasing, always throwing smug comments your way—how innocent you were, how untouched, how you wouldn’t even know what to do with a man if you had one.

it was constant, relentless, the kind of taunting that should’ve rolled off your back. but it never did.

you tried not to care, tried to brush it off like it was just typical stepbrother shit—him being a menace, always trying to get under your skin. but he lived for your reactions, for the way your brows would knit together in frustration, for the heat that would rise to your cheeks when his words lingered too long.

you knew it. and worse, he knew it too.

tonight was no different.

you had left your room to escape him, retreating to the couch in an attempt to find some peace, but he followed—because of course he did—plunging himself down beside you with that same lazy confidence, legs spreading wide, one arm draped over the back of the couch like he owned the space.

his presence alone was irritating, heavy with the weight of something unspoken.

“so,” he starts, his tone slow, laced with something teasing, something that immediately puts you on edge. his gaze flickers toward you, a smirk already tugging at his lips. he’s about to say something stupid.

and then—

“have you ever even sucked a dick before?”

your breath catches in your throat.

your fingers tighten around your phone, your head snapping toward him, brows furrowing as disbelief flashes across your face.

“what the fuck, sunghoon?” you scoff, shoving his arm. but he doesn’t budge—doesn’t even flinch.

instead, he grins wider, a soft chuckle slipping from his lips, his amusement obvious, infuriating.

“i guess that’s a no.”

you roll your eyes, turning your attention back to your phone, pretending to ignore him. but you can feel his gaze still on you—heavy, lingering, filled with sharp amusement.

then, out of the corner of your eye, you see the slow drag of his tongue over his bottom lip, his expression shifting into something almost mocking.

“poor thing,” he hums, feigning pity. “no guy’s ever had the pleasure of having you on your knees for him?”

his words send a shiver down your spine, uninvited, unwelcome.

your fingers twitch, gripping your phone tighter.

he was baiting you. again.

but this time, for some reason, you weren’t so sure you wanted to ignore it.

you let your phone slip from your fingers, barely hearing it land beside you as you shift your full attention to him.

slowly, deliberately, you turn to face him, a smirk tugging at your lips—one that doesn’t quite match the rapid pounding of your heart.

“you know what,” you murmur, pushing yourself up from the couch, your bare feet silent against the floor as you move.

sunghoon watches, his amusement flickering with something darker as you step between his spread legs.

his posture tenses, but he doesn’t lean away, doesn’t tell you to stop.

he just watches.

“why don’t you teach me then?”

his expression shifts in an instant.

his jaw ticks, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, his fingers twitching against his thigh. the air between you thickens, something sharp and electric crackling in the silence.

his voice drops lower when he speaks, rougher.

“you wouldn’t know what to do with me, baby.”

his words are meant to intimidate you, meant to send you scurrying away, but they only fuel the fire burning low in your stomach.

you exhale a soft breath, then—before you can second-guess yourself—you lower yourself to your knees, your hands settling on his thighs, fingers pressing lightly into the muscle beneath the fabric of his sweats.

his body stiffens immediately, his thighs tensing under your touch.

his breath hitches.

his gaze—once playful, teasing—now darkens, his pupils dilating as he stares down at you.

you tilt your head slightly, your voice a quiet, sultry hum.

“then teach me how.”

his lips part, just slightly.

he doesn’t speak for a moment, doesn’t even breathe—just stares, his gaze fixed on you, unwavering, sharp.

then, finally, he exhales slowly, a smirk ghosting across his lips, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“you want me to teach you?” he murmurs, voice thick with something unreadable.

his fingers flex at his sides before he rests one hand against the couch, the other twitching like he’s deciding whether to touch you, whether to pull you closer.

then, his voice drops to something even lower, something more dangerous.

“fine.”

his eyes flicker down to your waiting hands, then back to your face.

“take it out.”

your fingers tremble slightly as they slide up to the waistband of his sweats, brushing over the firm muscles of his lower abdomen before curling around the fabric. with a slow, deliberate pull, you drag them down, taking his boxer briefs with them, letting the material bunch at his knees.

your breath catches in your throat as his cock springs free from its restraints, resting heavily against his lower stomach.

your eyes widen, heat pooling low in your stomach as you take in the sight before you—he’s not even fully hard yet, and he’s already huge.

thick veins curve around his length, prominent even in his half-hard state, and the tip glistens slightly with precum, the faintest bead of it catching the dim light of the room. instinctively, you squeeze your thighs together, feeling a dull ache begin to throb between your legs.

“spit on your hands,” sunghoon instructs, his voice calm but laced with quiet authority.

you glance up at him, only to find his gaze already locked onto yours, dark and unwavering. his arms are slung back against the edge of the couch, his posture relaxed—too relaxed, considering the situation. like he’s completely in control, completely at ease, watching you unravel before him.

you swallow thickly before obeying, parting your lips and letting a slow stream of spit coat both of your palms.

his lips curl into something unreadable, something pleased.

“now stroke it.”

you hesitate for only a second before wrapping your fingers around him, your touch featherlight at first, adjusting to the sheer size of him. your other hand moves up to join, both working in tandem as you begin to stroke, slow and unsure, gliding over the slickness of your own saliva.

a sharp inhale leaves sunghoon’s lips, the sound subtle but undeniable.

his muscles tense slightly, his chest rising and falling with measured breaths, but it’s the soft, unintentional gasp that escapes him that has your pulse racing.

“good,” he murmurs, voice slightly strained, his hips shifting just barely in response to your movements. “now—”

his eyes flicker down, watching the way your hands move along his length, the way his cock twitches under your touch.

“have your thumb circle my slit.”

his voice is softer now, laced with something less controlled.

you do as he says, your thumb gliding over the sensitive tip, spreading the precum, swirling slow, teasing motions against the head.

a quiet moan slips from his lips, barely audible, but the way his head tilts back slightly, the way his eyes briefly flutter shut before reopening, tells you everything.

his cock hardens under your touch, growing heavier, hotter, his body reacting despite his otherwise composed exterior.

“fuck,” he exhales, voice deeper now, more strained.

his arms remain slung back over the couch, but his fingers twitch slightly, gripping at the fabric beneath him as his breathing grows uneven.

he watches you work, watches the way your hands move, the way your lips part slightly in concentration, the way your own body seems affected by what you’re doing to him.

“now replace your thumb with your mouth and tongue.”

his voice is low, dark, dripping with authority as his fingers tighten in your hair, tugging just enough to make your scalp tingle. he guides you forward, bringing you closer to where he wants you, his cock twitching in anticipation.

“circle your tongue over my slit,” he continues, his voice raspier now, filled with something less controlled. “suck on my tip—but don’t let me feel any fucking teeth.”

your stomach tightens at his words, heat rushing through you as you obey. your lips part, and you let your tongue flick out, tasting him, teasing the sensitive head before swirling slow, deliberate circles around his slit.

his reaction is instant.

“shit—just like that, baby…”

his voice is rough, his muscles tensing beneath your hands. his fingers flex in your hair, gripping tightly as you suck on his tip, hollowing your cheeks, collecting the salty precum that beads at the head.

his thighs shift beneath you, his hips barely resisting the urge to push deeper, but his control is slipping—you can feel it.

“uhh—take me fully, baby,” he grunts, his hand tightening in your hair, guiding you down further, urging you to take more of him.

you try, your mouth stretching around him, your jaw aching as you attempt to accommodate his size. but he’s thick, and even halfway down, you already feel the resistance in your throat.

he groans, his breath hitching as your lips slide down further, taking as much of him as you can.

but it’s not enough.

his free hand twitches against the couch, his patience wearing thin.

“what you can’t fit, stroke with your hands,” he instructs, his voice slightly strained.

you wrap your fingers around the base, matching the movement of your mouth as you stroke him, your hands working in sync with your lips, slick with spit and precum.

his head tilts back, a deep, guttural moan slipping from his lips as he exhales heavily.

“fuck—”

his grip in your hair tightens, pulling you up just slightly, only to push you back down again, slower this time, controlling your pace.

your throat tightens, your breathing uneven, but you adjust, taking him in deeper, letting him guide you.

“this is how you do it, baby…”

his voice is barely more than a breath, heavy with pleasure, his restraint slipping with each passing second.

his hips twitch, his control hanging by a thread as he watches you, his dark eyes locked onto the way your lips wrap around him, the way your cheeks hollow as you suck.

“go faster, baby…” sunghoon groans, his voice thick with pleasure, breath hitching as his fingers tighten in your hair. his grip is firm, guiding your movements with slow, deliberate control, forcing you to take him deeper, to match the pace he needs.

you obey, bobbing your head faster, sucking harder, letting your tongue drag along the underside of his cock with every stroke. your hands work what your mouth can’t, twisting slightly with each motion, slick and warm, perfectly in sync with the way your lips stretch around him.

his thighs tense beneath your palms, his body shuddering as a deep moan rumbles in his chest.

his hold in your hair is almost too tight, almost bruising, but the sting only fuels you, makes the heat in your core grow unbearable. you let out a soft moan against him, the sound vibrating through your throat, sending tremors up his cock.

sunghoon’s reaction is immediate.

“oh fuck—shittt…” he gasps, his head tilting back, exposing the sharp line of his jaw as he loses himself in the sensation.

his other hand clenches against the couch, knuckles white, muscles flexing, his breath turning ragged, uneven. his hips twitch, threatening to thrust up into your mouth, but he holds himself back—barely.

his moans grow more desperate, more raw, mixing with the wet sounds of your mouth working him over, with the soft, messy gasps of breath you take between strokes.

he looks down at you through half-lidded eyes, his pupils blown, his lips parted slightly as he watches you take him—his cock disappearing between your lips, glistening with your spit.

his chest rises and falls rapidly, his body trembling as he grits out, “fuck, baby—just like that. don’t stop.”

he moans louder, his control slipping, fingers tightening in your hair as he pushes your head down further, forcing you to take him deeper. his hips jerk up, thrusting into your mouth, the sudden movement making you gag around him, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“fuuuck—shit, baby,” he groans, his voice raw, breathless. “make me cum before they get here…”

the mention of your parents sends a fresh wave of heat through you, the risk of being caught only making this filthier, more forbidden. you could hear them any second—keys jangling, the front door creaking open—but right now, the only thing you can focus on is the way sunghoon is using your mouth, chasing his high with reckless abandon.

a muffled moan escapes you at the thought, vibrating around his cock, making him twitch against your tongue.

“oh fuck—” his voice cracks, his body trembling as he loses himself in the pleasure.

his grip in your hair tightens as he holds you there, his length hitting the back of your throat with every desperate thrust, your lips stretched wide around him, saliva dripping down your chin, making everything even messier.

the ache between your thighs becomes unbearable, your core throbbing with need as his moans grow louder, rougher, more desperate.

“take this fucking dick, baby—shit…” he groans, his head tilting back, eyes squeezing shut as he nears his breaking point.

he’s close. you can feel it—the way his cock throbs against your tongue, the way his thighs tense beneath your hands, the way his breaths turn shallow, erratic.

and god, you want it.

want to feel him come undone in your mouth, want to swallow every last drop before either of you even have time to process what the fuck you’ve done.

you hollow your cheeks, sucking harder, letting your tongue swirl around the sensitive tip, pushing sunghoon further into his unraveling. his grip in your hair tightens almost painfully, his thighs trembling beneath your touch as his breath turns ragged, uneven.

“oh fuck—fuck, fuck!” he groans, voice breaking, his entire body going taut.

his hips snap forward one last time, his cock twitching against your tongue before he spills into your mouth, hot and thick. his release comes hard, sharp bursts coating your tongue, dripping down your throat as he moans uncontrollably, his chest rising and falling in deep, shuddering breaths.

his head tilts back, eyes squeezing shut, jaw clenched as he rides out his high, his fingers tangled tightly in your hair, holding you there, making sure you take all of him.

his body slowly relaxes, his breathing still heavy, but his grip in your hair remains firm as he tilts his head down, half-lidded eyes locking onto yours.

his voice is softer now, but still laced with authority, still dark with satisfaction.

“swallow it, baby…”

his thumb brushes against your jaw, his smirk lazy, smug, as he watches you obey. watches your throat bob as you take all of him down, not a single drop wasted.

“good fucking girl,” he mutters, breath still uneven, his thumb trailing down to your swollen bottom lip, smearing the remnants of him against your skin.

his gaze lingers on you, eyes hooded, dark.

and even though he just came, the way he’s looking at you tells you—

he’s nowhere near done.

natty’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ okay so at first this was definitely a maybe (wasn’t sure if i wanted to post it since i felt like it wasn’t as good as i pictured it to be), but i’ll have you all be the judge of that ;)