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bitterrfruit · 4 months ago

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southpaw [ii]

boxer!Ghost x reader cw: dubcon. lots of blood if the pics didn't make that obvious. 18+ mdni here's part 2 to my boxer ghost fic. this one is feral. sorry [masterlist]

Your communications with Simon following the frightening tryst in his sitting room had been few and far between.

After he had abandoned you throbbing and empty and you plummeted back to earth, you swiftly left. He had called you a spiteful little shit when you stormed out of his flat in a huff, with just a shred of caustic humour in his tone that belied his bitterness.

When your wits — with the force of a kick to the belly — had returned to you in the taxi home, you had told yourself that was that. You’d block his number and you’d kick the revoltingly crude and violent stranger out of your life. Reduce him to a foul memory.

But as you went to check your phone, looking at the six exchanged messages between yourself and his unsaved number, you faltered. A failure of your self-assertion. Instead you dumped your phone in your bag and glowered out of the window for the duration of the drive home, sucking on your vitriolic arousal like a sour drop.

You resentfully returned to your quotidian routine the next morning. Catching the subway to work and back, slogging through the Monday at your desk while sorely trying to distract yourself from the residual sensation of his fingertips in your slit. You stared into the voids between the pixels of your monitor, offering one-word answers when any of your coworkers addressed you — so vacant throughout the day that your manager had to check in with you, and you dismissed your fugue as a mere headache.

Your phone didn’t go off once that workday — no text from a friend, nor a relative, not even spam. Only whilst packed in the train car on the way home, sardine-squished between people taller than you, did your phone buzz in your pocket.

A text from the number you failed to block.

Can still smell your cunt on me.

Mortified, you immediately tucked the phone to your hips and shut the app, hoping the people pressed against you couldn’t read the message that just mired your phone screen.

The follow up appeared as a banner.

Making me hungry.

Your cheeks burned hot and you bit down on nothing, too humiliated to return to the app and reply to his filth. You stuffed your phone in your pocket for the remainder of the sticky train ride, and only reopened it once you had arrived back home and locked your front door behind you.

You hammered out a reply with splenetic fingers as you took off your coat. You’re a degenerate.

His answer came quickly. Still grumpy?

Stop messaging me.

The bouncing ellipses of his typed reply appeared and vanished a number of times, and you scolded yourself for attentively awaiting the answer you had expressly refused. When no reply came, your chest became heavy.

And it remained heavy, for the next two days, while your phone stayed as empty and dry as you were. Every time you picked it up you felt the flutter behind your ribs, the briefly lifted spirits as you silently hoped for a text from him. Maybe even a missed call. And every time it was blank, you felt your stomach sink. Stupid, for you had all but told him to fuck off. Perhaps you simply wanted him to persist. To insist.

In your capricious impatience you even typed out a few messages to him, but your shame ensured that they remained unsent.

You could have just apologised.

Didn’t think you’d give up that easily.

I didn’t mean never message me again.

On Wednesday evening, after work, you returned to the bar you had met him at. Maybe he’d be there, waiting for you, hoping you’d return so that he could accost you. You even planned for it, practised your spiteful response for when you found him there — you’d ignore him for a bit, to make him squirm, to force him to make the first move. Maybe you’d even pretend to have forgotten his name.

When he wasn’t there, you bitterly paid for your own drink and went home after only one.

You gave up hope as another sluggish day came and went, arriving home to your empty apartment and getting ready for bed far earlier than you normally would. Washed your face and brushed your teeth before nine-thirty.

You simply couldn’t face the indignity of reaching out to him. Not after setting your own boundary and he had aberrantly obliged it.

Once it hit ten you tucked yourself into bed under your winter-weight duvet, forced shut your eyes as you resisted the urge to check your phone before going to sleep.

And just as a groggy, heat-dizzied slumber began to suck you in, hallucinations of his mammoth hand kneading between your thighs, you heard your phone vibrate loudly atop the wooden surface of your nightstand. Its bluish glow illuminated your dark bedroom for a few seconds before it dimmed again.

Instantly awake and buzzing with adrenaline you reached to check, snatching your phone from its resting place and glaring bright-eyed at the screen. Probably just an email. Maybe a text from your coworker. Or a pop-up ad for UberEats.

Fight tomorrow at 8.

It wasn’t even an invitation. He was just informing you, and even that was a generous presumption. Maybe he was arrogant enough to assume you’d be there without an overt expression of his desire to see you.

Your seat is by the ring.

Bastard, you thought. Almost blurted it aloud. You chewed your lip. You knew you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t.

It took you a few attempts to conjure up a response. You typed some out and then swiftly deleted them.

Eventually, you landed on; You rly think i’m going to come and watch?

Wouldn’t have got you a seat if i didn’t.

You scoffed at your screen. Why should i?

Still wound up, are you?

The prick. Wtf does that mean?

All grouchy i left you high and dry?

You didn’t notice your thighs grinding together. No. You're a dickhead and i can’t believe i went out with you.

Quit bitching, jesus. Then, a follow up; You’ll get what you want after.

Your better conscience told you to slam down the phone and abandon the conversation and the fling in its entirety. Unbridled asshole that he was. Instead you held your thumbnail between jittery teeth and rubbed your toes together.

Who are you fighting? You asked, ungracefully changing the subject.

Does it matter?

You bit your lip. Not interested in watching you lose.

I won’t.

His arrogance made you snort. How do you know?

Got a prize to fight for.

His charm was shallow and crude, skirting a charade, and yet it unleashed a swarm of butterflies in your chest. Funneled a loathsome heat into a pool between your legs.

You knew what he thought his prize might be. He hadn’t been shy about it, had he? He plainly believed he could win your cunt as easily as he could a championship belt.

What’s that? You texted back, after a deliberate delay, wondering whether he’d follow up the text with something more explicit.

You tell me.

Dumped the burden on you to be the vulgar one. Not your strong suit, so you decided to attempt to emasculate him. As if such a thing were possible.

Hm. The other guy might fight to win it too.

The typing bubbles of his reply came and went for a minute. Wouldn’t put it past him.

You know him?

Mate.

You’re fighting your mate?

Yep. n I’ll beat him like last time.

You couldn’t explain the blooming heat in your belly at the prospect of watching him beat and be beaten by someone like him, big and heavy, just as ribald. You imagined a rivalry, all in good fun, until it wasn’t. You imagined they’d be looser with their fists, less mindful of the rules, when it was only their mate at the receiving end of the blow. You wonder if his opponent knows about you. What he might have told him.

And if you don’t?

There was no sense in your question, and no vindictiveness in your doubt. Maybe you just wanted him to express some possessiveness. To double down on his certainty. To claim ownership.

You nearly smacked yourself as the notion smeared its way through your head.

He’ll be a lucky man.

Not even a lick territorial. You chose not to dissect your lack of disappointment.

You didn’t reply to his final message, fingers too busy pinching at the angry clit under your knickers, hoping the castigation would settle the lust that throbbed in your temples — you knew it wouldn’t, but the compulsion to alleviate the burning in its nexus puppeteered your arm as though on strings.

Didn’t let yourself come, though. His ragged words wended about in your head, leaden and demanding. You can wait, like me.

Trudging through the Friday was infinitely more gruelling than any of the days prior. Tumescent anticipation churned in the pit of your stomach, every waking minute. You could not focus on a single task beyond the picking of your fingernails and crossing of your legs. Busied yourself with regular trips to the bathroom, to wipe away the distracting wetness that puddled in your core every time you reread the (not even that sexual) messages in your phone.

When a colleague glibly asked you what your Friday night plans were, you lied. Night in, probably. You told yourself that you hadn’t yet decided whether you would attend. A smarter girl would avoid it like the plague.

You knew yourself better than that.

Despite his lack of contact, you still tortured yourself under the shower after work. Scrubbed clean every mound and every crevice, re-shaved the same areas you tended to until they were raw, left a fruity-sweet hair mask in your locks for long enough that the tresses imbibed the scent. Smeared your body in your caramel-macadamia body lotion, brushed through your lashes a coating of mascara, painted on a layer of rosy-pink lip-gloss.

You excavated your entire closet in the hunt for the right kind of outfit; you wanted to look pretty, but not like an overdressed deer in headlights. Like a cool-girl who knew how boxing works (you didn’t), but not like you were trying too hard. Settled for a miniskirt and a graphic tee, boots and stockings to keep you warm. You hadn’t forgotten his refusal of them the last time, but it was a cold and windy evening, and he could fuck himself.

As the time passed seven and you still hadn’t heard from him, just as you began to wonder whether he had given up on you all together — he finally texted you.

The only content of his message was the address of the venue, with no frills nor any sly attempts to provoke you. Simply the name of the arena and the street it was on. Knowing you’d need a drink, or two, or three — you plugged the location into Uber and booked a ride instead of driving yourself, and it was a ten minute trip through the dark sleet.

The arena, so he called it, was barely an established venue — some kind of run-down community centre with layers of faded and peeling posters glued to its grimy brick walls, windows of steel-meshed glass and a single street light hanging over the push-door entrance.

You carried your heart in your teeth. It evidently would not be a televised fight, like you had wistfully imagined. What kind of back alley shithole–

The resentful thought was knocked out of you along with the wind in your lungs as a shoulder collided with you — a pair of men with their hands in the pockets of their puffers steamrolled past you, noisy raillery as they went through the entrance.

Attendees of the fight, you supposed – hoped – because you elected to follow them, with no other recourse, head held low under the hood of your jacket to avoid the rain.

You elbowed the glass swinging door when the men in front of you didn’t hold it for you, and immediately you heard the rowdy din of a crowd elsewhere in the building, muffled by walls or floors. The interior was brutally bright, beaming fluorescent bars hung ungracefully from the ceiling, their glow bouncing off the painted white cinderblock of the walls and onto the peeling grey linoleum.

Some kind of club or gym, you ascertained – peering down the halls and into doors, you spotted weights and bars, foam mats, black-and-red punching bags hanging from chains.

You were suddenly fraught with the same discomfiture that simmered whenever you were somewhere you didn’t belong. You followed the men through another set of doors, and down a long flight of stairs — the light of the fluorescents gradually grew dimmer as you descended into the darkness, where the hammering of an unruly crowd only became louder. The walls were unpainted in the subterranean floor of the building, and instead gave way to raw cement. At the base of the stairs was a small queue that disappeared around a corner, and you self-consciously stood behind the pair of men you had stalked there.

Uncertainty roiled in your stomach, suddenly feeling as though you had made a terrible mistake — the basement was dark, and loud, and it struck you that the only voices you heard were male. You should have had a drink before you left. And just as you anxiously considered turning around, three more babbling men piled in behind you, sandwiching you between the groups of them, conspicuously alone.

As the line moved forward, it became clear that the queue was held up by bouncer, and you were next up. A tall man with thick arms, disconcertingly vascular, sinewy neck as thick as a buffalo’s — you wondered if he was a fighter himself, moonlighting as security for the fight.

“This in’t a nightclub, pet,” he informed you roughly, and as though only just noticing the solitary woman in front of them, you abruptly felt the attention of the men behind you on your back.

Sure as shit isn’t, you thought to say, but nervousness held your tongue.

“I’m — yeah, um, I’m here to watch the fight,” you simpered, swallowing after you spoke.

He let out a huff of laughter at that, and you noticed him catch the eye of the attendees behind you. “Got a ticket, then?”

You gritted your teeth, chewing back curses as you realised the bastard hadn’t even given you one, let alone notified you ahead of time that they would be checking for them.

Adjusting your fists in the pockets of your puffer coat, you shuffled awkwardly on your feet. “I was invited.”

“Yeah?” He probed amusedly, “by who?”

“Simon—” you blurted, cutting yourself off upon realising you didn’t even know the man’s surname. “He’s — um, he’s fighting.”

The bouncer chortled raucously at that. “Riley?” He laughed, “fuckin’ hell. Alright then. Go on.”

His tone made your knuckles turn white. What was so funny? “Thanks,” you murmured.

“Good luck,” he jeered after you, and before you were compelled to ask for what, he was already conversing with the men behind you.

There was a short and narrow corridor of cement and dim yellow lights around the corner, old posters tacked to the walls, and the commotion of the crowd made your ears reel as it bounced off the concrete. The air was heavy and hot, dense with smoke and body heat, and you suddenly felt too warm for your puffer. You shucked it from your shoulders as you reached the end of the tunnel, sucking down a deep breath as you were birthed right into the snake pit.

The room within was far larger than you would have believed possible, concrete ceilings high enough that they faded into the darkness. The crowd was deep, droning, perhaps three- or four-hundred strong. All seated in or standing around their rows of plastic chairs, bottles of beer and cigarettes in hand.

You held your breath as you charily scanned the cement cavern, absorbing all the details you could fit in your congested mind, and wondering if you might see Simon lurking somewhere, waiting for you. But the space swam in shadows, barely lit by the odd crimson lightbulb hung on long wires from the ceiling; the audience’s faces only illuminated by the floodlights that hung in the centre of the atrium – blindingly bright and stark cold, they hammered down on the square ring underneath.

There, you caught sight of him. His back to you, standing in the corner and leaning on the ropes, shoving the end of an unbranded drink bottle into his mouth. You knew it was him by the buzzed auric hair that cladded his skull, the still staggering breadth of his titanic shoulders, the inky scratchings of his tattoos that sheathed his left arm and crept across his chuck to lick his neck.

You found something of a fissure between the drunken spectators, so you gawkliy weaseled yourself through the braying men on your way to the seat you hoped had indeed been saved for you.

And as though he had scented you on your approach, Simon’s head perked and turned over his shoulder, and his beady eyes immediately fastened on you. A rakish grin stretched in his lips as you came to a stop by the ropes – thankfully unimpeded – and he turned his gargantuan body to face you fully.

You hadn’t yet seen him without a shirt on, and the gauzy disbelief was plastered across your face at the sight of him up close. Cumbersome muscles wrapped his ironclad form like the overworked meat of a bull, almost doughy with the lard layer of a well-fed man. His chest was stocky and broad, alabaster skin smeared with freckles and grisly mauve scars, hirsute with a coating of wheaten curls.

He crouched down with spread knees to get a shred closer to your height, the stage of the ring a good metre off the ground. He wrapped his thick fists around the ropes, and peered at you through them as though behind bars. You tried not to glance down the leg of his shorts that hung loose from his thighs.

“Look at you,” he crooned, toothy and oozing satisfaction. “Didn’t think you’d show up, pretty.”

Your stomach went all tight when he called you that. “Didn’t you?”

“Thought I was a dickhead,” he derided, a breathy chuckle at the memory of your churlish insult.

“You are.”

He tilted his head, no argument. “Just came to watch me lose, eh?”

You cracked a smile at that, and his gratification at your capitulating scorn practically dripped from him. Sick of your bitching, so he said.

“Yep,” you said, through a simper.

He looked over his shoulder, then briefly leaned to the side – he pointed behind him with his thumb. “There’s your winner, then.”

In the far corner, you saw his opponent.

Not quite as tall but somehow heavier, so laden with muscle that he looked encumbered by it – but he couldn’t have been, not given how he bounced on the balls of his feet like he weighed a hundred kilos less, shanks turning carved and solid with every hop. He shook out the hocks of his arms, contorting his neck to stretch out the tight meat.

The man wore an unkempt mohawk down the crest of his skull, shaven sides a few weeks grown-out, mottled by the little pink knicks of healed scars. His carved cheeks were coated in a poorly kempt stubble, brows pulled together in concentration, a deep crease between them.

You froze when he noticed you staring – snagged your probing eyes with a tumid smirk – and cold embarrassment ran down your spine.

You quickly looked back at Simon, who was all but chortling at you.

“Not as pretty as me, is he.”

You couldn’t think of a witty riposte before your mouth began to speak – almost formed the words just as pretty – but you at least had the sense not to inspirit him. “That’s your friend?”

He shrugged facetiously. “Wouldn’t go that far.”

In the nebulous vacuum of the atrium you heard a bell chime, three sharp dings, and the already tumultuous crowd erupted into an uproar that made you wince. Time to fight. He glanced over his shoulder, kept a few short moments to bid you farewell before he turned into the bout.

“Do I get a kiss for luck?” He goaded, and you could tell by the mordant tone in his throat he expected you to say no.

And you did. Gave him an unflinching shake of your head and a pert smile. “You haven’t earned one.”

He grinned wide at that, barbed and cocksure, as he stuffed a rubbery black mouthguard into his mouth and clacked it into place over his teeth with his thumbs. There was something rabid in his eyes, stark-black and puncturing, edacious at the challenge you had given him and rearing red-hot to fight for you. To earn his prize.

Your stomach knotted up at the thought, and it made you a little queasy.

He had already demonstrated an effrontery in his nature, forcibly indulging you with a hand over your mouth and fingers between your legs – an act he decided he didn’t need to earn. He just did.

You couldn’t help but envisage what he might feel emboldened to do once he believed that he had earned it. What prizes he’d purloin from you.

You hurriedly swung your head around to find yourself a seat. An empty chair – thank god – wedged between two bulky strangers, one in a suit and the other in a wifebeater. No indication that it was for you, specifically, but you elected to claim it. It was a good spot, too. Right in the middle, not at a corner. The men beside you paid no mind to you, eyes (and likely wallets) rapt in the fight.

The two bulls in the ring turned to face each other, bouncing heavy on their feet, shaking out every meaty limb and rolling their ox shoulders. Adrenaline thrummed in your chest and sat high and humid on the back of your neck – the kind of heady anxiousness that felt like a hunk of steak between your teeth, one you weren’t allowed to bite into.

An announcer stood in the centre of the ring, microphone in hand, a snaking wire hanging out of its base and coiling across the foam floor. He opened with gentlemen – the lack of a preceding ladies felt pointed and offputting – and his spiel lacked the dramatic flair you had seen once or twice in a televised match.

No, instead, he bellowed gruesome statistics into the mic with no polish or class, and your mind went fuzzy as you absorbed it.

Fighting out of Glasgow and still a little wet behind the ears. Record of 33 wins and 1 loss. 21 wins by way of knockout. Weighing in at 109kg. 1.88 metres tall. In the blue corner, slipperiest cunt alive – Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish.

In the red corner, a fucking ugly Mancunian with 41 wins, 3 draws, and 4 losses. 37 knockouts. 113kg. 1.97 metres tall. Deadliest southpaw this side of the Pennines – Simon ‘The Ghost’ Riley.

They smile at each other, frothing at the mouth and manic in the eyes, mouthguards making their lips all puffy and dumb. Even quantified, their magnitude is challenging to fathom. You can almost feel the ground vibrate as they jounce on the foamy canvas, watching their heavy muscles jiggle and tighten with each movement.

Final decider of the trilogy. One win each. Odds are in the Ghost’s favour tonight – old dog with old tricks – four-to-six. Glaswegian underdog odds at six-to-five. Get your wagers in.

There was something decidedly boorish about the way the announcer roared into the mic, the scathing badinage he spewed towards the two fighters had you believing he must have known them personally. There was nothing legitimate about any of it, when you came to think of it – a considerable griminess sunk heavy in the air and filled up your nose, and you didn’t know how you hadn’t noticed it earlier.

The frigid realisation rinsed you like cold water, when the announcer stood between them and they raised their fists – ungloved. Wrapped only in tape, a few thick layers over their knuckles, but not remotely thick enough to protect their own bones, let alone their opponent’s.

Simon invited you to a fucking bareknuckle. You weren’t there to watch a boxing match, you were there to watch bloodsport.

Suddenly, the knot in your guts wrenched a lot tighter. The label of deadliest carried the weight of feasibility, however horrific the notion was for you to swallow. Distended dread simmered in your stomach and singed your throat.

So why were you on the edge of your seat?

The dings of the bell made you jump, and the announcer hopped out of the ring as though fleeing from an unspent grenade. No referee.

The two beasts faced down in earnest, smiles fading – though their impressions remained – huffing and bobbing their heads as though about to charge, loose fists hung in the air close to their faces, heavy cocks bouncing around in their polyester shorts. They were mirror images of each other, minor differences in stature notwithstanding – Simon in his sinistral stance, leading with his left, Johnny with his right.

They circled each other like sharks, dithering about when to throw the first blow – you saw their mouths move as though speaking to one another, but you couldn’t hear it over the racket of the audience.

Then, in a blink, Simon jettisoned a fist with such speed and barbarity it blurred through the air, and the smack of its collision cut through the uproar of the crowd – parried, by Johnny’s rigid forearm, and in the flurry Johnny had thrown a retaliatory roundhouse to his adversary’s ribs.

You winced at every impact as though you could feel the strike on your own skin — they were so fucking brutal with each other, not dampened by even an ounce of concern nor a drop of reservation. No, they bulleted fist after fist, and the blunt smacks of knuckles beating thick meat made your teeth chatter with every collision.

Round one was over as soon as it had started — three harsh dings of the bell, and then carnivores pulled away from each other, lumbering to their corners and grabbing their drink bottles.

Simon was already dripping with sweat; he was glossy with it as though freshly showered, it beaded along his brow and traveled in rivulets down his back. His chest hounded with each haggard breath, he wiped his nose with his forearm and met your eye.

You shrunk a little under his stare, because it didn’t look like him. Not to say you were exceedingly familiar with his face — only the third date, after all – but there was something potently unhuman in him. A reflection of some omophagous barbarian, a minotaur in both stature and constitution.

He gave you no acknowledgement beyond a blink. He turned his back to you without so much of a nod, shaking himself out like a wet dog. His ferine mind was utterly ensnared by the hunt, you could see it on him, his eyes bulged with it. All red and frayed around the edges.

Three dings. Round two.

Their blood-hungry ferocity did not hamper, their vigour to remain at each other’s throats seemingly inexhaustible – the sheer violence made your eyes go glassy, delirious in morbid shock, unable to look away and yet unable to watch too attentively. Knuckles to cheekbones, to ribs, to ears; a volley of savage strikes that seemed aimless and unending, until–

Johnny’s gauzed fist slammed into Simon’s jaw, a blow that he almost followed to the ground, and hot red blood rained out from the site of impact. Splattered carmine in a fan across the grey canvas mat. Simon let out a currish snarl as he turned his head to shake out the blow, and the audience erupted into a deafening furore. Betters on the underdog especially jubilant, you supposed.

The bells dinged. Round ended.

When Simon turned to return to his corner and you got a glance of him, nausea climbed foamy up your throat. Blood cascaded from a deep split in his top lip, saturating his chin in bright-red that oozed down his neck and chest, pooling between his pectorals. Looked as if he had been down on all fours, tearing raw meat off the bones of a fresh catch with his teeth, letting the mess plaster him in his ravening.

You couldn’t look away from him. Something purely eolithic, primitive, animal, simmered in the back of your head, sent leery little shivers down the nape of your neck, coiled up tight between your legs. Why was your mouth watering?

“That oughtta hurt y’old bastard,” called Johnny from the far corner, voice plush with pride, beaming with it. “Maybe ah’ll win the prize, after all.”

Your fingernails nearly tore ladders in your stockings. Was he talking about you?

Simon’s head rocked back from his shoulders, and he cracked a smile, stretching the deep rupture in his lip. Riled. Pumped so full of epinephrine and testosterone that he hardly flinched. He turned back in. Ready to combust.

The instant the bells chimed – round three – he charged. Hooked a colossal leg around the back of his opponent’s knee, and they were quickly down and knotted on the mat.

You knew vaguely that boxing was fists only – nothing below the belt, no holds – and yet, they wrestled around on the floor like it were a different sport entirely, flinging punches and elbows and hooks from prone positions, growling like skirmishing bears in the frenzy.

A few flips of heavy bodies and Simon had Johnny flat on his back, leviathan knees either side of his hips. Simon curled forward, then, pinning Johnny down with entangled arms – and ran his mouth and nose down the length of his opponent’s neck, smearing a painting of fresh blood over his sweat-soaked skin. Johnny bucked and kicked in an almost pitiful effort to free himself, but in so doing only had more of Simon’s blood slathered across his collar; some on his cheek, some in his mouth.

You were by turn muddled and revolted by the roiling heat in your core at the sight – repugnant, you thought, unjustifiable–

WIth a hard buck the Glaswegian broke himself free, and with a twist, managed to land an elbow into the side of Simon’s head, a hard crunch of bone on bone.

Simon was inexplicably unruffled, his injurious grin almost pleased at the challenge – but with a rapid bludgeon square in Johnny’s nose, he finished the fight, and that was that. Johnny’s head ricocheted off the foam, and still twisted up with his rival, blinked dimly at the ceiling.

You didn’t even know the man, and you felt pity for him hard and cold in your chest – always sympathised with the underdog, couldn’t help it. He lay there with his hands on his chest as Simon pushed himself to stand, towering over his victim, rolling out his shoulders after the exertion. In the pandemonium the announcer thundered out the count to ten, and when Johnny only rolled onto his side to let the blood of his broken nose pour from his mouth and not down his throat, the count concluded with a deafening knockout.

If you thought the spectators were loud before, now you knew the true meaning of the word – chaotic uproar that shook the walls of the building, the triumphant howling of those who had bet on the southpaw almost as strident as the upheaval of the ones that bet on the wrong dog. You stood up to hesitantly applaud alongside the men beside you, only fearful that if you remained seated you’d get swallowed up by the stampede.

In the uproar Simon turned pointedly to face you, his savage eyes riveted to yours – and, like that, the rest of the building sloughed away. It was only him, the fleshy beast, and you, glossy-eyed in his crosshairs.

There was a weight in how he looked at you, something foregone, a fate already decided on your behalf. You felt it tugging you downward, hanging from your neck, and you could only stand there and wait for it to happen.

He won.

You couldn’t put up much of a fuss, after that. He hopped out of the ring once the show had ended, landing on the hard ground beneath with a thud. His eyes were peeled, his pupils pin-pricked, honed in, and you could only hold your breath as he paraded towards you.

He reached out to take your jaw in his bloody hands, thumb and fingers dimpling your cheeks as he yanked you into a revolting, blood-soaked kiss - his lips were pillowy, wet with sweat and smeared in hot blood, and you could taste the briny metal in your mouth. Tasted like butter and corroded iron. It was awkward too to kiss him over his mouthguard, cumbrous in his mouth, you could feel its rubber on your bottom lip when he sucked it between his teeth.

You wrestled him on instinct, smacking him on the chest to deter him, and your palm was instantly clammy with his sweat. There were people, men, surrounding you on all sides – spectating, jeering, hollering at the show the boxer was putting on for them. It made you shrivel in humiliation, and it only made Simon chortle.

He burrowed under his lips with his free fingers as he separated from you – your jaw still in hand – hooking his fingernails into his mouthguard and unsealing it from his teeth with a pop. He pulled it out of his mouth with a repulsive slurp, dragging gooey bands of blood and saliva along with it that clung to his bottom lip.

He grinned at you, then, and slick red filled every gap in his teeth, pooled at the corners of his mouth like a fucking rabid dog, and you could see the dark exposed flesh between the split in his lip. It made you shiver. It made your chest hot.

He wiped away the blood he left on your mouth with a thumb. “Where’s my prize, pretty.”

There was little you could do as he ferried you through the dissipating crowd, patting you on the bottom like he was guiding a cow, and you felt him huffing hot air down the back of your neck.

When you initially hesitated to go anywhere with him, as he was, he threatened to throw you over his shoulder instead. And that, somehow, would have been even more mortifying than being publicly carted off to be victory-fucked by the champion, so you swallowed your pride and walked instead.

Walking, if you could call it that – he was at your heels, practically driving you for the entire distance from the ring to an inconspicuous corridor at the quiet end of the atrium, out of sight and in the shadows. He all but pushed you there, nudging behind you if you walked too slowly, giving you a smack to coax you forward. Not the same entrance you had arrived through, but your frenetic thoughts hadn’t quite grasped that yet.

“In ‘ere,” he instructed flatly, hooking a finger into the collar of your t-shirt to stop you from walking onwards.

A door with a window at eye-height, steel-meshed glass that did not obscure anything behind it.

“What’s in there?” You asked quietly, perhaps stupidly, because he let out a huff of laughter at the question.

“What d’you think,” was all he said, and your stomach dropped.

You opened it with shaky fingers and shuffled inside. More gym, by the looks, though the room was dim and expansive; more empty boxing rings – practice rings, you supposed – punching bags and gloves hanging from walls, and the entire floor of the room padded in black rubber.

It dawned on you, then, with a hot flush down your spine. “We’re - we’re not going back to yours?”

He was pressing behind you by the time you finished the question, nudging you deeper into the room, and he already had his sticky hands bunching up the bottom of your t-shirt. “Not waiting that long.”

Your lungs shrunk, suddenly too small to suck in a deep breath, so you sipped at the air like it was liquid; he flayed off your t-shirt in one go, forcing your arms up into the air to pull it from your head. Your hairs stood on end as he dropped it to the mat – the air was dusty and cool but were blistering hot to the touch, blood simmering in your veins. He could probably see it, rising blush-red in the back of your neck, sweaty at the nape.

He huffed approvingly, and you winced when he snapped the band of your bra against your back. He hunched over your shoulder, looking down your chest – his humid arms hooked under yours, pumped up and vascular after their carnage, and seized your breast in a monstrous hand. He kneaded it roughly through the cup for his own gratification – paid no care to the chirp of pain that jumped from your throat at the needless strength of his grip, the firm core of your breast aching in the vice.

“Nice little bra,” he grumbled. “Put it on just f’me, eh?”

You only panted, bashfully avoiding a real answer. Because, you did. You knew exactly where this night was headed, what you girded yourself for – you just didn’t expect that it would happen here, like this, while he was soaked in sweat and blood and ripe with lust worked up in the fight.

“Knew you were a slut,” he said, under his breath, mouth and nose pushing into the crook of your shoulder and getting a good sniff. “Mh. Moment I saw ya.”

You reeled at the denigration, so acrid it made you shiver. Praise webbed in his repugnant words, though — he said it hungrily, exuberantly, exalting you for it. Made your guts go all twisty. Made fluid heat sink downwards and pool in your core.

His blood was viscid and icky on your skin, smeared up your shoulder — he was unperturbed by his injury, almost excited to get you covered in it, to mark you with it like a pack animal.

“I’m not,” you breathed, no real defense, and he chuckled at that.

“Yeah, y’are. Just picky, eh?” He crooned. “Made me fuckin’ work for it, didn’t ya?”

He unclasped your bra with deft fingers, and it came loose with a pop. As though he had made some unspoken command, you shimmied your straps down your shoulders for him, and let it fall from your arms.

He took you by the hips and spun you to face him. Shark eyes sunk instantly to your tits when they bounced with the motion, and a pleased curl tugged in his lips.

“Mh, look a’ that,” he murmured to himself, thumbing your pebbled nipple and chuckling breathily when you squeaked at his pinch.

His heavy hand slid then your shoulder, giving you a downward nudge.

“Knees, pretty,” he grunted dryly. “Suck it for a bit.”

Your fingers went cold, blinking up at him as though feigning innocence might appeal to his human instincts. His face was stony, and the needle-sized holes of his pupils gave you no sympathy nor patience. Refusal crossed your mind, a gust of air, fleeting and skittish—

A transient thought, really, because there was no refusing him, and the thought of daring to frightened you more than the thought of a sweaty cock in your throat.

Your eyes travelled the length of his torso as you awkwardly lowered yourself to your knees. Sweat pooled in the pit between his pectorals, sticky with congealing blood that clumped in the sedges of his chest hair. A thick and ungroomed blanket of straw curls trailed down from his navel, over the slight chub of his lower stomach, primordial padding over the rigid abdominals underneath. Met with the satin polyester waistband of his red-and-black shorts, loose on his thighs – the sheeny fabric strained where his cock hung heavy, and you could see every ridge of vein and head through the satin.

You swallowed, and he huffed impatiently.

With a wrapped hand he yanked down the front of his shorts – no briefs underneath — he unsheathed his cock with a fist around his base and narrowly missed hitting you in the nose with it. You concealed a grimace at the sight of it, inches from your face – it was ugly, burly, mauve at the smooth head, ruddy foreskin pulled back by his fist. Roped with plum veins that webbed under the rubicund skin, shuddering with heat.

More frighteningly, though, was its magnitude – fucking prodigious thing, fat from base to tip, thick like a log and so long it made you dizzy with dread to even consider taking it in your mouth, let alone in the cunt that tightened up at the thought.

You shouldn’t have been shocked, really – anything smaller would have looked disproportionate to the behemothic size of him. And yet, alarm was bright and hot in your face, and your throat dried up as you looked at it for too long.

Simon chuffed, amused. Ego stroked. He fixed a hand to the back of your head, and a breath lodged your throat.

“Not gonna suck itself,” he growled, lightly slapping his cock against your cheek. “Open up.”

You drew in a shaky breath, resting a flat hand on his hip to balance yourself, and curled your trembling fingers around his shaft. Fist now free from carrying the weight of it, he combed his thick fingers through your hair at the crown of your head — not to encourage, only for a better grip.

With parted lips you leaned forward, jutting out a wet tongue and running it from halfway up his shaft, along the ridge, to the underside of his head, and he let out a grunting sigh that made your nerves spark and your head spin.

After another lick and a tug on the back of your head, you finally summoned the bravery to open your mouth — unhinged your jaw to allow his cock to fit, and it jerked in your mouth when you wrapped your lips around it.

It was salty and sticky with sweat, fetid with the musk of riled up testosterone. You might have found it unpleasant if you weren’t dazed by your own concupiscence, molten lust roiling in your belly and turning the flavour of him into a sapid aphrodisiac. Your eyes fluttered shut as you tried to inch it deeper into your mouth, but the enormous pressure of the back of your tongue made you gag loudly around it.

“Bit big for that little mouth, eh?” He preened hoarsely, but he took no pity. The hand on the back of your head was unforgiving and coaxed you forward with a nudge. “Easy. Wider. Careful with those teeth.”

Your eyes began to water as he stuffed himself deeper, driving you by the skull, until the thick head of his cock plugged the back of your throat and you could no longer breathe through your nose. You could only hold on to the air already in your lungs, wrenching shut your eyes as he drove his hips slowly forward, cockhead against your tonsils.

“Mh,” he groaned, “tight little throat. Might park up in here.”

You blinked up at him when he said that, eyes wide and wet with strained tears as you silently pleaded with him through your clumped lashes.

“Oh, girl, you wouldn’t like that would you?” He jeered, grinning at the terror printed on your face, “you want me in your cunt, eh?”

A whimper got stuck in your chest when the tip of his cock hit the flat wall at the very back of your throat, and your heart rate began to decelerate with the lack of oxygen in your blood. Chest ached with the need to breathe.

“Poor girl,” he mumbled lowly, hand lodged at the back of your head and not allowing you to reel away. Cold horror rinsed you at the rigidity of his grip, a reminder of his strength, a hint at the sadism that bubbled under the surface of his skin. He wouldn’t let you breathe. “Neglected little cunt, I bet. She hungry, eh?”

Your vision began to double, black spots around your periphery as you choked on him — you wondered if your cheeks were turning blue, and you wondered if he enjoyed the sight.

“Can’t breathe, pretty?” He said, as you put both fists on his hips, shoving with all of your might — his massive hands kept your head utterly still, right where he wanted it. “‘M only halfway in and you’re choking. Not used to this eh?”

He finally pulled his pelvis back, releasing the suction in your throat and forcing you to gag, and you were at last able to breathe — you heaved deep a breath through your runny nose, and the rush of oxygen made your head spin. He grunted as he raked out his cock from your mouth entirely, and it dropped heavy once it pulled out from between your lips. A long string of gooey saliva drooled from your mouth, and suddenly your entire head felt empty and hollow.

You sniffed, wiping your nose and wet cheeks with your palms, your tears scarcely abating. A thick finger hooked under your chin and hinged up your head on your neck, forcing you to look at him.

“None o’ that,” he growled, rubbing an errant tear away with the pad of his thumb. “Don’t want tears.”

“Sorry,” you squeaked on instinct, fearful of reproach, and a satisfied smile cracked briefly in his lips.

He stepped around you, then, circling you like a vulture before looming behind you, and you remained dead still on your knees. A harsh hand fitted at the back of your neck and abruptly shoved you forward — you bleated as you tipped over and landed on your palms, on all fours on the padded floor.

The ground vibrated under you as you heard him drop to his knees behind you, heart in your throat. “Gotta get a look at my prize.”

He lifted up the back of your miniskirt, holding it against your lower back — before you heard him growl indignantly, and your skin prickled up.

“The fuck’d I tell you about stockings,” he snarled, the indignant anger rumbling in his throat made your teeth chatter. He swiftly had his paws on your ass, fingers clawing up the stretchy nylon into fists and immediately tearing the thin fabric along the seam that flossed you with a shrill zip. “Just get in the fuckin’ way.”

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered. You were appalled by your own obsequiousness – your lust rendered you sycophantic, grovelling, too eager to please.

He let out a low huff of laughter. “Mh, all sweet now, aren’t ya?”

You felt his thumb wedge itself in the cleft of your ass, over the fabric of your knickers – you squeaked and tensed up when he pressed against your asshole, and he chuckled to himself. He dragged it down to the dip of your cunt, and he exhaled hoarsely.

“Messy little thing,” he grumbled, hooking his thumb under your gusset and dipping between your folds, and you caught your tongue in your teeth. “Barely touched you and y’already ruined your knickers.”

The rich pride in his voice made you melt, a potent inebriant that made your mind go foggy and your tongue wet.

“Waited for me, did ya?” He asked huskily, heavy breathing growing more laboured with each inhale. You nodded obediently. “D’you stick your fingers in y’self while you waited?”

“No,” you breathed, eyes on the mat underneath you, though they fluttered shut when the tip of his thumb grazed your clitoris, pointedly declining it too much attention.

“No?” He badgered, incredulously, you could hear the toothy grin through his voice. “Not even one?”

“I didn’t,” you insisted weakly, shaking your head.

“Haven’t come in a while then, have ya?”

“I haven’t,” you promised.

He grunted in approval, and his hands slid to the waist of your skirt. “No wonder y’been so bitchy,” he grumbled. “All worked up and fuckin’ grumpy.”

He jerked down your bottoms with enough force that you heard seams popping, and you yelped – he shucked them down your thighs with little grace, and you fell flat on your belly as he straightened out your legs to tear them off entirely.

“Just need a good fuck to sweeten y’up, eh?” He gibed, hooking both mammoth hands into your waist and hoisting your hips upward, propping you up on your knees.

He hunched over the back of you, then, and you felt his cock rest heavy on your rear. He fixed a hand to the nape of your neck, resting a portion of his weight (you were sure that any more would snap your spine under his hand) to pin you down.

“Don’t you?” He pressed, hucking up a lump of blood-drenched spit into the fingertips of his left hand, and he reached back to smear the emulsion against your already sodden cunt.

“Yeah,” you chirped as he pushed a wide finger into your hole, voice high-pitched and laboured under his restraint.

The girth of one rough finger was already enough to sting, even with the amount of slick that had saturated you – you shivered in dread at the weight of his cock against the crease of your ass, at the thought of your neglected cunt having to tear itself in half to just to fit him.

And then he pushed another finger in, and your vision went blurry.

“Gorgeous little cunt,” he hummed to himself. “Nice n’ wet. Must be aching, mh?”

Restless, his fingers slipped out from you and he straightened his back, holding his cock and smacking it against your asshole, and your whole body went stiff.

To your dizzying relief he instead dragged his blunt head down the cleft of you, nestling in the slick folds of your pussy – he offered you no time to gird yourself, bucking his hips forward and stuffing his cock deep into your cunt whether you liked it or not.

A pained shriek erupted from your chest as he drove into you, cockhead ramming into the plug of your womb with a force that winded you, the girth nearly ripping the thin skin of your entrance as it bulldozed itself to the root. Turned quarry in the shock you jerked underneath him to unskewer yourself, wriggling eagerly to slither free.

“Get back ‘ere,” he grunted disapprovingly, yanking you back and hoisting your hips back up. He snatched your clawing hand by the wrist, twisted it behind your back and pinned it to the arch in your spine. “Too late to run away now, pretty.”

He wrestled you until you stilled underneath him, and you whimpered as he coiled back his hips and proffered you a very fleeting reprieve.

“S’that hurt, mh?” He queried wretchedly, and you squeezed shut your eyes as you nodded your head. He pushed into you again, only slightly slower, and you could only whine underneath him.

“Yes, fuck–” you sobbed, seeing stars in the struggle. “It hurts–”

He hummed, almost cooing at you. “Won’t hurt for long, love.”

With his non-restraining hand embedded in the flesh of your ass, he rocked into you again, and you nearly bit your tongue off. Your body was as stiff as a board, every muscle tensed to brace yourself for each thrust – and each push stung, a shooting pain that bulleted up your spine every time he hit the deepest part of you. You could only squeak and hiccup and wriggle when he allowed you, but he kept you firm to the floor.

Only when his rhythm steadied, and he let out low groans of satisfaction into your back, did your bones begin to loosen. The sharp pain abated into a swollen pleasure as your walls gripped and fluttered around his cock, each rut driving you deeper into the padded floor.

“Mh,” he crooned, when your yelps softened into fluid whining. “Tha’s it. Just needed to stretch ‘er out a bit.”

You felt hot dribbles on your back, rilled up your spine and dripped onto the mat – his blood, leaking from the still fresh split in his lip, you heard him lick his teeth. It should have disturbed you, his iron-reeking blood drooling onto your bare skin, smeared around by the arm against your back. Instead it made you dizzy with some feral, animalistic lechery.

It made the air smell like rust and sex, and you felt like a rabbit caught in the wolf’s maw. You wondered if he’d sink his teeth into you. You couldn’t ignore the thought of his blood and his spit being fucked into the deep ridges of your cunt. Maybe the mucosa of your pussy would imbibe it and his impression would be permanently embedded in the sticky depths of you.

“Fuckin’ perfect cunt,” he groaned, speeched slurred by his own intoxicant pleasure. He lifted a kneeling leg and planted his foot flat on the floor to drive himself deeper, greedy hands burrowing into the flesh of your hips as he speared himself into you. “Kept it nice and tight for me, didn’t ya?”

You nodded winsomely, cheek smushed against the mat underneath you, panting out whines that left humid fog on the rubber.

He snorted, then spat, and you felt a wad of warm saliva land directly on your puckered hole. It twitched on reflex, and you sucked a sharp gust of air between your teeth — he rubbed your other hole with the pad of his thumb, gradually increasing the pressure, coaxing it to loosen for him.

“Pretty little asshole, too,” he mumbled gruffly, a growl in his throat that made your hairs stand on end and your body turn rigid. “Y’ever had something in here, girl?”

You whimpered, heart racing with such ferocity it made your temples throb and your eyes sore.

“No, I—” You chirped through a held breath, interrupted by a buck of his hips and a pounding into your cervix. “I h-haven’t.”

He exhaled, deep and throaty. “We’ll ‘ave to change that.”

A squeak lept from your throat when his thick thumb pushed through the clenching entrance, constricting around his knuckle as he stretched it open, until his palm was flush with your rump.

“Mh — fuck. Be a shame to neglect a cute little hole like this, eh?”

You expected it to hurt, braced yourself for the sting — but in your fuck-drunk stupor you let him in with a comfortable ease, and it felt good.

A winded whine seeped out from your chest as you took what he gave you, a renewed surge of heat and slick flooded into your cunt and dribbled down your leg.

“Like that, do ya?” He purred, tugging at the thumb inside you and pushing it in again with the rhythm of his ruts. “All your little holes stuffed?”

You babbled like an idiot, whining and squeaking as he savagely fucked into you with a bestial vigour. Yes, yes, please, yes—

His pace only hardened as he chased his release, panting like a dog and dripping his blood and sweat down your spine. Your knees began to ache under the weight of him, rocking forward with every thrust, grinding against the concrete under the thin rubber.

“Mh — perfect little thing — takin’ my cock like a fucking angel, eh? Fuckin’ made for it, just for me, just for me to fuck proper—”

His ravening tirade turned you to pudding, rugged voice breaking with the fury of his pleasure, bullying your cunt as deep as you’d take him.

“Shit—” He grunted through teeth, leaning his full weight into you and making your eyes water with the strain on your neck. He chased a few hard ruts, blunt head shoved hard against your cushiony cervix as his cock jerked inside you. “Agh — fuckin’ Christ—”

You gasped in shock when you felt his come pump into you, pressure building against your womb as he filled you up so full you worried you’d pop.

“Simon—” You squeaked on instinct, unsure if out of maligned pleasure or the brief flash to reality that slapped you in the face — he fucked you without protection.

“Yeah, pretty thing—” he puffed deeply, sinking down onto your back as his fervour was drained out of him and into your pulsing cunt.

With that, reality flitted away as fast as it appeared.

A mournful sigh escaped you when he slipped his cock out of your pussy, his warm come quickly drooling out of your hole once it was no longer plugged; it ran down your thighs and dribbled onto the mat beneath you. He plucked his thumb from your pinched hole and rested himself on your rear. You felt immediately and woefully hollow, holes shuddering around nothing so eagerly they ached.

“Simon,” you whinged, repeating his name, with your motivation utterly eluding you.

“You’ll get yours, girl,” he growled breathlessly, come-sated sweetness gone as it came. “One fuckin’ second.”

Something abominable had slithered into your mind and taken root, you thought. The vitriol in his words should have made you bristle, but it only made you needier. Maybe it spoke to a recondite self-loathing buried so deep in your soul you had never touched it, let alone acknowledged it. Maybe you just liked the way his harsh voice went all gravelly when he snarled at you.

You yipped as he suddenly grabbed you by the hips, his recovery brief, and you were flipped unceremoniously. Landed on your back with a thud, limbs flailing in the blur — he grabbed you by the ankle and dragged your body towards him, held your legs open where he was kneeled between them.

He caught your eye, then; beady, shark-like, a glint of insatiable hunger that reflected in the pools of black. The split in his lip had reopened in his fervour, and his blood oozed fresh and red down his chin, into his teeth. Didn’t hamper him, though – he burrowed his gluttonous fingers into your hips and lifted your lower half off the floor.

A yelp of disbelief jumped from your throat as he hitched your thighs over his shoulders, pelvis in the air while your head remained balanced on the mat. Only on your back, glancing briefly around the room, were you suddenly reminded of where you were.

Fucking the southpaw on the floor, in the middle of a somewhat public gym – you could still hear the murmurings of the audience still in the building, and only then noticed that Simon had left the door to the quiet room ajar.

“Wai– wait, wait– Simon–” You stammered, watching as he licked the blood from his teeth, wolf-eyes peering at you from over your mound.

Figures that he didn’t care to listen. He buried his mouth in your cunt with the ferocity of a starved animal, flat tongue smearing over your slit for a taste, before he suctioned your clitoris into his mouth as though he might drink an orgasm out of you.

Not remotely put off by the surfeit of his come that still leaked from you, nor by the open wound in his mouth that weeped blood into your cunt, amalgamating with your fluids and his into some abhorrent concoction of lust and violence. No, in fact, he ate you with such a hunger that he must have been deliriously relishing in the debauchery of it all. You felt the emulsion drool down the valleys of your groin, glossy red beads trailing down your belly and between your breasts in rivulets. You felt it drip from your neck, into your hair.

“Ah – fuck–” You whined helplessly, arching your spine, heels inadvertently slamming into the meat of his back.

He groaned into your cunt as he sucked your clit between his teeth, seemingly fighting the urge to bite, and the vibrations of his low voice made a shudder wrack you from your skull to the soles of your feet. His grasp of your hips was harsh, thumbs burrowing into the tender pits of flesh behind the bone, and it only made the surging pleasure in your core even more voltaic.

More than a week since the last time you came, and that was at the plastic hand of a shitty bullet vibrator you got for free with a magazine; a climax so unsatisfying and meaningless it left you feeling emptier than you did beforehand. A week since he had brought you so close with his vindictive fingers, and a week of trying to recreate the feeling of his with your own, only to be sorely disappointed every time you tried. Worked up and grumpy, so he said–

It didn’t take him long to bring you to the same point he left you, burning and twitching and squealing under his touch – but this time had you seeing stars, had you bucking into his head like you might suffocate him with your pussy. You were sure he’d be pleased if you did, because he didn’t once come up for air. Kept your clit in his bloody mouth, under his lapping tongue with a consistency of pace and pressure that made your ears ring.

But, you could still hear the creak of a hinge.

Feel the vibrations of footsteps across the floor.

Your eyes shot open and you wrenched your neck to look towards the door – an enormously painful angle to have your spine at – and there stood a silhouette of a man, lumbering unfazed into the room.

“Simon!” You shrieked, kicking his back and writhing in his grip in desperate effort to stop him or break yourself free. A fool’s errand, really. There was no escaping him once he had you in his snare. “Stop, stop – Simon – there’s someone, ah–”

Mortified horror rinsed over you, molten hot, as the man continued his approach, and Simon did not relent. Persisted in laving your clit with unfettered voracity and only reinforcing his grip of your pelvis to keep you still, ruthless fingers implicitly chastising you for making a fuss.

Only when the voyeur was a few feet from you could you determine who it was – vision significantly impeded by the angle of your head, you only saw him upside down–

It was Simon’s opponent.

Johnny.

He looked down at you with lidded eyes, piercing blue even in the dark. Still in his boxer shorts, shirtless, sculpted muscles of his shoulders and arms carved out by the dim light seeping out from the door behind him. Dabbed under his nose with a blood-soaked towel, before his hand dropped to his side. Even in the darkness you could see the pitch in his shorts.

Your hackles were raised but your panic was forcibly smothered by your blinding pleasure; incoherent whines and pleas leaping from your throat as you felt your smouldering core unwillingly tighten up, ready to burst despite your humiliation under the eyes of a spectator.

“Simon – fuck, please, stop – he’s, ah – you’re gonna–”

You were a spluttering mess by the time you were swallowed by the tsunami of your orgasm, so forceful that you suddenly lost the ability to breathe – it ravaged through you in waves that made you buck and wail like he was truly sinking his teeth into your flesh. He might as well have been, with how sensitive your pebbled clit was under his unceasing tongue, all puffy and shuddering after its beating.

You whined desperately as the shattering climax abated, leaving your muscles frail and your bones all floppy, and any fight within you turned to milk and trickled out of you, buttery and soft. Johnny only watched attentively, and you would have shrivelled up with ignominy if all vitality hadn’t been drained from your body and into Simon’s mouth.

He finally peeled his lips from you, licking them as though having eaten a succulent meal, and he dropped you from his mouth. Lowered your hips so that your buttocks rested on his lap, legs wrapped around his torso. You could only lie there, utterly breathless, turning your head away from both of them as though that meant they couldn’t see you.

Simon gave you two reassuring pats on the thigh, wiped his mouth with his other forearm and smeared blood and come through the auburn arm hair that coated it.

“Tha’ better, pretty?” He purred huskily, thumb grazing your skin. “Better be all nice n’ sweet, now, eh?”

Johnny lets out a grunt, petulant disappointment in his throat. “So that’s what ye broke my fucken’ nose for.”

Simon snorted vindictively. “I wasn’t losin’.”

“S’not fair,” Johnny grumbled. “If I knew that was the prize I woulda snapped yer fucken’ neck.”

The unbridled violence in the way they spoke to one another made you sweat – laden with something morbid, a perverted hunger woven between every word, oozed from the two of them like tar.

“Easy, boy,” the southpaw chided roughly. “You’ll talk yourself into another concussion.”

“Psh,” his opponent retorted. “Yer just worried I’ll clatter ye now that I know the stakes.”

Simon let out a hoarse huff of laughter at that, unimpressed. Turned to look down at you, wide hand heavy on your lower belly, and he grazed your bullied clit with his thumb. You twitched with the shock, blinking distraught at him through wet lashes.

“Kid wants a rematch,” he grunted. “What y’reckon, pretty?”

idk guys. don't judge me. i was ovulating while writing this and it has been the kind fugue state where i need skin between my teeth. i hope someone gets what i mean by that

#call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod smut #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x female reader #bitterfruit fics

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pixiel · 2 years ago

Text

Old Tumblr Dashboard (Userstyle)!!

I created a Userstyle for the Chrome/Firefox Stylus Extension that reverts the new dashboard to the old look!

You need to have Stylus installed. So if you don't have it:

Install the Stylus Firefox Addon or the Manifest V2 Chrome Extension (You can install Chrome Extensions on Edge as well)

Once it's installed into Firefox/Chrome/Edge you can proceed with adding this style or any other.

To add the style (Stylus), follow the instructions:

Go to this link: https://userstyles.world/style/11286/old-tumblr-dashboard-userstyle (If it says 'style not found' then the Userstyle.world server is just down, try again in an hour)

Click on "install".

Style will open a tag with it and in the left side you'll have a button that says "install style", click there. (Step-by-step copied from the lovely dorothyoz39 who wrote this in a reply!) If you don't want the sticky header you can remove the labelled script at the top of the css below /* Sticky Header*/

For Manifest V3 only Chrome Or Stylus incompatible browsers:

For Chrome Manifest V3 install the Tampermonkey Extension

Then add the Tampermonkey Backup Script instead of the Stylus version

https://greasyfork.org/en/scripts/492279-old-tumblr-dasboard-backup I highly recommend you switch to Firefox for continued use of good extensions! Stylus does not have a V3 update yet; however, the tamermonkey script works just as good.

Be sure to check for updates regularly and if you'd like, consider supporting me on Ko-Fi https://ko-fi.com/pixiel !

I'm currently taking donations so I can afford a much-needed wheelchair, so please check out my GoFundMe for more details! Any Ko-Fi donations will be added manually to the GoFundMe

..::::HOW TO UPDATE::::..

click the Manage button on Stylus and click the check for update button next to the userstyle, then click again to install!

Make sure to check the Userstyle and see if the version number matches the one below if you don't see any changes!

NEW UPDATE: 25/05/25 (D/M/Y) 17:28PM BST v17.13

16.16: Fixed activity and notifications, they now look like the previous version 17.0: Final update to the new icons bs! Every page should be functional. If theres any missed parts or bugs - let me know! 17.9: Minor fixes and Tampermonkey update! You can also fix the positioning of the Communities button and subnav from this menu as well - it should remember your settings when you update!

Tumblr Post Width & More (OTD+ Userstyle) Is now available!!

OTD+ is an add on for Old Tumblr dashboard that you can use to edit the Post Width, Content Positioning & More - It must be used with Old Tumblr Dashboard installed as well on the latest update! This style might be merged with OTD in the future.

THE CREATOR OF THIS USERSTYLE SUPPORTS THEIR TRANS SISTERS. WE'RE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER!

Check the readmore for the changelog, custom code & known issues!

----- Known issues:

Only two columns in Masonry view. Semi-Unfixable, Tumblr creates columns based on monitor size, if I try adding another column (because it doesn't exist) it just perpetually loads on screen. Semi-fix: Zoom out in chrome/firefox and it adds more columns, you may need to change the font size of the page though

Search bar doesn't appear on some pages (like viewing a post), this is because Tumblr removed the search bar on those pages completely. Unfixable but not a big deal

Tumblr has ONCE AGAIN CHANGED THE ACCOUNTS MENU. The menus are now shorter and have less information on them. This is unfortunately permanent. I do not see any way to fix this. Unfixable.

If you want people's icons to stay fixed in place, instead of scrolling with the dashboard change this in Stylus;

Or if you're using the tampermonkey version

Find text:

.NLCTe > div.Evcyl > div > div > .So6RQ.YSitt > .ge_yK > .c79Av > article > header > .RYkKH > .nZ9l5 { pointer-events: auto; top: 55px; transition: top .25s; position: -webkit-sticky; position: sticky; } and replace it with;

.NLCTe > div.Evcyl > div > div > .So6RQ.YSitt > .ge_yK > .c79Av > article > header > .RYkKH > .nZ9l5 { pointer-events: auto; top: 0px; transition: top .25s; position: absolute; }

Solved issues: (Update)

Menus need to be manually closed SOLVED! in V.4 and updated in V.5! The menu & icon WILL scroll with you if you have removed the sticky header CSS, however, clicking anywhere on screen will make the Menu disappear still.

Masonry view in searches is now fixed!

Resized Messenger Chat Box!

NEW UPDATE 16/08/23, 23:55 BST v6.5: Figured out how to reorganise the icons in the header. Let me know if you have any problems with it and make sure to update your Userstyle! Some icons are hidden with Display: Block; you can hide more icons with this method!

Solved issues p2

Brought back SOME of the icons for Tumblrs latest update - Unfortunately, this does not bring back user icons for Reblogged posts! Make sure to yell at Tumblr for removing the icons as well as the horrible dashboard update here! v7.5 Fixed icons for all posts and put them back where they came from!

v6.9.6.9 (I promise this is the last funny number): Fuck Off Buggy The Clown Update + All languages support for the old header design!

v7.0: Fixed the search bar for tumblrs new collections feature, so it looks like the original search bar!

v8.0: Fixed masonry view icons, hidden the reblog icon on dashboard icons, fixed icons in blog viewport

V8.1: Fixed issue with icons not working on soft-refresh & with endless scrolling disabled - be sure to complain to staff!

v9.3: Changed a few things with the search feature, I also made the posts less round.

UPDATE2 11/04/2024: SO We mighhtttt have overrun their servers. 😅 I'm getting a 500 Internal Server Error every time I try to fix it or upload it as a new style - the massive influx of people downloading the userstyle was probably too much. The Tampermonkey backup on Greasyfork works just fine though! Probably easier for a lot of people migrating anyway! UPDATE 11/04/2024:: My code has broken on Userstyles.world, (it is now fixed as of 12/04/24) until this is fixed I have created a Tampermonkey Backup Version of the Userstyle so feel free to use this version if you've broken yours!

https://greasyfork.org/en/scripts/492279-old-tumblr-dasboard-backup

v9.6: Moved the Following | For you | Your Tags to below the create a post panel. Fixed the Accounts Menu! + Bugfixes V10.3: Patio compatibility. Added a way to hide the Patio button & "patio feedback?" button, just search for patio in the code and follow the instructions! v11.0: Temporary Chat feature fix after Tumblr broke it, fixed some positioning issues and j/k scrolling!

v12.3: Fixed a text issue (my bad!), I undid the changes to the replies function and added a way to fix icons order for when you get the communities update!

v12.5: Update to make compatible with the Content Positioning using Tumblr Post Width & More (OTD+ Userstyle) v12.6: Post buttons fixed, icons unable to be fixed yet as I haven't got the tumblr changes just yet - but I will fix them asap!

v11.7: Communities Update, changed the new search bar on communities page to resemble the old one. The search bar still doesn't work on these pages yet for some reason. Blog view icons fixed. v13.0: The icons change should now have a working patchfix! BIG THANK YOU to arcadian-asgardian for sending me the screenshots I needed and testing if it worked. + Minor tweak, communities button resized to fit the rest of the icons better v13.2: Mini fixes now that I have better access to the new changes! Communities icon re-centered, usernames nudged back into place.

V13.5 & v13.7: Nuked the Go Premium button - Re-positioned the search bar on search pages v13.10: Changed a lot of the new look for replies - it's not perfect yet mind. Small bug with the "..." menu moving to the left with shorter replies. Looks a lot more like the old replies section though! Made it possible to remove the reply to reply button just search for "NEW Replies UI" in the userstyle and remove the /* */ around "display: none" OR use Ublock to block the element! v14.1: Reverted the "Original Poster" border + text to look like old version. Edit: Whoops, fixed an issue with showing the timestamps

v13.4: Added a way to fix the communities icon position if you don't have the New Xkit button or have hidden any of the icons. Just remove the highlighted /* */ pair in the code for what you need.

v14.11: Made Premium Perks button available in the bottom left corner for all premium users v15.2: Fixed the Tumblr fuckup AND added a cool new feature that allows you to customise the look of your header & hide the reply-to-replies button if you like, here's how to customise this. Set to "Block" if you want the button/icon visible, Set to "None" if you want it hidden! V15.5: Given labels to options for clarity - now says 'show' or 'hide'!

v15.9: The Boopdate! V16.0: Fixed Search view pages and made them look normal, unfortunately, I can't bring back the dropdown menus for "top"/"All Time" etc - but it should look more like the original now

v16.3: Minor tweaks to make search pages look better

16.10: Fix changes to the notification icons 16.14: Fixed many issues with Tampermonkey Version - including a bug that makes the header go weird when you click on a post, fixed notification icons in small view

16.16: Fixed activity and notifications, they now look like the previous version

16.26: TEMPORARY UPDATE - only changes some aspects of the dashboard - THIS IS FULLY INCOMPLETE AND I AM WORKING ON A FULL FIX FOR THE REST OF THE SITE EDIT: added changes for timestamps!

#tumblr #dashboard #tumblr dashboard #stylus #stylish #userstyles #userstyle #long post

25K notes · View notes

jupiterpilgrim · 3 months ago

Text

Sex Cage: Big Breasts and the Ordinary Modern Life

Eunbi x Somi x male reader

word count: 12K

previous chapter

Eunbi’s room is decked out like a gamer’s fever dream now. The RGB lights are set up just right, throwing a chill neon glow around, lighting up her face a bit. She’s parked in her plush gaming chair, legs tucked under, hunched over the mic. She’s rocking a baggy gray sweatshirt that’s slipping off one shoulder, showing a peek of her white tank top, and some soft black shorts. Her hair’s up in a messy bun, a couple strands hanging loose around her face. The camera’s got her in frame, the ring light smoothing out the hype written all over her expression. On-screen, “Rubydden’s Realm” overlays the corner of the stream—a hastily made, slightly clunky logo she insisted on designing herself. Below it, a scrolling bar reads, “First-ever stream! Let’s see if I survive TLOU!”

Her hands grip the controller nervously as the familiar PlayStation startup chime fades. The chat explodes before she even gets to the main menu.

StarGazer48: OMG, first stream vibes!!!

ButterflyEffect: She’s so cute 😭

ClickClackJack: Does she even know what’s coming??

MossyUnderwear: If she doesn’t cry at the start, she’s a robot.

"Wow! Okay, okay, hold on, chat!" Eunbi laughs, her voice carrying that particular mix of giddiness and terror. She leans forward, squinting at the second monitor to keep up with the flood of comments. “First of all, hi, everyone! Thank you for showing up… I thought there would be like… five people?"

She glances toward you, sitting just off-camera, as if for reassurance. You flash her a thumbs-up, silently mouthing, “You’ve got this.”

Her nervous laugh lingers as she picks up the controller, her fingers already fumbling with the buttons. “So, here’s the deal. This is my first-ever stream, obviously. And we’re starting with The Last of Us because… well, apparently, it’s a classic, and I don’t know much about it other than… it’s supposed to be really dramatic?” She draws out the last word like it’s a question, her doe eyes widening.

The chat erupts again:

GameDork98: Oh, honey, you have NO idea.

HatGuy69: She’s gonna cry in the first 15 minutes, guaranteed.

EllieLuv: Protect Ellie at all costs 😭

"Wait, what? Cry?!” Eunbi’s head jerks up, her gaze darting to the chat. “Nobody said anything about crying! This is just… an apocalypse thing, right? Like zombies and stuff?” Her voice rises an octave as she tries to sound calm.

The game menu appears, the soundtrack's desolate guitar fills Eunbi's ears through headphones. She adjusts in her seat, pulling the hoodie tighter around her like armor. “Alright, alright. I’m not scared. I got this. I mean, if I can handle weird requests in my DMs, I can handle… this… scary music…”

She navigates to “New Game,” as the opening cinematic begins, her expression shifts from nervous to curious. “Oh, wow. The graphics are pretty good. Look at this house! So cozy—oh no, is this where the drama starts?”

The chat explodes with laughter, cryptic emojis, and ominous hints.

ClickClackJack: This is the calm before the storm.

CryingAlpaca: Everyone, place your bets. Does she cry in 5 minutes or 10?

Eunbi leans closer, totally engrossed in Sarah wandering through the house. “Aw, this kid is so cute. Wait—she’s the main character, right?”

The chat collectively groans.

DadJokes24: Oh, sweet summer child…

“Wait, wait! Why are you guys groaning?!” she exclaims, pausing the game, eyes darting to the chat. “Don’t tell me! No spoilers, okay? Let me be innocent and enjoy this!”

She presses play again, her lips pursed as she concentrates. The moment Joel bursts through the door, Eunbi squeals in surprise. “Oh my god, what’s happening?!”

As the chaos unfolds—the infected neighbor, the car chase—she grips the controller so tightly her knuckles whiten. “THIS IS NOT ZOMBIE STUFF! WHY IS EVERYTHING EXPLODING?!”

DoomBoom: Chat, she’s losing it. This is GOLD.

NoContextGary: Just wait until the emotional sucker punch.

When the gut-wrenching scene with Joel and Sarah hits, Eunbi falls silent. Her eyes stay glued to the screen as her mouth drops open slightly. The soft sound of a sob escapes her lips as the scene fades to black, and she quickly wipes her eyes with her sleeve, laughing awkwardly. “Okay. Fine. You win. I cried. Are you happy now?”

CryingAlpaca: 16 minutes. I called it.

EllieLuv: And that's just the fucking prologue!!

ClipThis: Clip it, chat!

Eunbi sits back, letting out a shaky breath. “I need a second. That was brutal. And you guys… you knew. This whole time, you knew!” She waves a finger at the camera, mock-accusingly.

Her laughter turns genuine as she takes a sip from her water bottle, holding it dramatically like an Oscar. “Alright, let’s keep going. But if the game keeps hitting me like that, I might need therapy. And snacks. Definitely snacks.”

The chat goes wild with love and teasing, and Eunbi seems to relax, her natural charm shining through. When you see that she has everything under control, you sneak out of the room to let her focus on the game. She adjusts her hoodie, leans into the mic, and smirks at the camera. “Okay, chat. Let’s see what other heartbreaks you’ve got lined up for me. Bring it on.”

—

The stream winds down with a mix of adrenaline and exhaustion radiating from Eunbi. The game’s pause menu glows on the screen as she swivels her chair toward the camera, resting her chin in her hands with a bright, satisfied smile.

“Alright, chat. That’s it for today!” she announces, her voice warm and a little hoarse from three hours of near-constant talking. “I can’t believe we actually survived this far… well, mostly. Let’s just ignore all the times I accidentally ran straight into danger, okay? You guys are seriously the best for sticking with me through that chaos.”

The chat explodes with a flurry of messages:

StarGazer48: BEST STREAM EVER!

ButterflyEffect: You were so much fun, Ruby! Can’t wait for Friday!

ClickClackJack: First stream? Nah, you’re a natural.

RubyFan326: She’s learning fast chat, we stan a chaotic queen!!

Eunbi beams, hugging her knees to her chest like she can’t contain her excitement. “You’re all making me blush. Seriously, thank you for hanging out with me. I’m back Friday at 7 PM—mark your calendars, okay? Same game, same chaos, but hopefully with fewer ‘oops I died’ moments.” She flashes a cheeky grin and winks at the camera.

“And don’t forget to follow if you haven’t already! I mean, unless you hate fun. In that case… I don’t know what to tell you.” She laughs, leaning back in her chair and making finger guns at the screen.

The chat fills with emotes and farewells, hearts and inside jokes from the stream.

MossyUnderwear: WE LOVE YOU, RUBYDDEN!

DadJokes24: Don’t forget snacks for next time!

MovieBuff88: Stream was fire 🔥. See you Friday!

Eunbi waves a final time, her smile stretching wide and genuine. “Bye, guys! See you Friday! Be good, okay?” She clicks the “End Stream” button, the chat disappearing into a frozen feed of her grinning face.

The room falls silent except for the faint hum of her PC. Eunbi leans back, letting out a long, breathy laugh, hands pressed to her cheeks. “Oh my god… that was insane,” she mutters to herself, still buzzing.

Without a second thought, she bolts from her chair, nearly tripping over the cord of her headset. She sprints to your room, throwing the door open with the force of a hurricane.

“BABE!” she screams, launching herself onto the bed where you’re sprawled out, scrolling on your phone.

“Jesus!” you exclaim, startled, but there’s no time to process because Eunbi is already on top of you, straddling your waist and peppering your face with a barrage of kisses.

“Did you see that?!” she babbles between kisses, her words tumbling out like they’re fighting for first place. “They loved me! They actually loved me! The chat was so sweet, and everyone was so funny, and I didn’t even cry that much, right? Okay, maybe a little, but that was the game’s fault, not mine!”

You laugh, hands instinctively finding her waist as you steady her. “Slow down, babe! I can barely understand you!”

She pulls back, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright. “I can’t slow down! I’m too excited! It went so much better than I thought it would, and they were so nice, and I didn’t mess up too badly, right?”

“Are you kidding me? You killed it,” you assure her, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “You were funny, adorable, and totally yourself. No wonder they loved you.”

Her grin widens, and she dives back in, pressing kisses to your cheeks, your forehead, your lips—anywhere she can reach. “You’re just saying that because you’re my boyfriend,” she teases, but her voice is thick with happiness.

“Maybe,” you admit, catching her face in your hands to slow her down and plant a proper kiss on her lips. “But I’m also right. You were amazing.”

She melts into the kiss for a moment before pulling back, practically vibrating with energy. “I have so many ideas for Friday! Like, maybe I can do a snack tier list during breaks? Oh, and I should definitely figure out how to make those pop-up notifications cooler—like, fireworks or something every time someone subscribes!”

You laugh, letting her ramble, loving every second of seeing her this happy. “Whatever you do, it’ll be awesome. I’ll help you set it up.”

“Ugh, you’re the best,” she says, flopping down beside you, her head resting on your chest. She’s still buzzing, her fingers drumming lightly against your ribs. “This was the best day. I didn’t think I’d love streaming this much, but it’s so fun! And everyone was so nice! Did I already say that?!”

“Only like ten times,” you tease, wrapping an arm around her.

“Well, it’s true!” she says, tilting her head to look up at you, her smile softening. “Thanks for believing in me. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Always,” you say, pressing a kiss to her temple. The two of you lie there in a comfortable silence, her excitement slowly giving way to contentment as she curls closer to you.

—

The gym is quite crowded today. The faint scent of rubber mats and sweat hangs in the air, but it’s far from unpleasant—it’s the smell of effort! Eunbi and Somi stand by the dumbbell rack, mid-chat, stretching in between sets.

Eunbi’s dressed in a black sports bra and high-waisted lavender leggings that hug her figure, her small waist accentuated by the snug fit. Her hair’s tied up in a messy ponytail, a few strands already sticking to her forehead from the light sheen of sweat. Beside her, Somi towers, her blonde hair pulled into a sleek braid that sways with every movement. She’s wearing a cropped white tank top, leaving her toned stomach exposed, paired with tight, navy blue biker shorts. The cut of her tank makes her generous chest all the more noticeable, matching Eunbi’s proportions, but on a taller frame.

“You really crushed that stream, Eunbi,” Somi says as she adjusts her stance for a set of squats. She picks up a kettlebell, testing its weight. “Three hours and you still looked fresh by the end? You’re a beast.”

Eunbi laughs, grabbing a smaller kettlebell for herself. “Fresh? More like barely holding it together.”

“Yeah, but that’s part of your charm,” Somi teases, dropping into her squat. Her form is flawless, back straight, glutes engaging as she lowers herself smoothly. “You’re just… you. And people love that. They eat it up.”

Eunbi mimics the movement beside her, her squat not quite as smooth but serviceable. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure I could pull it off. But the chat was so supportive… like, weirdly supportive? I half-expected trolls, but they were sweet.” She pauses, glancing at Somi with a grin. “Kind of like you, always hyping me up.”

Somi straightens, laughing as she rests the kettlebell against her hip. “Of course I’m hyping you up. You’re killing it, Eunbi. You deserve all of it—the success, the love. And let’s not forget about your boyfriend. I swear, he’s like… the blueprint for ‘sweet and supportive.’”

Eunbi rolls her eyes, but her smile gives her away. “Yeah, he’s pretty great. You should’ve seen him after the stream. I practically tackled him with excitement, and he just took it like a champ.”

Somi smirks, switching to lateral raises with a pair of dumbbells. “I bet. He’s head over heels for you—it’s obvious. You lucked out, girl.” She glances at Eunbi out of the corner of her eye. “And he’s cute. Just saying.”

Eunbi snorts, picking up her own weights and joining in on the raises. “Don’t let him hear you say that. His ego’s big enough already.”

“Mm, doubt it. He seems too grounded for that,” Somi says, her voice casual but carrying a playful undertone. She pauses, lowering the dumbbells. “But seriously, Eunbi… I’m glad you’ve got someone like him in your corner. Relationships are hard enough without the added… unique challenges of your job.”

Eunbi sets the weights down, exhaling as she stretches her arms over her head. “Yeah. It’s not always easy, but we make it work. Honestly, he’s been a lifesaver. I don’t think I could do this without him.”

Somi’s expression softens, and she leans against the rack, studying Eunbi for a moment. “You’re lucky. But so is he. You’ve always been brave, you know? Even when you first started… this whole thing, you owned it. And look where you are now.”

Eunbi chuckles, a hint of shyness creeping into her tone. “I don’t know if I’d call it brave. More like… desperate with a side of cluelessness.”

“Stop it.” Somi nudges her shoulder with a laugh. “You’ve got guts, and I respect that. Honestly, it’s inspiring. And maybe… I’ve been thinking about trying it, too.”

Eunbi freezes mid-stretch, blinking at Somi. “Wait. What?”

Somi shrugs, her braid bouncing. “Not, like, diving headfirst or anything. But I’ve been curious. You make it look fun. Plus…” She hesitates, glancing at Eunbi with a mischievous glint in her eye. “You and your boyfriend are both… ridiculously attractive. Just throwing that out there.”

Eunbi bursts out laughing, bending over to catch her breath. “Oh my god, Somi. Are you serious right now?”

“What?” Somi grins, unrepentant. “I’m just saying. If you ever wanted to collaborate… you know I’m game.”

Eunbi straightens, still laughing but with a faint blush creeping across her cheeks. “You’re insane. But I’ll… keep that in mind.”

Somi winks, picking up her dumbbells again. “You do that, princess. Now, come on. We’ve got one more set to crush.”

The two of them dive back into their workout, the conversation hanging in the air like a secret they’re both in on. It’s become routine now—Eunbi and Somi hitting the gym together, sweating it out between sets, always slipping into these raw, intimate talks where the masks drop. They’re best friends, no bullshit, just two girls who get each other completely. The gym’s their safe zone, a sweaty, clangy haven where they can flex their muscles and their honesty, laughing about life, love, and whatever wild ideas Somi’s cooking up next—no judgment, just vibes.

—

The door bursts open, and Eunbi and Somi stumble in, laughing so hard they’re practically leaning on each other for support. Both are flushed from the workout, faces glowing and slightly damp, strands of hair sticking to their foreheads. Eunbi kicks off her sneakers near the door without looking, while Somi collapses onto the couch, her braid swaying as she falls back with a dramatic groan.

You’re in the middle of wiping down the coffee table, a damp cloth in one hand and a spray bottle in the other. The faint scent of citrus cleaner fills the room. You glance up, eyebrows raised, as the two whirlwind into the apartment like they were in a park.

“Well, look at you,” Somi says with a teasing grin, sitting up and gesturing toward you with a lazy wave of her hand. “The perfect house boyfriend. Cleaning up while we’re out breaking a sweat. It’s adorable, really.”

Eunbi, still giggling, grabs a water bottle from the counter and takes a long sip before pointing at you with mock sternness. “Seriously, babe. You’re making the rest of us look bad. Stop being so domestic—it’s embarrassing.”

You straighten, crossing your arms, cloth dangling from one hand. “Excuse me for trying to keep this place from becoming a pigsty. Somebody’s got to do it.”

Somi leans forward, her elbow resting on her knee, and gives you a sly look. “Somebody’s gotta earn that ‘house boyfriend’ title, huh?”

Eunbi snickers, joining in as she sets her water bottle down. “He’s good at it, though. I should get him an apron.”

“I draw the line at aprons,” you deadpan, but there’s a flicker of amusement in your tone.

The laughter dies down, but there’s something in the air now—a faint charge, like static before a storm. You catch a glance between Eunbi and Somi, quick and loaded, followed by matching smirks. Suspicious. Very suspicious.

“What?” you ask, narrowing your eyes.

“Nothing,” Eunbi says, her tone light but her face too innocent. She grabs Somi by the arm, dragging her toward the kitchen. “Come on, let’s make a snack before this ‘house boyfriend’ kicks us out for dripping sweat everywhere.”

You watch them disappear into the kitchen, your gaze lingering as they start pulling things from the fridge. There’s something about the way they move around each other, the subtle touches and shared grins. You shake your head, trying to dismiss it, but the thought sticks.

As you finish wiping the table, you hear Eunbi’s voice, quiet but not quiet enough to miss.

“So, should I tell him, or do you want to?”

Somi laughs. “Oh, I think you should warm him up first. Wouldn’t want to scare him off.”

Now you’re curious—and a little uneasy. You toss the cloth and spray bottle onto the counter and make your way toward the kitchen.

Eunbi’s standing by the cutting board, slicing apples, while Somi leans against the counter, munching on a carrot stick like it’s a cigarette. They both glance up when you walk in, and there’s that same look between them again.

“Alright,” you say, leaning against the doorway with your arms crossed. “What’s going on?”

Eunbi pauses mid-slice, looking at Somi for a beat before turning to you with a sheepish smile. “Okay, so… Somi said something interesting at the gym.”

“Interesting how?”

Eunbi sets down the knife and crosses her arms, mirroring your stance. “She said she might want to… collaborate with us. Like, on a video.”

“She wants what?”

Somi steps in, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. “I mean, no pressure or anything. I just thought… you two are obviously comfortable with this stuff, and I’ve been curious. Plus…” She shrugs, flashing you a playful grin. “You’re cute. She’s cute. It seemed like a no-brainer.”

You blink, your mind scrambling to process this new development. “Uh… Somi, you’re… a friend. This is kind of… unexpected.”

Somi laughs, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her face. “Oh, I get it. It’s weird, right? But hey, Yujin wasn’t exactly a stranger, was she?”

“That’s… different,” you say, struggling to find the words.

“Why? Because I know you better?” Somi steps closer, her smile softening. “Look, I’m not saying you have to decide right now. Just… consider it, okay?”

Before you can respond, she leans in, planting a quick kiss on Eunbi’s cheek, then yours. It’s light, playful, and far more disarming than it has any right to be.

Eunbi’s face lights up, a mix of amusement and something more as she watches your reaction. “Wow,” she says, nudging you with her elbow. “Looks like someone’s had their eye on us, huh?”

Somi winks, grabbing an apple slice from the cutting board. “What can I say? You two are hard to ignore.”

Eunbi laughs, her hand brushing yours as she reaches for another apple slice. “Well, babe, what do you think? Somi’s always been bold, but this might be her boldest move yet.”

You glance between them, the weight of their playful smiles making your head spin. “I… think I need to sit down,” you mutter, rubbing the back of your neck.

Somi’s laugh rings out, warm and teasing. “Take your time, house boyfriend. No rush. I’ll just… let that idea simmer for a bit.”

Eunbi grins, handing you an apple slice like it’s a peace offering. “Welcome to my world, babe. It’s never boring.”

You take the apple, biting into it as you watch the two of them exchange another loaded look.

Never boring, indeed.

—

Eunbi starts planting the idea subtly, like she’s threading a needle through the gaps in your resolve, pulling the thread just tight enough to make you notice but not enough to make you pull away. It starts with offhand comments, playful teases wrapped in casual conversation.

“You know,” she muses one night, sprawled out on your chest while idly scrolling through her phone, “Somi’s got this unreal body. Like, actually unfair.”

You glance down at her, raising a brow. “And this is relevant to me because…?”

She tilts her head up, lips twitching with amusement. “Because you have eyes? And also because I know you like a nice tight ass, and hers is—well, come on.” She flicks her screen, and suddenly, she’s holding it up to you, a picture of Somi in a tiny bikini dominating the screen. The straps are minimal, the fit snug, every curve accentuated by the sun-kissed glow of her skin, especially the cleavage of her breasts—god, those breasts...

You swallow. Hard.

“Okay,” you admit, trying to play it cool. “She’s hot. What’s your point?”

Eunbi grins, sensing the crack in your composure. She flips to another picture—this time, one of her and Somi at the gym, both clad in skin-tight leggings that leave little to the imagination. Somi’s in navy blue, Eunbi in lavender, their toned legs and hips pressed close together as they pose in the mirror.

Your fingers tighten slightly around your phone. Eunbi notices.

“My point,” she continues, voice smooth as silk, “is that we’d look good together. Don’t you think?”

You exhale, pressing your head back against the pillow. “I think you like messing with me.”

She laughs, her breath warm against your collarbone as she shifts, draping herself over you like a cat basking in its favorite spot. “Obviously. But I also know you. And I know you’ve thought about it.”

Your silence is answer enough.

Eunbi doesn’t rush you—she never does. She lets the idea marinate, simmering on the edges of your thoughts, dropping little breadcrumbs every so often. A comment here, a lingering glance there. One night, she casually asks, “Wasn’t it fun with Yujin?” as she trails kisses down your neck. Another time, she accidentally leaves her phone unlocked on the bed, a chat with Somi open—Somi, who’s sent a winking selfie captioned, “So when are we making this happen? 😘”

You pretend not to see it.

But pretending doesn’t stop the thoughts. It doesn’t stop the way you start noticing Somi more—the way her tank tops ride up when she stretches, exposing that sliver of taut stomach. The way she playfully bumps your shoulder when she walks past, always just a little too close. The way her laughter lingers a second longer when she catches you watching her.

Then comes the night Eunbi corners you—figuratively, of course. She’s sitting in your lap, straddling you, fingers tracing lazy patterns over your shoulders.

“Babe,” she murmurs, lips inches from yours, “are you really gonna make me beg?”

You exhale slowly, hands gripping her waist. “This is crazy.”

She tilts her head. “Is it? You trust me, don’t you?”

That question hangs between you, heavier than the warmth of her body against yours. Of course, you trust her. That was never the issue. The issue was the part of you that already knew where this was heading.

You take a breath, slow and measured, but the weight of Eunbi’s gaze makes it feel shallow, like there’s not enough air in the room. She’s watching you, waiting, her fingers still tracing those absentminded patterns along your shoulders, nails just barely grazing your skin.

And then, finally, you exhale.

“…Yeah,” you admit. “I do.”

Eunbi’s lips curl into something victorious, but not smug—no, this is softer, warmer. She cradles your face in her hands, thumbs brushing against your cheekbones as she studies you like she’s memorizing this moment.

“See?” she murmurs. “That wasn’t so hard.”

You huff out a laugh. “Says the woman who spent weeks working me over.”

She grins, pressing a teasing kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You say that like you didn’t enjoy it.”

Your grip on her waist tightens slightly, enough for her to notice, enough for her to smirk as she leans in again, lips barely brushing yours as she whispers, “It’s gonna be fun.”

—

So the day finally arrives.

You're in your room, eyes glued to the laptop screen, hunched over the desk, a spreadsheet open, cells filled with numbers that look like they’re mocking you with their sheer volume. Eunbi’s earnings have skyrocketed since she started streaming, and between that and her other content, the bank account has become a lot healthier than you ever expected. It’s great—amazing, really—but it’s also overwhelming.

You mutter under your breath, adjusting a formula that doesn’t seem to want to cooperate. Managing finances was never something you planned on doing full-time, but here you are, crunching numbers like you’re auditioning for an accountant job you don’t want.

The faint sound of Eunbi’s voice filters in from the living room, energetic and full of life as she wraps up another stream. You smile, proud of her. She’s thriving, and you love helping her behind the scenes, but… there’s still that nagging feeling. The one that whispers you’re not doing enough, even though she’s insisted a million times that you’re her rock, her partner, her everything.

Before you can spiral too deep into your thoughts, the door swings open with zero warning, and in walks Somi. No knock, no announcement—just an entrance like she owns the place. Her damp braided blonde hair clings to her shoulders, and she’s wearing what you generously call pajamas: a loose tank top that barely clings to her chest and shorts so tiny they might as well be a suggestion rather than clothing.

“Hey, house boyfriend,” she says, flopping onto the bed like a cat claiming territory. “What’s got you all serious in here?”

You glance up, trying not to let your gaze linger too long on the way her tank top shifts as she settles in. “Numbers. Money stuff. Trying to figure out what to do with all this cash Eunbi’s making.”

Somi tilts her head, propping herself up on one elbow. “Ooh, let me guess. She’s still hopeless with money?”

“Completely,” you reply, smirking despite yourself. “She tried to tell me her budget was ‘don’t buy anything unless it’s on sale.’”

Somi bursts out laughing. “Classic Eunbi. So what’s the plan? Stash it under the mattress? Blow it all on RGB lights?”

“Ha. Ha,” you say dryly, gesturing at the screen. “I was thinking investments. Something stable but with a decent return. Problem is, I’m stuck on this formula, and Google’s no help.”

She hops off the bed and strides over, peering over your shoulder. “Let me see.”

You lean back, letting her get a closer look. Her proximity is… distracting. The scent of her shampoo, light and floral, drifts into your space, and her damp hair brushes your arm as she leans in.

“Ah, I see the problem,” she says. “You’re trying to calculate compound interest on a rolling deposit. You need to nest the formula differently.”

You blink. “How do you even know that?”

Somi grins, tapping her temple. “Numbers are my thing. Did Eunbi ever tell you that I made money in high school by doing other students' math homework?”

“No, but now it makes sense why you’re so annoyingly good at everything,” you say, shifting to let her take the keyboard.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she quips, typing away with swift, assured keystrokes. Within seconds, the formula is fixed, and the numbers fall into place like obedient soldiers.

“There. Problem solved,” she says, stepping back with a flourish.

You stare at the screen, genuinely impressed. “Okay, that’s actually amazing. Thanks.”

“Anytime,” she says, flashing you a cheeky smile. “So, what are we investing in? Stocks? Crypto? A small island in the Caribbean?”

“Let’s start with something less risky, like index funds. We can work our way up to the private island.”

Somi nods sagely. “Smart. And when you get the island, don’t forget who helped you make the down payment.”

“Noted,” you say, leaning back in your chair.

She plops back onto the bed, stretching out like she’s lived here her whole life.

“So,” she says, her voice teasing, “you ready for tonight?”

Your fingers hover over the keyboard. “I guess? Still wrapping my head around it, to be honest.”

“Relax,” she says, her tone softening. “It’s just us. Nothing’s going to change. I’m still Somi, Eunbi’s still Eunbi, and you’re still… well, house boyfriend.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” you mutter, but there’s a faint smile on your lips.

She sits up, her expression unusually earnest. “I mean it. You don’t have to overthink this. We’re friends first, okay? The rest is just… extra.”

You nod. “Okay. Thanks, Somi.”

“Don’t mention it,” she says, standing and stretching, her arms reaching above her head. She catches your gaze for a moment, a playful glint in her eye. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to raid your fridge. Got to fuel up for the big night.”

She saunters out, leaving the faint scent of her shampoo behind. You exhale, staring at the now-organized spreadsheet. Somi might be right about not overthinking, but something tells you this night is going to be anything but ordinary.

The hours pass and you’re sprawled out in your room when the door swings open with that familiar creak. Eunbi struts in, and fuck, she’s got that look—like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. Her oversized hoodie’s slipping off one shoulder like always, showing off that thin strap of her tank top, and those soft black shorts are riding up just enough to make your brain short-circuit. She’s got this sultry little smirk, all suggestive and playful, as she leans against the doorframe. “Everything’s set for the recording,” she says, like she’s dangling something you can’t resist. You push yourself up from the chair, stretching a little, but there’s this hesitant buzz in your chest—like you’re excited but still wrapping your head around what’s about to go down. “How’d the stream go?” you ask, scratching the back of your neck, trying to play it cool. She lights up, bouncing on her toes. “Oh my god, it was awesome. Chat was hyped, I had a blast, and The Last of Us? I’m obsessed. Joel’s breaking my heart every five minutes.” Her energy’s infectious, and you can’t help but grin—she’s killing it, and you’re genuinely stoked for her. She steps closer, grabs your face with both hands, and plants a soft, quick kiss on your lips. “You okay, babe?” she asks, tilting her head, those big eyes searching yours. “Yeah, I’m good,” you say, nodding, and it’s true, even if your pulse is kicking up a notch. She flashes you that smile that always melts you, grabs your hand, and tugs you toward her room like she’s on a mission.

You follow her down the hall, her fingers laced with yours, and when you step into her space, it’s like walking into a different world. The RGB lights are dialed up, casting a soft purple-red glow over everything, and her streaming setup’s still warm from earlier. Somi’s perched on a stool by the desk, finishing her makeup, a little compact mirror in one hand and a fluffy brush in the other. She’s still rocking that barely-there tank top, the fabric stretched tight over her chest, and those tiny shorts that leave nothing to the imagination. Her blonde hair’s loose now, falling over her shoulders in messy waves, and when she spots you, her face lights up like she’s been waiting for this all day. “There’s our star,” she says, tossing the brush down and hopping off the stool, all long legs and confidence. You give her a half-smile, feeling the air shift—thicker, heavier with whatever’s about to happen. You head over to the camera on its tripod, double-checking the battery. Green light’s solid—plenty of juice. Everything’s good to go, and you drop onto the edge of the mattress, rubbing your hands on your jeans, trying to shake off that nervous edge.

Eunbi doesn’t waste a second—she slides right onto your lap, straddling you, her thighs pressing against your hips. The weight of her feels so fucking good, familiar but electric with the vibe in the room. Somi plops down next to you, close enough that her bare knee brushes yours, and she leans in with this sly little grin. “Alright, let’s break the ice,” she says. Before you can even process it, Eunbi turns her head, grabs Somi by the neck, and pulls her into a kiss. Holy shit—it’s hot. Like, instantly hot. They’re both gorgeous, lips soft and glossy, moving against each other like they’ve done this a million times, even though you know they’re just good friends pushing boundaries. Eunbi’s hands slide up Somi’s arms, then cup her massive tits through that flimsy tank top, squeezing just enough to make Somi moan into her mouth—a low, needy sound that hits you right in the gut. You can see Somi’s nipples hardening, poking through the fabric, and your jeans are getting tight as hell. Your cock’s waking up fast, straining against the zipper, and you shift a little under Eunbi, trying to play it off, but she’s gotta feel it.

Somi’s not holding back either—her hands slip under Eunbi’s hoodie, pushing it up to expose the smooth curve of her waist and the edge of her tank top. She grabs Eunbi’s tits, thumbs brushing over where her nipples are probably hard as fuck under the layers, and Eunbi lets out this breathy little gasp that makes your head spin. The hoodie’s bunched up now, showing off her flat stomach, and the way they’re groping each other is straight-up pornographic—except it’s real, and it’s happening two feet from you. They break the kiss, both of them flushed, lips shiny with spit, and Eunbi turns to you, cheeks pink, eyes dark. “What’d you think, babe?” she asks, voice all husky. You swallow hard, throat dry as fuck. “Yeah, uh, I liked it,” you manage, and she smirks, shifting her hips just enough to grind against your boner. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and that smile says she’s loving every second of it.

Then Somi leans in, her hand resting on your thigh—way too close to your dick—and says, “My turn.” Before you can even think, her lips are on yours, soft and warm and tasting faintly of cherry lip gloss. You’re so fucking horny it’s ridiculous, and you kiss her back harder than you mean to, tongue slipping into her mouth, hands grabbing her waist on instinct. She’s pressing herself against you, her tits squished against your chest, and it’s like every nerve in your body’s on fire. Eunbi’s still on your lap, watching with this mesmerized, horny-as-hell look, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Somi pulls back, breathing fast, and you’re both a little wrecked—her hair’s a mess from your fingers, and you’re pretty sure your brain’s offline. Eunbi’s voice cuts through the haze, soft and teasing. “So? What’d you think of that?” You’re panting a little, cock throbbing under her weight. “Fuck, I liked it,” you say, and she giggles, leaning in to give you a quick, sloppy kiss—more tongue than necessary, like she’s staking her claim.

She slides off your lap, adjusting her hoodie, and claps her hands together. “Alright, we’re ready to start filming,” she says, all business now, but her eyes are still gleaming with lust. Somi’s smirking, wiping a smudge of gloss from the corner of her mouth, and you’re just sitting there, hard as a rock, trying to catch your breath.

Eunbi’s got that glint in her eye as she picks up the camera from the tripod, her fingers brushing yours as she hands it over. “You’re on POV duty, babe,” she says. The weight of the camera settles in your hands, solid and real, and you adjust your grip, already picturing how this is gonna look through the lens. Somi’s rummaging through the little box of props by the desk, pulling out this old black masquerade mask—the one Eunbi used to wear back when she was still anonymous. Somi slips it over her eyes, the elastic snapping into place, and it’s just these two thin straps of fabric cutting across her face, leaving her mouth and jaw exposed. The way it frames her cheekbones and makes her lips pop is unreal. Eunbi steps back, tilting her head to check her out, and grins. “Fuck, you look sexy as hell like that,” she says, all casual like she’s complimenting Somi’s gym outfit or something. Somi strikes a little pose, popping her hip, and smirks. “Yeah? Good, ‘cause I’m ready to fuck shit up.”

You adjust yourself on the edge of the bed, legs dangling, the mattress dipping under your weight. The camera’s in your hands, lens pointed down at your lap for now, and you can feel your pulse hammering in your throat. “Alright, I’m gonna start recording,” you say, thumb hovering over the button. Your voice comes out steadier than you feel, which is a minor miracle. You hit record, and the little red light blinks on. Eunbi and Somi drop to their knees between your legs, smooth and synced like they’ve rehearsed this shit. The carpet’s soft under their knees, and the RGB lights paint their skin in shifting hues—purple bleeding into red, then blue. Eunbi’s hoodie’s still bunched up from earlier, showing off that sliver of her stomach, and Somi’s tank top is clinging to her curves, the mask giving her this mysterious, badass vibe. You angle the camera down, framing them just right, their faces filling the shot.

Eunbi kicks things off, leaning into the mic moment like she’s still streaming to her chat. “Hey, everyone,” she says, all bright and charismatic, her voice slipping into that flirty, playful tone she’s perfected. “Got a special treat for you tonight. Say hi to my gorgeous friend here—she’s joining us for some fun.” She gestures at Somi, who flashes a wicked grin, lips glossy and parted. “Hey, y’all,” Somi says, her voice low and raspy, dripping with excitement. “I’m fucking pumped to be here—let’s make it a good one.” She doesn’t say her name, obviously—Eunbi’s keeping it vague, letting the mask and the vibe do the talking. The camera catches every detail: the way Eunbi’s hair falls messily over her shoulders, the slight sheen of sweat on Somi’s collarbone, the way their knees press into the carpet as they shift closer to you.

Eunbi’s hands move first, reaching for your belt with this practiced ease. The metal clinks as she unbuckles it, her fingers brushing your stomach through your shirt, sending a jolt straight to your dick. Somi’s right there with her, tugging at the button of your jeans, popping it open with a little flick. “Teamwork makes the dream work,” Somi mutters under her breath, and Eunbi snickers, the sound all throaty and real. They yank your jeans down together, a little rougher than necessary, the denim scraping against your thighs as it slides off. Your boxers go next—Somi hooks her fingers in the waistband and pulls, slow and deliberate, like she’s unwrapping something she’s been dying to see. Your cock springs free, already half-hard from all the buildup, and the air feels cool against your skin for about two seconds before their eyes lock on it.

Somi lets out this low whistle, leaning in closer, the mask making her look like some sexy bandit sizing up her prize. “Holy shit, dude,” she says, voice full of awe. “This thing’s even bigger in real life. The videos don’t do it justice.” Eunbi smirks, proud as hell, like she’s showing off her favorite toy. “Told you he’s packing,” she says to Somi, then glances up at you through the lens, winking. Your grip on the camera tightens, trying to keep it steady as they both reach out. Eunbi’s hand wraps around the base, her fingers warm and firm, while Somi’s slides up the side, her touch lighter, almost teasing. They stroke you together, not hard, just enough to make your breath hitch. The sensation’s fucking wild—two different rhythms, two different grips, and you’re already fighting to keep your shit together.

Eunbi leans in first, her tongue darting out to lick the tip, slow and wet, leaving a shiny trail that catches the light. She’s got this way of flicking her tongue that’s pure torture, and you angle the camera down to catch it—her lips hovering, her eyes flicking up at you through her lashes. Somi’s watching her like she’s taking notes, then dives in on the other side, her lips brushing the shaft, soft and sloppy. Her mask shifts a little as she moves, but it stays put, the black fabric stark against her flushed cheeks. They’re working you together now, mouths sliding over your cock like they’re sharing a goddamn meal. Eunbi’s sucking lightly on the head, her cheeks hollowing out, while Somi’s tongue traces a slow, lazy line up the side, her breath hot against your skin. You groan low in your throat, the sound rumbling out before you can stop it, and Eunbi hums in response, the vibration hitting hard.

Somi pulls back for a sec, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, grinning like a kid who just stole candy. “This is fun as hell,” she says, voice all husky, then dives back in, her lips wrapping around the middle while Eunbi works the tip. They’re trading off, syncing up without even trying—Eunbi’s hand stays at the base, pumping slow and steady, while Somi’s tongue swirls around the shaft, messy and wet. Spit’s starting to drip, pooling on the carpet between your legs, and you can hear it—the slick, sloppy sounds mixing with their little gasps and moans. The camera’s catching everything: the way Eunbi’s hair sticks to her neck, the way Somi’s tank top rides up, showing off the curve of her hips, the way your cock glistens under the lights, slick with their spit.

Eunbi pulls off, her lips shiny, and looks up at you—or the camera, really—grinning like she knows she’s driving you insane. “Having fun up there, babe?” she asks, all coy, her hand still stroking you, keeping the pressure just right. Somi doesn’t stop, her mouth sliding lower, kissing and sucking along the base, her mask slipping a tiny bit and you catch a flash of her eyes—dark, wild, loving every second of this. You grunt out a “Fuck yeah,” voice rougher than you mean it to be, and they both laugh, the sound muffled against your skin. Eunbi leans back in, her tongue flattening against the underside, dragging up slow and deliberate, while Somi’s lips meet hers at the top, their mouths brushing each other as they take you in. It’s messy, uncoordinated, and so fucking hot you’re gripping the camera like it’s your lifeline.

Somi’s hand slips under your shirt, nails raking lightly over your stomach, and Eunbi’s free hand digs into your thigh, grounding herself as she works you harder. They’re all in—knees pressed into the carpet, bodies leaning into you, mouths and hands everywhere. The camera shakes a little in your grip, but you keep it focused, the POV lens is drinking it all in, every filthy detail lit up by the shifting RGB glow—purple washing over their skin, then red, then blue, like some horny neon fever dream. Eunbi’s on her knees, her messy bun bouncing slightly as she moves, and Somi’s right there with her, that black masquerade mask sitting snug over her eyes. It’s one of those fancy ones, like you’d see at a ball—curved and sleek, hugging her face, with little swirls cut into the edges that make her look like some mysterious seductress.

Eunbi shifts lower, her hands gripping your thighs as she ducks her head and goes for your balls. Her tongue’s hot and wet, lapping at one, then the other, slow and sloppy like she’s savoring every second. She sucks one into her mouth, gentle at first, then harder, her cheeks hollowing out as she pulls just enough to make your breath catch. The sensation’s insane—warm and tight, her spit dripping down. She’s humming against you, this low, needy sound that vibrates straight up your spine, and you can’t help but groan, the noise rough and loud in the quiet room. The camera catches her from above—her hoodie’s still on, bunched up around her shoulders, and her eyes flick up at you through the lens, dark and teasing, like she knows she’s got you by the balls, literally.

Somi’s up higher, her hands wrapped around your cock, stroking it slow and deliberate while her mouth does the real damage. She’s in love with it, you can tell—her lips slide over the shaft, kissing it like it’s her favorite thing in the world, her tongue darting out to trace every inch. She’s messy with it, spit bubbling at the corners of her mouth, dripping down her chin as she works you. That masquerade mask makes her look dangerous, the black fabric stark against her flushed skin, and when she pulls back for a sec, panting, she grins up at you. “Fuck, this thing’s a masterpiece,” she says, before diving back in. Her tongue swirls around the tip, flicking over the slit, and your hips jerk involuntarily, pushing deeper into her mouth. She moans around you, encouraging it, her hands pumping the base while her lips suck you down, wet and tight.

They’re a fucking team, trading off like they’ve got a playbook. Eunbi’s still sucking your balls, her tongue rolling over them now, sloppy and warm, while Somi’s got your cock in a death grip with her mouth. Then they switch it up—Eunbi pulls back, licking her lips, and Somi dips lower, kissing along the base while Eunbi’s hand takes over the shaft, stroking you fast and slick. The camera’s shaking a little in your hands, but you keep it locked on them, catching the way Somi’s mask slips just a fraction, and the way Eunbi’s hoodie rides up, flashing more of her stomach. It’s raw, chaotic, and so damn hot your head’s spinning.

Then they do something that nearly fucking kills you. Eunbi slides up, her mouth brushing the side of your cock, and Somi leans in from the other side. They sandwich the tip between their lips, kissing each other around it, their tongues tangling as they slide over you. It’s wet, messy, and loud—spit everywhere, their moans mixing with the slick sounds of their mouths working you over. Eunbi’s tongue flicks against Somi’s, then against you, and Somi’s sucking hard on one side while Eunbi mirrors her on the other. Your cock’s trapped in this perfect, sloppy vise, and you can’t hold back the moan that rips out of you—low and guttural, echoing in the room. The camera catches it all: their lips pressed together, your tip caught in the middle, glistening with their spit, the RGB lights painting their faces in streaks of color.

They keep going, relentless, their mouths sliding back and forth, trading sides, kissing around you like they’re starving for it. Eunbi’s hands dig into your thighs, nails leaving little half-moons in your skin, while Somi’s fingers tease the base of your cock, brushing your balls every now and then, sending jolts through you. Your dick’s soaked now, dripping with their spit, slick and shiny under the lights. Eunbi pulls back for a sec, wiping her mouth with her sleeve, her eyes glinting up at you. “Look at that,” she says, smirking, nodding at your cock like it’s some kind of trophy. Somi giggles, her mask shifting as she leans back, her chin wet and gleaming. “Yeah, we fucking drenched it,” she says, sounding proud as hell.

Eunbi sits back on her heels, grabbing the hem of her hoodie and yanking it over her head in one smooth motion. It lands in a heap on the floor, leaving her in that white tank top, the fabric stretched tight over her tits, puffy nipples poking through like she’s been hard this whole time. Somi follows suit, peeling off her tank top and tossing it aside—her massive chest bounces free, skin flushed from the heat of the room, and she adjusts her masquerade mask like it’s a crown, smirking at you through the lens. They’re both kneeling there, their bodies glistening with a light sheen of sweat, ready to take it up a notch. You lower the camera slightly, framing their tits in the shot, knowing damn well they’re about to give you a titjob that’ll blow your fucking mind.

Then Eunbi’s hands move to the bottom of her white tank top, fingers curling under the hem. She peels it up slow, teasing, like she’s putting on a show just for you—and the lens. The fabric stretches, then slides over her head, her massive tits bouncing free as she tosses it aside. They’re fucking huge, round and heavy, nipples hard and pink against her pale skin, catching the shifting RGB lights—purple, red, blue—like some kind of pornographic kaleidoscope.

Eunbi shifts closer, her knees digging into the carpet, and she leans in, cupping her tits with both hands. “Ready for this, babe?” she asks, eyes locked on yours through the camera. You nod, swallowing hard, your cock twitching at the sight of her. “Fuck yeah, I am,” you say, voice rough, already imagining how those soft, warm mounds are gonna feel. She smirks, adjusting her grip, and presses her tits together, sliding your slick, spit-soaked dick right into the valley between them. The first touch is insane—soft, plush, and hot, her skin wrapping around you like a glove. It's a feeling that always surprises you, no matter how many times you've experienced it. She starts moving, slow at first, bouncing her tits up and down, the friction building as your cock slides through. It’s wet from all their spit, slick and slippery, and the sound—fuck, it’s filthy, this soft, squishing noise every time she squeezes you tighter.

“Goddamn, babe,” you groan, angling the camera to catch every bounce, the way her tits jiggle and press against each other, trapping you in that perfect pocket. She giggles, low and dirty, loving how wrecked you sound. “Feels good, huh? My big fucking tits all over your dick?” she teases, picking up the pace, her nipples brushing your stomach every time she dips down. You’re losing it a little, hips twitching up to meet her, and she moans softly, getting off on how much you’re into it. “Yeah, babe, fuck my tits,” she murmurs, squeezing them harder, her thumbs brushing her own nipples like she’s teasing herself too. The camera’s catching it all—her flushed cheeks, the way her hair swings, the little beads of sweat starting to dot her chest. You’re in heaven, no lie, those massive, soft mounds swallowing your cock like they were made for it.

Somi’s watching from the side, her own hands drifting to her chest, kneading her tits absentmindedly as she bites her lip. “Shit, that’s hot,” she says, voice all breathy, her mask slipping a tiny bit as she leans closer. Eunbi glances over at her, smirking, and slows down, letting your cock slip free for a second. “Your turn,” she says, scooting over, her tits still heaving from the effort. Somi doesn’t hesitate—she shuffles into place, long legs folding under her, and grabs her own breasts, pushing them together. Hers are just as big as Eunbi’s, maybe a little perkier, with darker nipples that stand out against her flushed skin. She wraps them around your cock, and fuck, it’s a different kind of tight—firmer, her skin cooler from the air, but still so damn soft. She starts moving, quick and eager, her tits bouncing hard as she slides you in and out.

“Holy fuck,” you groan, head tipping back for a sec before you force yourself to focus on the camera again. The POV shot’s gold—her masked face tilted down, lips parted as she pants, blonde hair swinging, and those huge tits working you like a machine. “You like this, huh?” she says, grinning up at you, her voice all teasing and sharp. “My fat tits fucking your big dick? Better than you dreamed, right?” She squeezes tighter, and you hiss, the pressure insane, your cock disappearing completely between her mounds every time she pushes up. “Fuck yes,” you manage, voice tight, “you’re killing me with those things.” She laughs, throaty and smug, and leans forward more, letting the tip of your cock peek out at the top, brushing her chin. “Good,” she says, “I wanna ruin you for anything else.”

Eunbi’s shifted to the side now, kneeling close, her eyes glued to Somi’s tits bouncing around your cock. She’s biting her lip hard, one hand slipping under her shorts, rubbing herself through the fabric. “Fuck, babe,” she breathes, voice shaky with heat, “you look so good like that. Somi’s tits are eating you alive.” She’s horny as hell, you can tell—her cheeks are red, her breathing’s all over the place, and the way she’s touching herself is making her squirm. “You loving this?” she asks, leaning in to kiss your neck, her lips hot and wet against your skin. “Yeah, fuck, I’m losing my mind,” you say as Somi keeps going, her pace relentless. Eunbi moans against your neck, her hand moving faster under her shorts. “God, I love watching her fuck you with those,” she whispers, her tongue flicking out to taste your skin.

Somi slows down a little, teasing now, letting your cock slide out halfway before burying it back between her tits. “You’re so fucking hard,” she says, looking up at you through that mask, her eyes dark and wild. “These big-ass tits making you crazy?” She jiggles them a little, playful, and you can’t help but laugh, wrecked as you are. “Yeah, Somi, they’re fucking unreal,” you say, and she beams, proud as hell, picking up the pace again. The camera’s shaking more now, your hands unsteady, but you keep it on her—those bouncing mounds, the way her skin glistens with sweat, the little smirk she throws you every time she catches you staring.

Eunbi’s practically panting now, her hand moving in tight little circles under her shorts, her other hand reaching out to grab Somi’s arm. “Switch back,” she says, voice needy, almost desperate. Somi pulls back, letting your cock spring free, slick and shiny from all the spit and sweat, and Eunbi’s on it in a heartbeat. She presses her tits around you again, faster this time, her movements hungry. “Missed this,” she mutters, her voice all breathy as she works you, her nipples dragging against your stomach. “Love feeling you between my tits, babe.” You groan, the heat of her skin driving you wild. “Fuck, you’re so good at this,” you say, and she grins, all smug and turned on, her tits squeezing you tighter.

Somi’s not just watching anymore—she’s leaning in, whispering in your ear, her breath hot against your skin. “Bet you could fuck these tits all day, huh? Me and her fighting over your dick like this?” Her hand brushes your thigh, teasing close to your balls, and you’re so wound up it’s a miracle you’re still holding the camera. “Yeah, shit, I could,” you say, voice cracking, and they both laugh, loving how gone you are. Eunbi slows down, dragging it out, her tits sliding up and down so slow you can feel every inch of her. “You’re ours tonight,” she says, looking up at you, her eyes dark and possessive through the lens. Somi chimes in, “Damn right,” her fingers tracing little patterns on your leg, keeping you on edge.

It’s too much—those two massive pairs of tits, the teasing, the way they’re feeding off each other’s energy. You’re drowning in it, loving every second of their soft, warm skin all over you, their dirty talk bouncing around your head like a fucking echo chamber. The camera’s still rolling, capturing every bounce, every squeeze, and you’re just trying to hang on, lost in the best kind of chaos.

But Eunbi got this sixth sense about you—knows you’re teetering right on the edge, your breaths getting ragged, your grip on the camera tightening like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. She stops slowly, deliberate and torturous, letting your dick slip out inch by inch until it’s just resting between her breasts, throbbing against her warm skin. “Alright, babe, think we’ve teased you enough with these,” she says, giving her tits one last squeeze around you before letting go. Your cock springs free, hard as steel, and she sits back on her heels, smirking up at you through the lens ‘cause she knows she’s got you on the edge.

You clear your throat and stand up, legs a little shaky from the buildup. “Alright, ladies, on all fours.” Eunbi and Somi don’t even blink—they’re already peeling off what’s left of their clothes. Eunbi kicks her soft black shorts to the floor, revealing those curvy hips and thick thighs, her pussy glistening under the lights. Somi shimmies out of her tiny pink shorts, tossing them aside with a flick of her long legs, her tighter, rounder ass popping as she stretches out. They scramble onto the bed, giggling and shoving each other playfully, then settle on all fours, side by side, asses up and ready. The mattress creaks under their weight, and you adjust the camera angle again, ready to record every damn second of this.

You step closer, taking it all in. Somi’s taller, her body more defined—long, lean legs leading up to that firm, sculpted ass, tight and high like she’s been squatting for years. Her pussy’s peeking out, wet and pink, framed by those sharp tan lines from the gym. Eunbi’s softer, all curves and plushness, her ass rounder and juicier, jiggling a little as she shifts her weight. Her skin’s pale and smooth, her pussy just as soaked, lips puffy and begging for it. You can’t resist—your free hand swings down, smacking Somi’s ass first, the crack echoing in the room. She yelps, then moans, arching her back more. Then you slap Eunbi’s, harder than you meant to, and she gasps, her flesh rippling under your palm. “Fuck, babe,” she mutters, glancing back at you with a smirk.

“So,” you say, voice rough, camera panning over their perfect lineup, “who’s first?” Eunbi tilts her head, her messy bun wobbling as she nods toward Somi. “Guest gets the honors,” she says, all generous and teasing, her eyes flicking to Somi’s ass like she’s proud to share. Somi wiggles her hips, looking back at you through the mask, grinning. “Yeah, come on, big guy. Let’s see what you’ve got.” You don’t need more invitation than that. You step up behind Somi, lining yourself up, the camera in one hand catching the way her pussy shines, already dripping from the buildup. You grab her hip with your free hand, steadying her, and slide the tip of your cock along her slit—slow, teasing, feeling how wet she is. She shivers, pushing back against you, impatient. “Fuck, don’t play with me,” she groans, and you laugh, low and dirty, before pushing in.

Her pussy’s tight, hot, clamping around you as you sink in deep, inch by inch. The stretch is fucking unreal, her walls gripping you like a vise, and you groan loud, the sound bouncing off the walls. The camera’s right there, POV perfect, catching the way her ass presses against your hips, the little dimples in her lower back flexing as she adjusts. “Holy shit,” you mutter, pulling back slow, watching your cock slide out, slick and shiny, before slamming back in. She moans, sharp and needy, her elbows digging into the bed as she rocks back to meet you. “Yeah, fuck me hard,” she says, and you oblige, picking up the pace, the slap of skin on skin filling the room. Her ass jiggles with every thrust, tight and round, and you smack it again, leaving a red handprint that the camera zooms in on. She’s loud—gasping, cursing, loving every second—and you’re losing yourself in it, hips snapping, the wet squelch of her pussy driving you wild.

Eunbi’s right next to her, watching, her own ass still up, swaying a little like she’s jealous. “Fuck, babe, you’re killing her,” she says, laughing, but there’s heat in her voice, her fingers twitching like she’s dying to touch herself. You pull out of Somi after a few more thrusts, her pussy clenching around nothing as you leave, and she whines, glancing back with a pout. “Don’t stop,” she says, but you’re already moving, shifting over to Eunbi. You know this pussy—soft, warm, familiar—but it’s no less fucking amazing. You line up, camera steady, and push in slow, savoring the way she opens for you, wet and ready. “Oh my god,” she moans, head dropping to the bed, her voice muffled against the sheets. She’s softer inside, her walls fluttering around you, and you grab her hips, pulling her back onto you hard. The camera catches it—the way her ass ripples, the curve of her spine as she arches, her pussy swallowing you whole.

“Fuck, Eunbi, you feel so good,” you say, voice gritty, and she hums in response, pushing back against you, matching your rhythm. Her pussy’s sloppy wet, the sound louder than with Somi, all slick and messy as you fuck her deep. She’s quieter than Somi but just as into it, her breaths hitching every time you bottom out, her fingers clawing at the sheets. You smack her ass too, lighter this time, and she giggles through a moan, glancing back at you. “Harder, babe,” she says, and you give it to her, slamming in so the bed shakes, her curves bouncing under your hand. The camera’s got it all—her soft flesh, the way her pussy grips you, the little beads of sweat rolling down her back.

You can’t choose, though—why should you? You pull out of Eunbi, her groan matching Somi’s earlier one, and slide back into Somi, quick and rough. “Fuck, yes,” Somi gasps, her tighter pussy squeezing you as you pick up where you left off, pounding her hard. The switch is seamless, the camera panning between them as you fuck a little of each, back and forth. Somi’s ass slaps against you, firm and loud, then Eunbi’s softer curves take over, her pussy sucking you in deeper. You’re grunting now, lost in the rhythm, the way their bodies feel so different but so fucking perfect. “You’re both insane,” you say, laughing through a groan, and Somi throws back, “Yeah, and you love it, don’t you?” Eunbi chimes in, “He fucking lives for it—look at him go.”

You keep going, a few thrusts in Somi—her tight, athletic heat—then back to Eunbi’s softer, wetter grip, the camera catching every switch, every angle. Somi’s moaning loud, her mask slipping a bit, while Eunbi’s quieter, panting into the bed, her ass wiggling every time you leave her. You slap both their asses again, just because you can, and they yelp in sync, then laugh, egging you on. “Which pussy you like more, huh?” Somi teases, glancing back, and Eunbi lifts her head, smirking. “Yeah, babe, pick a favorite.” You just groan, shaking your head, too caught up to answer, fucking them both like you’re trying to memorize every inch.

You’re deep in the groove now, the camera trembling in your hand as you pull out of Eunbi’s pussy, her soft, wet heat clinging to you like it doesn’t want to let go. She’s panting into the sheets, ass still up, all plush and inviting, and you’ve got an idea brewing. You shift your grip on the camera, angling it to catch the way her curves glisten under the RGB lights—purple fading into red, her skin slick with sweat. “Babe,” you say, “gonna switch it up.” She glances back, her messy bun half-undone, strands sticking to her neck, and smirks like she knows what’s coming. You line up, the tip of your cock brushing her tight little asshole, and push in slow. She moans loud, this deep, throaty sound that hits you right in the gut, her body tensing for a split second before she relaxes into it. She’s used to this—loves it, even—and you can tell by how easily she takes you, her ass stretching around you, hot and tight as fuck.

“Goddamn, princess,” you grunt, sinking in deeper, the camera catching every inch as you bury yourself in her. Her ass jiggles with the intrusion, soft and round, and she arches her back more, pushing back against you like she’s begging for it. You start fucking her hard, no warm-up needed—she’s already loose enough, her hole gripping you like a vice as you slam into her. The sound’s filthy—skin slapping skin, her moans bouncing off the walls, the bed creaking under the force. “Fuck, yes, babe, pound my ass,” she gasps, her voice all wrecked, fingers clawing at the sheets. You grab her hip with your free hand, digging in, keeping her steady as you rail her, the camera shaking but locked on her bouncing ass, the way it swallows your cock over and over. The RGB lights paint her in streaks of color, her pale skin glowing, sweat beading down her spine.

Somi’s right next to her, still on all fours, her tighter, rounder ass swaying a little like she’s waiting her turn. She’s watching you fuck Eunbi, her masked face turned just enough to catch the action, and you can see the jealousy flaring in her posture—shoulders tense, hips twitching. “Hey,” she says, voice sharp and pouty, “don’t hog him. I want that too.” She wiggles her ass at you, firm and perky, the tan lines from her shorts making it pop even more under the lights. Eunbi laughs through a moan, glancing at Somi. “Greedy bitch,” she teases, but there’s no malice—she’s too caught up in getting her ass pounded. You pull out of Eunbi, slow and deliberate, her hole winking at you as you leave, and she groans, half-protesting, half-catching her breath. “Don’t worry,” you say, smirking, “plenty to go around.”

You shift over to Somi, camera in hand, lining up behind her. Her pussy’s still dripping from earlier, but you’re aiming higher now. You slap her ass first—harder than you did Eunbi’s—and she yelps, then giggles, arching her back to give you better access. “Come on, fuck my ass already,” she says, all impatient and bratty, glancing back through that masquerade mask, her eyes dark and daring. You press the tip of your cock against her asshole, and she tenses, not as used to it as Eunbi, but she’s horny enough from everything else that it’s not a total fight. You push in, slow at first, and she hisses through her teeth, her tight ring stretching around you. “Fuck, that’s big,” she mutters, voice tight, but she doesn’t pull away—instead, she rocks back a little, testing it. You groan, the heat and squeeze insane, tighter than her pussy by a mile, and start moving, shallow thrusts to get her used to it.

“Shit, Somi, you’re so fucking tight,” you say, voice gritty, the camera zoomed in on her ass as you sink deeper. She moans, high and needy, her long legs trembling as she adjusts, her firm cheeks jiggling with every thrust. You pick up the pace, fucking her harder, and she’s louder now, gasping and cursing. “Yeah, fuck me, wreck my ass,” she pants, her bratty tone melting into something desperate. The camera catches it all—her toned back flexing, the way her ass bounces against your hips, the sharp contrast of her tight hole gripping you compared to Eunbi’s softer give. You smack her ass again, leaving another red mark, and she squeals, loving it, pushing back harder.

Eunbi’s not just watching anymore—she’s shifted closer, her hand slipping between her legs, rubbing herself as she stares at you railing Somi. “Fuck, babe, you’re destroying her,” she says, voice breathy and hot, her fingers moving fast. “Looks so good.” You grin, too caught up to reply, and pull out of Somi after a few more thrusts, her ass clenching as you leave, a little gape left behind. She whines, glancing back, but you’re already moving back to Eunbi. “Your turn again,” you say, sliding into her ass easy this time, her body welcoming you like an old friend. She moans loud, her softer curves shaking as you fuck her hard, the camera panning between her jiggling ass and Somi’s tighter frame next to her.

You’re in a rhythm now—fucking Eunbi’s ass for a few deep, brutal thrusts, then switching back to Somi’s, keeping them both on edge. Eunbi’s looser, her hole taking you with this sloppy, wet ease, her moans low and guttural as you pound her. “Fuck, I love your cock in my ass,” she groans, her voice muffled against the bed, her hips rolling back to meet you. Then you’re back in Somi, her tighter grip making you work for it, her gasps sharp and needy as you stretch her out again. “Harder, fuck, make it hurt,” she begs, and you oblige, slamming into her so the bed shakes, her firm ass rippling with every hit. The camera’s catching everything—the way Eunbi’s softer flesh bounces versus Somi’s tight, athletic jiggle, the sweat dripping down their backs, the little red marks blooming on their skin from your hands.

They’re egging each other on now, too. “Look at her take it,” Eunbi says, glancing at Somi, her voice all husky as she rubs herself faster. Somi fires back, “Yeah, well, your ass is swallowing him whole, slut.” They laugh, breathless and wrecked, loving the competition. You keep switching—Eunbi’s plush heat, Somi’s vise-like grip—your hips snapping hard, the room filling with the sound of flesh smacking flesh, their moans blending into this horny symphony. The RGB lights keep shifting, painting their bodies in wild colors, Somi’s mask glinting every time she looks back, Eunbi’s hair a tangled mess swinging with every thrust. You’re grunting, sweating, too caught up to care how shaky the camera gets, just focused on fucking these two perfect asses like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.

But viewers need more. A few more hard pumps and you slow down, giving her ass one last firm squeeze, your fingers sinking into the flesh. “Fuck, babe,” you say, voice rough and winded, “time for you to ride me now.” She moans, low and needy, her head dipping as she catches her breath, her messy bun swaying. You pull out slow, her hole clenching around nothing as you leave, and she glances back with a smirk, knowing what’s next. You shift, placing the camera on the tripod on the side of the bed for a new angle. You go back to bed, lying flat on your back, head propped on a pillow, cock standing tall and slick under the RGB lights. The bed’s a mess, sheets twisted, sweat stains blooming, but you don’t care. Somi and Eunbi are already moving, giggling like they’re plotting something dirty, their naked bodies glowing in the shifting colors—purple, red, blue.

Somi’s first—she straddles you quick, her long legs folding under her, that tight, round ass hovering over your hips. “My turn to fuck you silly,” she says, voice all bratty and hot, grabbing your cock with one hand and lining it up. She sinks down fast, her pussy swallowing you whole, tight and wet and so fucking good you groan loud, hands flying to her hips. She starts riding you hard, no buildup, just straight to it—her ass slapping against your thighs, her massive tits bouncing like crazy, the motion wild and free. The camera’s off to the side, catching her from an angle—those firm mounds jiggling, her toned stomach flexing as she rolls her hips, her blonde hair swinging loose. “Fuck, you’re so big,” she moans, tossing her head back, her mask glinting in the light. “Filling me up—shit, I love this.”

Eunbi’s not just watching—she’s all over you, her hands sliding across your chest, nails raking over your abs like she’s marking territory. “God, look at you,” she murmurs, leaning down, her tongue flicking out to tease your nipple. She sucks it hard, teeth grazing the edge, and you hiss, the sensation sharp and electric. Her fingers dig into your sides, her curvy body pressed close, her breath hot against your skin. “You liking this, babe?” she asks, voice dripping with heat, her lips brushing your ear. “Somi’s tight little pussy fucking you good?” She’s playing with you, egging you on, her hands roaming while Somi keeps bouncing, the slap of skin loud and rhythmic. “Fuck yeah,” you grunt, voice tight, “she’s killing me.” Eunbi laughs, sucking your nipple again, her tongue swirling as Somi rides you harder, her moans getting louder, her tits practically hypnotizing with every bounce.

Somi leans forward, hands braced on your chest, her nails digging in as she grinds down, her pussy clenching around you. “Shit, your cock’s perfect,” she pants, smirking through the mask. “Eunbi’s lucky she gets this all the time—bet she brags about it.” Eunbi pulls back from your nipple, grinning up at Somi. “Damn right I do,” she says, all smug. “He fucks me so good—wait ‘til you see him wreck me next.” Somi laughs, breathless, her hips slamming down faster. “Oh, I’m watching, bitch—gonna steal some moves.” Their dirty talk’s bouncing around you, filthy and raw, and you’re just soaking it in, hands gripping Somi’s hips tighter as she rides you like she’s trying to break you.

Then it’s Eunbi’s turn. Somi slows down, reluctantly climbing off, her pussy leaving you slick and throbbing as she flops beside you, panting. “Your girlfriend’s up,” she says, smirking, brushing her sweaty hair back. Eunbi straddles you quick, her softer, curvier frame settling over your hips, her big tits swaying as she gets comfy. She grabs your cock, guiding it to her pussy, and sinks down slow, letting out this long, shaky moan as you fill her up. “Fuck, babe,” she breathes, her voice all soft and needy, “always so good.” She starts riding you, her movements smoother than Somi’s, her hips rolling in deep, lazy circles that make her massive tits bounce, heavy and full. The camera’s still catching it—the way they jiggle, her nipples hard and pink, her pale skin glowing under the lights.

Somi’s not idle—she shifts closer, her hand sliding up Eunbi’s thigh, then leaning in to suck on one of her bouncing tits. Her lips wrap around the nipple, loud and wet, sucking hard as Eunbi moans sharper, her rhythm faltering for a sec. “Oh fuck,” Eunbi gasps, her hands tangling in Somi’s blonde hair, pulling her closer. Somi pulls back just enough to talk, her voice muffled against Eunbi’s skin. “Fuck your girlfriend, dude,” she says, glancing at you with that masked grin, “she’s dying for it.” Then she dives back in, sucking harder, her tongue flicking over Eunbi’s nipple as Eunbi rides you faster, her pussy squeezing you tight.

“Goddamn, babe,” you groan, hands gripping her hips, feeling the softer give of her flesh compared to Somi’s firmness. “You’re so fucking wet—love watching you bounce on me.” She smirks down at you, her eyes half-lidded, all lust and heat. “Yeah? Love your cock splitting me open,” she says, Somi’s right there, her mouth switching to Eunbi’s other breast, leaving the first shiny with spit. “Shit, look at her go,” Somi mutters between sucks, “fucking your girl like a pro.” Eunbi laughs, breathless, grinding down harder. “He’s mine, but I’ll share—just keep sucking my tits like that.”

“You’re so fucking hot riding him,” Somi says, pulling back to slap Eunbi’s ass lightly, making it jiggle more. “Bet he’s losing his mind.” Eunbi fires back, “He fucking loves it—look at his face.” And she’s right—you’re gritting your teeth, groaning, caught up in the heat of her pussy, the bounce of her tits, Somi’s mouth all over her. Your hands roam, sliding up Eunbi’s sides, brushing Somi’s arm, keeping them both close as they tease and fuck you senseless. Then Eunbi slows down, rolling her hips a little more on your cock before pulling out and passing the turn to her friend.

Somi’s still buzzing from her last ride, her skin flushed and sweaty as she climbs back onto your lap, that mischievous glint in her eyes flashing through the masquerade mask. “Yes! My turn again,” she says, grabbing your cock with a quick, firm grip. “And this time, I’m taking it in my ass—I fucking loved that shit earlier.” She’s not messing around, already lining you up, the tip brushing her tight hole. You groan as she sinks down slow, her ass stretching around you, hotter and tighter than before, her long legs trembling as she adjusts. “Fuck, yes,” she hisses, tossing her blonde hair back, her firm, round ass pressing against your hips as she takes you all the way in. The sensation’s unreal—her walls clamping down hard, her moans sharp and needy as she starts moving, slow at first, testing it, then picking up speed. Her massive tits bounce with every roll of her hips, the slap of her skin against yours loud in the room, the RGB lights painting her in wild streaks of color.

You’re lying flat, hands gripping her thighs, but your mind’s already racing ahead. You glance at Eunbi, who’s kneeling beside you, her curvy body glistening, her pussy still dripping from riding you earlier. “Babe,” you say, voice rough, “sit on my face—I wanna eat you out.” Her eyes light up, a dirty smirk spreading across her lips. “Fuck, yes,” she says, scrambling over quick, her thick thighs straddling your head. The camera on the tripod next to the bed is angled masterfully—a perfect side shot of Somi riding your cock in her ass and Eunbi lowering her pussy onto your mouth. The red light blinks on, capturing everything as Eunbi settles in, her wet, puffy lips brushing your mouth, her scent hitting you hard—sweet and musky, all sex and heat. You dive in, tongue lapping at her folds, tasting her, and she moans loud, her hands bracing on your chest as she grinds down.

Somi’s riding you harder now, her ass bouncing fast, the tight grip driving you wild as you thrust up to meet her. “Shit, your cock’s stretching me so good,” she pants, leaning forward, her tits swaying with every move. Eunbi’s rocking her hips on your face, her juices coating your chin, and you suck on her clit, making her gasp, her fingers digging into your skin. “Fuck, babe, eat me—don’t stop,” she groans. The camera’s got it all—Somi’s toned frame slamming down on you, her ass jiggling, Eunbi’s softer curves grinding on your mouth, her big tits bouncing as she rides your face. The side angle’s perfect, the lights shifting from purple to red, their bodies glowing like some X-rated art piece.

Then it gets hotter—Somi leans forward, grabbing Eunbi’s face, and they crash their lips together, kissing sloppy and deep. Their tongues tangle, moans muffled against each other’s mouths, and their hands are all over each other’s tits, squeezing hard. Somi’s fingers pinch Eunbi’s nipples, tugging them just enough to make her whimper into the kiss, while Eunbi’s hands cup Somi’s bouncing mounds, kneading them rough. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” Somi mutters between kisses, her voice wrecked, her ass still slamming down on your cock. “Love watching you ride his face,” she adds, smirking against Eunbi’s lips. Eunbi pulls back just enough to gasp, “Yeah? Love how he’s fucking your tight little ass—slut.” They laugh, all breathy and lust-drunk, diving back into the kiss, their hands groping harder, their moans syncing up.

You’re in deep—Somi’s ass is relentless, squeezing you with every thrust, her rhythm fast and brutal, her firm cheeks slapping your hips. Your tongue’s buried in Eunbi’s pussy, lapping at her clit, sucking hard, her thighs trembling around your head as she grinds down. “Shit, babe, you’re killing me,” Eunbi moans, her voice hitching, her nails raking across your chest. Somi’s not letting up either, her hips rolling faster, her ass taking you deeper. “Fuck, he’s so big—feels insane,” she groans, glancing down at you, her masked eyes wild with heat. The camera’s catching every second—Somi’s blonde hair swinging, Eunbi’s messy bun bouncing, their tits pressed together as they kiss, the wet sounds of your tongue and Somi’s ass mixing with their gasps and curses.

“Goddamn, you two are filthy,” you mumble into Eunbi’s pussy, your words muffled but enough for them to hear. They break the kiss, laughing, Somi slapping Eunbi’s ass playfully. “Says the guy tongue-deep in his girlfriend while I fuck his cock,” Somi fires back, grinning, her hips grinding down harder, making you groan into Eunbi’s clit. Eunbi shudders, her hands gripping Somi’s shoulders now. “Keep going, babe—fuck, I love your mouth,” she says, her voice all raw and needy, her pussy soaking your face as she rocks faster. Somi leans in again, kissing Eunbi’s neck this time, sucking a little mark there. “He’s fucking you so good with that tongue, huh?” she teases, her hands squeezing Eunbi’s tits again, thumbs flicking her nipples.

Their dirty talk’s bouncing off the walls, all around you—Somi’s bratty edge cutting through Eunbi’s softer, desperate tone. “Shit, Somi, squeeze her harder—she loves that,” you say, pulling back just enough to catch your breath before diving back into Eunbi’s pussy, your tongue circling her clit fast. Somi listens, pinching Eunbi’s nipples rough, and Eunbi yelps, her hips bucking harder on your face. “Fuck, yes—like that,” she gasps, her voice breaking. Somi’s riding you like a damn machine now, her ass slamming down so hard the bed’s creaking loud, her moans turning into sharp little cries. “God, I’m gonna—fuck,” she stutters, her hands braced on your thighs as she grinds down, her ass clenching tight around your cock.

Eunbi’s right there with her, her thighs shaking around your head, her pussy pulsing against your mouth. “Babe, don’t stop—fuck, I’m so close,” she pants, her voice high and frantic, her hands tugging at Somi’s hair now, pulling her back into a messy kiss. Their lips crash together, tongues sloppy, moaning into each other’s mouths as they grope and squeeze, their bodies trembling. You feel it—Somi’s ass tightening hard, Eunbi’s pussy quivering against your tongue—and then they’re both gone, hitting it together. Somi’s hips stutter, her moans turning into a loud, “Fuck, yes!” as she shakes on top of you, her ass gripping you like a vice. Eunbi’s right behind, her thighs clamping down, her juices flooding your mouth as she cries out, “Babe—shit!” her whole body shuddering, her tits bouncing wild as she grinds through it.

The camera’s still rolling, catching it all from that side angle—Somi’s firm frame shaking, Eunbi’s softer curves trembling, their lips locked, hands all over each other’s tits, the RGB lights flashing over their sweaty, spent bodies. They break the kiss, panting hard, laughing through the aftershocks, Somi slumping forward a little, her ass still on you, Eunbi catches her breath while stroking your hair, her pussy still hovering over your mouth. “Fucking hell,” Somi mutters, grinning, “that was insane.” Eunbi nods, breathless, “Best ride ever, babe.” They’re a mess, and you’re right there with them, soaked and grinning.

finally Somi climbs off you, her ass leaving your cock slick and throbbing, and Eunbi slides off your face, her pussy dripping down your chin. You’re sprawled on the bed, chest heaving, the RGB lights pulsing over their flushed, trembling bodies—purple bleeding into red, then blue, like some kind of filthy rave. “Alright, babe,” Eunbi says. “time to make you cum—give us that fucking load.” Somi’s already nodding, her masquerade mask glinting as she brushes her sweaty blonde hair back. “Yeah, dude, we’re draining you dry,” she adds.

You sit up quick, grabbing the camera off the tripod with a shaky hand, flipping it back to POV mode. The little red light is still on, and you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, planting your feet on the carpet. Your cock’s standing tall, slick with their juices, twitching under the lights, and the girls don’t waste a second—they’re on their knees between your legs, a perfect mirrored pair of lust-drunk chaos. Eunbi’s softer, curvier frame presses close on your left, her huge tits brushing your thigh, while Somi’s taller, tighter body slides in on your right, her firm mounds already nudging your skin. They’re a sight—Eunbi’s pale skin glowing, her nipples hard and pink, Somi’s tan lines sharp, her darker nipples perked up, both of them sweaty and glowing, ready to finish you off. You angle the camera down, catching their faces—Eunbi’s sultry smirk, Somi’s masked grin—then lower, framing their tits as they scoot closer.

“Gonna give you the best fucking double boobjob of your life,” Eunbi says, her voice dripping with heat as she cups her tits, squeezing them together. Somi mirrors her, pressing her own boobs tight, her fingers digging into the flesh. “Yeah, these big-ass tits are gonna milk you stupid,” she chimes in, smirking up at you through the mask. They slide in sync, each pair of breasts hugging one side of your cock—Eunbi’s soft, plush mounds on the left, Somi’s firmer, perkier ones on the right. It’s a goddamn dream, your cock swallowed whole between them, the heat and pressure insane as they start moving. They bounce together, slow at first, finding a rhythm—Eunbi’s tits jiggling more, Somi’s staying tight and controlled, the contrast driving you fucking wild. The camera’s catching it all—the way your cock disappears between their sweaty, bouncing flesh, the little beads of sweat rolling down their chests, the wet squish every time they press tighter.

“Fuck, look at that,” Somi mutters, glancing down at your cock sandwiched between them. “Our tits are eating you alive—bet you’re dying to blow all over us.” Eunbi laughs, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips. “Come on, babe, give it to us—paint these fat fucking tits with your cum,” she teases, squeezing her mounds harder around you, her nipples brushing your shaft. You groan, your hands gripping the camera tighter as they work you, their movements syncing up—up and down, slow then fast, their spit and sweat making it slick and messy. “Goddamn, you’re so hard,” Somi says, her tone needy, almost whining, “fucking love feeling you throb between my boobs—cum for us, please.” Eunbi leans in closer, her breath hot against your cock as it peeks out the top. “Yeah, we’re your dirty little whores—begging for that thick load all over us,” she purrs, her eyes locked on yours through the lens.

They’re relentless, tits sliding faster now, the friction building, your cock trapped in this perfect, sweaty vise. Eunbi’s softer flesh molds around you, Somi’s firmer grip keeping it tight, and the combo’s got your head spinning. “Shit, you two are unreal,” you groan, voice cracking, the camera shaking as you fight to keep it steady. “These tits—fuck, I’m in heaven.” Somi smirks, leaning forward so her chin brushes the tip of your cock on the upstroke. “Heaven, huh? Wait ‘til you cum—gonna drown us in it,” she says, her hands squeezing her tits tighter, making you hiss. Eunbi’s not letting up either, her fingers tweaking her own nipples as she moves, her voice all desperate and slutty. “Come on, babe, give us that fucking cum—we need it, want it all over these big, juicy tits—please, fucking please.”

It hits hard—your whole body locks up, a growl ripping out of you as the first spurt shoots out, thick and hot, splattering across Somi’s right tit, then Eunbi’s left. They moan together, loud and pornographic, their tits still bouncing, milking you as you unload. “Fuck, yes!” Somi cries, her masked eyes wide as cum streaks over her chest, dripping down between her mounds. Eunbi’s gasping too, “Oh my god, babe—keep going, coat us!” and you do—spurt after spurt, ropes of it flying, hitting their tits, their necks, a stray shot catching Somi’s chin, another splashing Eunbi’s collarbone. It’s a fucking mess, white and sticky, pooling between their breasts, dripping down their stomachs, and they don’t stop—still sliding their tits around you, slower now, dragging it out.

“Shit, so much,” Somi mutters, her voice wrecked, her hands smearing the cum over her tits, rubbing it in like lotion as she keeps moving, her nipples shiny with it. Eunbi’s right there with her, her own chest a canvas of your load, her fingers scooping some up, grinning at you through the camera. “Fuck, babe, you hosed us—look at this mess,” she says, her tone all proud and filthy, her tits still pressed against your cock, milking every last twitch. Your eyes roll back, a groan escaping as they keep going, relentless, their soft, cum-soaked flesh squeezing you dry. “Goddamn, this is so fucking good,” you rasp, barely coherent, the overstimulation hitting hard as they wring out every drop, their hands slick, their moans echoing.

Then they shift—Somi leans over, her tongue darting out to lick a streak of cum off Eunbi’s tit, sucking her nipple clean with a wet, sloppy sound. Eunbi gasps, giggling through it, then returns the favor, her lips wrapping around Somi’s cum-covered nipple, sucking loud and messy. “Fuck, you taste good with his cum on you,” Somi mutters, smirking, her hands kneading Eunbi’s chest as she licks more, their tongues swapping your load back and forth. Eunbi moans, “Yeah? Then eat it all, you greedy whore,” and dives back in, her tongue lapping at Somi’s tits, both of them giggling and groaning, lost in the naughtiness. The camera’s catching every second—their slick, shiny bodies, the way they’re devouring each other, cum streaking their lips, dripping off their chins.

Finally, they pull back, panting, grinning, their chests heaving as they kneel there, a cum-drenched mess. Eunbi wipes her mouth, smirking at the camera, and leans into Somi, who adjusts her mask with a playful wink. “Well, fuck, that was wild,” Eunbi says, her voice all warm and cheeky, “hope you guys enjoyed the show—thanks for watching us get fucking wrecked.” Somi nods, giggling, “Yeah, you pervs—hope you came as hard as he did. See ya next time!” She blows a kiss, and Eunbi waves, all cute and bubbly despite the filth, their cum-streaked tits still front and center. “Bye, loves!” Eunbi chirps, reaching over to hit the stop button, ending the video with their naughty, beaming faces etched in the frame. The room falls quiet, just their heavy breaths and your pounding heart.

You slide the camera onto the nightstand, the little red light finally off, and flop back onto the bed, your body still buzzing from the insane high. The sheets are a tangled, sweaty mess beneath you. Eunbi and Somi are already up, giggling like kids caught doing something naughty as they rummage through the drawer by the desk. Eunbi pulls out a pack of wet wipes, ripping it open with her teeth, and tosses a couple to Somi. “Alright, cleanup crew,” she says, stepping over to Somi with a smirk. They start wiping each other down, the wipes gliding over their cum-streaked tits, leaving their skin shiny and clean. Somi’s giggling hard, swiping at Eunbi’s chest, her fingers brushing her nipples just enough to make Eunbi yelp and swat her hand away. “Fuck, stop teasing, you perv,” Eunbi laughs, smearing a wipe across Somi’s collarbone, chasing a stray drip that’s trickled down from her chin.

“So,” Eunbi says, tossing a used wipe into the trash by the bed, “what’d you think, Somi? First time getting railed on camera with us—rate it.” Somi pauses, peeling off the masquerade mask slow, revealing her full face—sharp cheekbones, big eyes, a grin that’s equal parts smug and dazed. She tosses the mask onto the desk, shaking out her blonde hair, and flops onto the bed next to you, her head landing on your chest like it’s her personal pillow. “Fucking loved it,” she says, stretching her long legs out across the sheets. “You two are hot as shit—like, I knew it’d be wild, but that was next-level. My ass is still tingling, and those titjobs? Goddamn.”

Eunbi laughs, grabbing her phone off the nightstand and sliding onto the bed beside you, her warm, soft body pressing against your side. “Glad you had fun, you little freak,” she teases, nudging Somi’s leg with her foot. Then she turns to you, her head resting on your shoulder, her messy bun tickling your neck. “What about you, babe? How was it?” You stretch out, one arm sliding under her, the other resting on Somi’s back as she snuggles closer. “Fucking awesome,” you say, grinning up at the ceiling, your voice still rough from all the groaning. “Hands down the best titjob of my life—those four massive tits all over me? I’m dead, bring me back just to do it again.” Eunbi snickers, her hand tracing lazy circles on your stomach, her nails grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver. “Yeah, we fucking killed it,” she says, all proud and smug, her breath warm against your collarbone.

Somi shifts, reaching over to the nightstand and snagging her vape, the sleek little device glinting under the lights as she takes a long pull. She exhales a cloud of sweet-smelling mist—strawberry or some shit—and settles back, her head on your chest again. “You know,” she says, her voice all mellow now, “we should do this again. But like, no cameras next time—just us, fucking for the hell of it. Pure pleasure, no script.” She smirks, blowing another puff of vapor toward the ceiling, the haze curling in the shifting lights. Eunbi hums in agreement, her fingers still wandering over your abs. “Fuck yeah, I’m in,” she says, glancing up at you with a lazy grin. “No pressure, just us getting nasty—sounds perfect, right, babe?” You nod, your hand sliding down her back, resting on the curve of her ass. “Hell yeah, count me in. Cameras are fun, but sometimes you just wanna fuck without the spotlight.”

Somi’s grinning now, taking another hit from the vape, the tip glowing blue as she inhales, then passing it to Eunbi, who waves it off with a laugh. “Nah, thanks—I'm into fitness now,” she says, snuggling closer to you instead. Somi shrugs, keeping it to herself, the faint buzz of the device humming as she lounges there, her long legs dangling off the edge of the bed. The room’s settling into this cozy, post-sex vibe—everyone’s loose, sweaty, satisfied, the tension melted away into something softer. Eunbi’s thumbing through her phone now, her head still on your shoulder, and suddenly her eyes light up, a little gasp slipping out. “Oh shit, check this,” she says, holding the screen up so you and Somi can see. It’s an Instagram DM from Sana—profile pic all sultry and artsy—inviting Eunbi to her podcast later this month. “Hey babe,” it reads, “loved your last vid—wanna come chat on the pod? Yujin told me a lot of good things about you and your boyfriend. You’re blowing up, girl.”

Somi leans over, squinting at the screen, her vape forgotten for a sec. “Wait, who’s Sana?” she asks, her brow furrowing as she props herself up on one elbow, her hair spilling over your chest. Eunbi grins, scrolling up to show Sana’s profile—tons of followers, clips of her podcast episodes, and a few spicy TikToks that Somi instantly recognizes. “Oh, she’s another adult content creator,” Eunbi explains. “Super hot, super chill—does solo stuff mostly, but her podcast’s huge. Talks about the industry, sex, all that jazz. Gets big names on there too.” Somi nods, her eyes lighting up. “Oh fuck, yeah—I’ve seen her on TikTok! That one where she’s in the red sexy dress, vibing to some trap beat? She’s fire.” She takes another pull from the vape, exhaling slow, then grins at you both. “Damn, you guys are legit climbing the ranks—congrats, you sexy fuckers.”

Eunbi’s beaming now, her cheeks pink with pride as she sets her phone down and curls up tighter against you, her hand slipping to rest on your thigh, casual but possessive. “Thanks, babe,” she says to Somi, then looks up at you, her eyes soft but sparkling. “It’s fucking wild, right? Like, we’re actually doing this—people are noticing.” You squeeze her ass, pulling her closer, your chest swelling with that same excitement. “Hell yeah, it’s dope,” you say. “You’re killing it, Eunbi—proud of you.” She smiles, all shy for a sec, then kisses your neck, her lips lingering like she’s savoring it. Somi watches, smirking, blowing a playful ring of vapor your way. “Aw, you two are cute—gross, but cute,” she teases, then settles back, her head on your chest again, the vape humming as she takes another hit.

And you’re lying there, a little smirk on your face, feeling good about finally saying yes to the threesome. At first, you weren’t sure—thought it might be awkward, maybe mess up what you and Eunbi had. But now, with them both next to you, all sweaty and chill after that insane session, you’re glad you went for it. It didn’t feel weird at all—just worked, like they both fit right in. Somi brought the crazy, Eunbi kept it familiar, and it was honestly a blast. No regrets—turned out way better than you figured.

The three of you are just crashed out, all tangled up, The RGB lights keep changing, throwing colors on the ceiling, and it’s a nice wind-down—relaxed, cozy, everyone still feeling it. Eunbi’s messing with your skin, drawing little shapes, Somi’s head’s on your chest, breathing slow, and you’re just taking it in. Eunbi’s rising fame mixes with how wild tonight was. It’s a solid night—real solid—and the idea of doing it again, cameras or not, lingers thick in the air like the sweet haze from Somi’s vape.

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writersdrug · 10 months ago

Note

Just thinking bout how bartender!simon would react to to someone leaving their number with a tip for the reader. Just imagine he’s going through the tips at the end of the night and sees a ripped piece of paper with a lil note and number scrawled on it clearly meant for her👀

You must not have seen it - otherwise, you would have pranced over to the bar and gloated about yet another phone number. This one catches him off guard since you hadn't announced it.

It's alright, though. You and Ghost had worked out a system for cock-sure customers like this one. It acted as a coping mechanism for Simon, letting his frustration towards your universal attractiveness out - you thought it was just a fun way to cock block them, and assumed Simon thought the same.

At the end of your shift, you sit at the bar, Simon leaning over it and his phone between the two of you. He texts the number with a general "hi, it's me from the bar :)". He lets you send a few lines to the guy - you atart off simple, slowly sending more and more off-the-rails comments, like "What kind of car do you have? I had to sell mine so the police wouldn't trace me back to the crime." Or "I'm actually under a contract here. I owe the bartender a favor for getting rid of my ex-husband. I can't quit until I'm sixty."

After you've had your fun, and the bar begins to wind down for the night, you head home and leave the rest of the conversation in his hands. He scrolls through what you've said so far, chuckling at the strangeness in your creativity. He then sends his own series of texts. "If you treat me nice, I can show you where I hide the bodies." "Oh, I can't eat at Sevvy's anymore - I got banned after the incident." "Did you know that it's relatively easy to kill someone by breaking their nose? Well, that one guy was easy. Maybe everyone's different."

It's not too long after that when his messages stop going out, and a notification generates on his screen, saying "this number has blocked you." Simon considers it a success.

In the office upstairs, all of the receipts with mobile numbers scribbled on them are pinned to the corkboard by the monitors. Price gives it a disapproving look every time he sees it, but he only becomes impressed with how quickly they begin to take up space on the board. Every Saturday afternoon, before the pub opens, you and Soap go up there and choose a victim at random. He enters the number into several spam websites, like job recruiters or the farmers almanac. Goes on something like "Roommate Finder" and replies to a bunch of postings with the number.

When Price decides to comment on it, Soap gives him a shrug. "Should ne'er have left 'is contact information in a public area."

#bartender ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riely #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost x you #call of duty #cod #cod x reader

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riboism · 5 months ago

Text

she's my collar

》 pairing: assistant! k.ys x CEO! fem reader

》 wc: 5.3k

》 plot: For three years, Kang Yeosang was the quiet, obedient assistant to one of the most powerful women in tech—until she fired him with a cold, impersonal email. Drunk and furious, he confronts her at a bar, expecting to see the same ruthless CEO he once feared. Instead, he finds a woman exhausted by control, desperate to let someone else take over. Now, she’s offering him that power. Yeosang has spent years following orders—but can he step up and be the one giving them? And what happens when surrendering control turns into something neither of them can resist?

》 content: babygirl (2024) inspired, office sex, power dynamics, pet names (puppy), humiliation kink, submissive reader, face-fucking, shoe-grinding, cumplay, smut, comedy, this was written around Christmas time so it’s set around that time as well, also set in NYC

》 playlist: she's my collar- gorrilaz and kali uchis, leash- sky ferreira, crack baby- mitski, the perfect girl- mareux, closer- nine inch nails

Yeosang stared at his laptop screen, the faint glow of the monitor illuminating his face while all the color drained from it. His hands trembled slightly on the keyboard, his breathing growing shallow and uneven. Each word on the screen struck him like a dagger. He reread the message as if repetition might change its meaning.

Subject: Employment Termination

Dear Mr. Kang,

We regret to inform you that, due to recent budget cuts and ongoing concerns about your performance, we have made the difficult decision to terminate your employment with ChromaTech.

Please arrange to return all company property, including devices and ID badges, to our office as soon as possible. Alternatively, we can schedule a FedEx pickup from your home.

Your final paycheck will be processed and deposited later this week.

We appreciate your contributions to ChromaTech and wish you the best in your future endeavors.

Regards, HR

The words blurred together as Yeosang's vision clouded, his mind racing to make sense of it all. Performance concerns? He clenched his fists, trying to suppress the surge of humiliation and anger that coursed through him.

This wasn’t just a job to him—it was stability, routine, a cornerstone of the life he’d painstakingly built through hard work and commitment. Now it was gone, reduced to a cold, impersonal email that left no room for explanation, no chance to plead his case.

Yeosang let his head fall into his hands, the faint whir of the laptop's fan echoing in the room. It all felt surreal to him like he woke up to find the ground had shifted beneath his feet, leaving him dangling over a dark abyss.

He looked over at his digital calendar, every hour clogged up with reminders, appointments, and deadlines for the next month and a half, all completely useless now. For the first time in years, he had no idea what he was supposed to do next.

The rest of the day passed in a hazy blur. Yeosang drifted from room to room in his cramped East Village apartment, his gaze occasionally landing on the precarious stacks of Amazon boxes littering the floor. A pang of regret twisted in his chest. He’d splurged on gifts for his friends, family, and—most indulgently—himself during the holidays, telling himself it was fine to celebrate, that he deserved all the latest new tech and shiny sneakers. Now, staring at his dwindling savings, the extravagance felt like a slap in the face. Great timing.

After scheduling the FedEx pickup and stuffing his work belongings into a battered cardboard box, he tossed it into the corner, out of sight but never out of mind. Every motion felt mechanical, his thoughts distant and dulled. He couldn’t sit in this suffocating silence anymore, couldn’t let the reality of his situation consume him.

Tomorrow was Thursday. No work, no obligations. Now he had all the time in the world and no idea what to do with it.

Fuck it, he thought. If life wanted to kick him while he was down, then he’d kick back, even if it meant getting obliterated in the process. Grabbing his coat, he made a decision. Tonight, he wasn’t going to sit in his misery. He was going to hit the fanciest bar he could find and drink himself into oblivion, maybe even pick up a cute girl to take home. Consequences could wait until tomorrow.

⸻

Yeosang slouched over the bar counter, his cheek nearly pressed against the cool wood, looking more like he was napping than nursing a drink. The Manhattan in his hand felt cold, its amber glow reflecting faintly in his tired eyes. He swirled the liquid absently, his thoughts as muddled as the cocktail before him.

He regretted coming here. Liquor wasn’t his thing—he’d always avoided it, telling himself he needed to stay sharp for work. But the truth was simpler: alcohol made him sleepy. One drink, and he’d be nodding off like some human embodiment of the Sleepytime Bear. There’s no way any girl would want to go home with him like this.

And yet, here he was, sipping on a cocktail he’d never had before tonight, all in the name of free will. He’d picked it for no other reason than its price tag—it was one of the most expensive options on the menu. If he was going to spiral, why not spiral in style? The bitterness of the drink soured his tongue, but he kept sipping, his mind already drifting into that hazy, detached state where everything felt just a little less sharp, a little more bearable. It wasn’t the escape he thought it would be, but for now, it was enough.

Yeosang had served you diligently for almost three years, though to him, it felt more like a decade. When he first got the position as Executive Assistant, he’d been thrilled—not for the prestige or the title, but for the hefty paycheck that came with it. A corporate job was soul-crushing, sure, but at least it paid handsomely for the privilege of grinding you into dust.

For three years, he’d been your shadow. He made your coffee just the way you liked it, meticulously scheduled and rescheduled your endless meetings, and trailed after you as you tore through Midtown in your impossibly dainty heels. Somehow, your So Kate pumps made you walk faster than him, even in his worn-out tennis shoes.

He picked up your dry cleaning, planned your trips down to the minute, and waited bleary-eyed at baggage claim after grueling international flights to haul your overweight suitcases to your hotel room. He booked your dinner reservations at trendy restaurants, juggling waitlists and cancellations like a magician. He prepared your reports and presentation notes, answered your emails, your calls, your texts—every last trivial thing—so the only task left for you was to look polished in your Banana Republic pencil skirt and flash a pretty smile at investors.

To everyone else, you were the epitome of success—the poster child for Women in Tech. An Ivy League graduate at the helm of one of the country’s biggest tech companies, you embodied the impossible standard, all while maintaining a buzzing social life, and an aura of poise that never cracked, no matter how demanding the circumstances. While others juggled, you danced, balancing it all with a grace that seemed almost superhuman. To the outside world, you weren’t just successful—you were aspirational, the kind of woman others admired, envied, and tried to emulate. But to Yeosang, you were a full-time job, a 24/7 whirlwind that consumed everything in its path, leaving him wiped out and drained.

Performance concerns. He knew exactly what that meant.

It had been a few weeks ago, late at night. You were stressed, working overtime in your office, which, of course, meant he had to stay late too. The request wasn’t anything unusual—just your evening coffee: Colombian roast, vanilla creamer, a delicate dusting of cinnamon powder on top. Simple enough.

He’d handed the mug to you with both hands, careful not to spill a drop. Then he lingered, waiting for you to assign something else. But you barely looked up, waving him off with a flick of your fingers. As he turned to leave, his eyes caught your reflection in the glass doors.

That’s when he saw it.

A look of disgust twisted your features as you took a sip, your lips curling ever so slightly in disapproval.

The memory of it hit him like a slap. At first, he hadn’t understood. But back at his desk, it came rushing back, sharp as a pin in his chest. Peppermint mocha.

He’d grabbed the festive creamer that someone had left on the kitchen counter instead of the usual vanilla you liked. It wasn’t intentional—just an absent-minded mistake made after hours of exhaustion. But in your world, there were no small mistakes.

And now, sitting alone at the bar with his life upended, that one moment felt emblematic of everything.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t just the peppermint mocha creamer.

His nerves had always been his downfall, often betraying him in the form of small but noticeable mistakes. A double-booked meeting here, a forgotten reservation there—usually because he was too busy helping you pick out a new pair of Christian Louboutins for your Paris trip, or researching market pricing for an upcoming presentation. There was also that time he missed a few typos in a report you handed to the company heads, which earned him a withering glare in front of the whole boardroom.

But could you really blame him? You treated him like he had six arms, and the ability to teleport with the speed of light when in reality, he was just one man. No matter how hard he worked, it was never enough. If he meticulously completed every task you gave him, you’d point out the smallest flaw. If he preempted your needs, you’d call him presumptuous. Every win felt hollow because you’d always point out what could have been done better. Pleasing you was like chasing a mirage—no matter how close he got, the finish line kept moving farther away.

Still, one thing was certain: the peppermint mocha creamer had been the final straw. A small, almost insignificant mistake in the grand scheme of things, but for you, it had been enough to seal his fate.

Yeosang's ears perked up, his sluggish thoughts snapping into focus at the sound of a familiar voice. He froze, the glass of Manhattan halfway to his lips, as he scanned the dimly lit bar. And then he saw you.

You were tucked into the corner booth, surrounded by a few friends, with a pink cocktail in your hand. The faint hum of laughter carried over the low jazz music, and you looked so relaxed, so carefree. It was as if nothing had happened—as if his world hadn’t just imploded because of you.

A spark of anger flared in his chest, simmering, then growing hotter with each passing second. How could you? How could you throw him away so carelessly and then go out for drinks, laughing and clinking glasses like it was any other night?

The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. He’d done everything for you. Everything. He’d missed his niece’s first recital because you needed him to oversee a last-minute report. He’d skipped Thanksgiving with his family because you insisted on an "urgent" trip to Japan that turned out to be nothing more than a glorified shopping spree. His love life? Nonexistent. How could he have one when you were the only woman in his life, demanding every ounce of his time, energy, and attention?

And now, here you were, sipping cocktails without a care in the world. You didn’t even have the decency to tell him to his face why you let him go. The least you could’ve done was look him in the eye and explain yourself, to acknowledge the years he gave you, the sacrifices he made.

Yeosang clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around the glass in his hand. He felt the weight of all those buried resentments rising to the surface, demanding release. For the first time in three years, he wasn’t going to stay silent.

Yeosang drained the last of his Manhattan, the liquid fire burning its way down his throat as if fueling his decision. The warmth spread through his chest, blurring the sharp edges of his hesitation. When he saw your friends stand to leave, laughing as they hugged you goodbye, he seized the moment. The alcohol coursing through his veins muffled his nerves, and the simmering anger propelled him off the barstool.

He approached you with purpose, his heart pounding harder with each step. He’d imagined this confrontation in his head for hours, maybe even years. But when you looked up, your eyes narrowing in confusion, it all dissolved.

“Yeosang?” you said, your tone laced with surprise as you squinted at him. “What are you doing here?”

For a moment, he froze, caught in the trap of your gaze. Then, the words tumbled out before he could stop them, anger surging past his control.

“An email? Really?” Yeosang spat, his voice cutting through the low hum of the bar. His eyes were dark with anger, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might snap. “You couldn’t even— didn’t even have the decency to say it to my face? Are you that much of a coward?”

You stiffened, the weight of the bar patrons’ stares pressing down on you. You reached out toward him, your voice was soft but firm. “Hey, let’s calm down—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!“ he roared, his words slurring slightly, his stance wobbly from the alcohol. “Three years! I gave you three years of nonstop devotion, and I don’t even get a proper goodbye? No thank you, no explanation? Do you know how much shit I had to sacrifice for you?”

His voice cracked, his frustration spilling out with every word. “You love parading around with this ‘girlboss,’ fearless woman-in-tech image, but you’re just a scared little girl. Too scared to even look me in the eye and tell me what I did so wrong that you had to hide behind HR to fire me!”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you caught the awkward glances of nearby patrons, their murmured conversations stopping as they pretended not to eavesdrop. You pursed your lips, your patience snapping like a brittle thread. Grabbing his arm roughly, you dragged him out of the bar, ignoring his protests as the cold, snowy air hit both of you like a slap.

“You really wanna do this here?” you hissed, your voice low but sharp, cutting through the quiet of the empty street. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

Yeosang blinked at you, his anger simmering as he swayed on unsteady legs.

“You want to know why you were fired?” You stepped closer, staring him dead in the eye. “You’re a terrible listener. You fuck up my coffee order. You double-book meetings, forgot to confirm reservations, and just last month, you botched the presentation I needed for the board by misspelling half the client names. Do you know how humiliating that was for me?”

Your words hit him like gunshots, but you didn’t stop. “You don’t listen, Yeosang. You never pay attention to detail. I needed someone I could count on, someone who could make my life easier. I’m not asking for much. Instead, I got someone who left me to fix their mistakes half the time!”

Yeosang flinched at your words. But even as they sunk in, indignation burned in his chest. He didn’t believe he deserved this—not for the mistakes you listed, not for everything he had done for you.

He stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a mixture of defiance and pain. The cold outside nipped at your skin, but the heat of his breath against your face made you hyperaware of the tension between you.

“I listen,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You’re just impossible to please.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he didn’t let you.

“I double-booked your meeting one time because you refused to confirm your schedule with the finance group until the last minute. I misspelled the names on that report because the stupid intern—your intern—gave me an Excel sheet with half the names wrong. And reservations? You spring that shit on me while I’m busy walking your dog or picking up your overpriced $20 salad. And the coffee? The fucking coffee? Give me a break!”

His voice cracked with frustration, his breath coming faster now. “You act like I’m some incompetent idiot when all I ever did was clean up after your chaos. Do you know what it’s like working for someone who changes their mind every ten minutes, who expects you to read their mind and be three steps ahead all the time? No matter how much I did, no matter how fast or how perfectly, it was never enough for you! You are a soulless, narcissistic, she-devil, and you love making everyone around you miserable because nothing makes you happy!”

You were nose to nose with him now, the closeness electric and unnerving. Yeosang didn’t realize how close he had gotten until he could see every delicate detail of your face. But he didn’t back away. He didn’t want to.

For the first time, he felt taller, stronger, more in control. He wasn’t just the assistant trailing behind you, fetching your coffee and carrying your bags. Right now, you were the one looking up at him, your confidence faltering under the weight of his hard gaze.

Then, something shifted. His anger, which had been a roaring fire just moments ago, flickered and dimmed. His eyes dropped to your lips, noticing how you worried them slightly between your teeth. The cold had turned them soft, flushed red, quivering as though they couldn’t decide what to say next. He felt the heat in his chest start to dissipate.

“All I ever wanted was to please you, but you never gave me a chance” he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost soft. His words hung between you like a fragile thread, and he didn’t know whether to pull it tighter or let it snap.

His gaze met yours again, and for a brief moment, the tension shifted into something vulnerable. He remained where he stood, towering over you, suddenly feeling exposed, but the weight of his words lingered, heavy and unanswerable in the snowy silence.

You couldn’t explain it, but you liked this side of him. It was the first time you’d seen raw emotion in his face—anger, frustration, passion—it was fascinating. For as long as you’d known Yeosang, he had been quiet as a mouse, his replies clipped and deferential: Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am. Always composed, always distant, like a shadow that existed only to serve.

But now? Now he looked alive. His dark eyes burned with intensity, his lips still slightly parted from his impassioned outburst. You hated to admit it, but he looked almost…sexy? The sharp line of his jaw, the way his breath puffed in short bursts against the cold, the heat radiating off him even in the freezing air. And his voice—you liked how deep it gets when he’s mad. You liked it enough to disregard the she-devil comment. It almost delighted you. You liked being talked down to. Not enough people had the balls to do so.

“I can give you another chance…” The words slipped from your lips before you even realized you were speaking. Your tone was quieter, almost sultry, betraying the tug of something entirely outside good judgment. You had nothing but the liquor to blame. You tilted your head slightly, holding his gaze, the weight of your offer hanging heavy in the cold air.

“To please me, that is.”

His breath hitched, his eyes widening slightly before narrowing in confusion. The air between you crackled with tension, unspoken implications simmering beneath the surface. For a moment, you both just stood there, the snow falling softly around you, caught in an electric silence neither of you knew how to break.

After a moment of hesitation, Yeosang broke the silence. “Okay.”

⸻

"I'm not sure if I understand," Yeosang said slowly, blinking up at you. "Ma’am." The word left his lips instinctively, like muscle memory, but his voice was hesitant.

You sighed, shifting your weight against the desk, arms crossed. The two of you were alone in your office, the usual hum of the busy workday long gone. The only sound was the soft ticking of the wall clock and the faint buzz of the city outside.

He sat stiffly in your chair, the black leather cool against his back, making him even more uncomfortable. He didn't belong there—you both knew it. But this was an experiment, after all.

You tilted your head, your patience wearing thin. "It’s simple. I’m letting you be the boss today. You just have to tell me what to do, and I’ll do it." Your lips curled slightly. "And don’t call me Ma’am."

Yeosang swallowed, his getting throat dry. Power had never been something he craved. He had spent his life taking orders, following directions, and anticipating needs before they were spoken. Most people in tech burned out quickly, leaving to chase the dream of being in control, of being the one to give orders. That drive had never come to him. It wasn’t in his nature.

And yet, here you were, handing it to him.

His fingers curled against the leather armrests as he searched for something—anything—to say, his mind wading through unfamiliar territory.

"Then what do I call you?" he asked finally, his voice quieter now.

You held his gaze, a small smirk playing at the corner of your lips.

"Anything you want."

Yeosang mulled over your words, his mind scrambling to process what was happening. Call you anything he wanted? Tell you to do whatever he wanted? It was the kind of fantasy teenage boys dreamed about, yet his mind was a complete blank.

You sighed, exasperated by his hesitation. "Can I give you a suggestion?" You asked, stepping closer.

He nodded, swallowing hard, the words still stuck in his throat.

You leaned in slightly, your voice dipping just enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand. "Ask me to get on my knees."

Yeosang's breath hitched. His mind latched onto the words, turning them over, considering. Then, slowly, he nodded in agreement.

You chuckled. "You have to say the words, Mr. Kang."

His ears burned. "Oh, right," he said quickly, his voice a little too high, a little too quick. He cleared his throat. "Get on your knees."

The words felt foreign and awkward, but the way you looked at him made something tighten in his chest.

Mr. Kang.

No one had ever called him that before. It was always Yeo, Yeosang, or, on occasion, the intern—his young face fooling half the office into thinking he was some college kid on summer break. But Mr. Kang…He liked the way it sounded coming from your lips.

He sat frozen, watching as you slowly sank to your knees in front of him, settling neatly between his legs. His breath hitched, his pulse hammering against his skin.

You looked up at him, eyes glinting with something—Desire? Amusement? He couldn’t tell, but whatever it was, it left him breathless.

You waited, patiently, expectantly, your lips slightly parted as if anticipating his next command. You almost looked like an obedient little puppy, so much so that he almost called you pup.

Yeosang exhaled sharply, gripping the leather armrests as his mind raced. He was supposed to be in control. Supposed to be giving the orders. But right now, sitting in your chair, watching you kneel before him, it felt like he was the one unraveling.

“Take off your shirt.”

He was getting comfortable now. He watched as you unbuttoned your top and discarded it to the side, leaving you only in your lacy black push-up bra. You placed your hands neatly over your lap, patiently awaiting his next request. Yeosang was stunned at how easily and effortlessly you followed his instruction, not showing a single sign of shame as you undressed in front of your junior. He wondered how far he could take it.

“Take that off too.”

You unhooked the back part of your bra and tossed it to the side with your blouse, your hands returning to your lap.

Yeosang let himself relax into your chair, eyes fixed over your soft and bare skin. He bit the skin around his thumb, drinking in your physique. He wanted to touch them, knead them, feel their weight in his hands, but he kept himself restrained. He was growing to like this game and wanted to see what else he could make you do.

He licked his lips, finally settling on his next request. “Come here.”

You scooted closer to him, your eyes now level with his clothed cock.

“Kiss it.”

Without hesitation, you leaned forward, letting your lips trail slow, deliberate kisses along the outline of his growing bulge. You could feel the firmness of his balls from beneath the thick fabric, the desire to see them making your core ache with need. Glancing up through your lashes, you took in the sight of Yeosang already succumbing to the pleasure, his body relaxing into the chair, eyes dark with lust. He was undeniably beautiful, every feature accentuated by the flush of arousal, and the thought of pushing him to the edge, of watching him cum, was a temptation you could hardly resist.

You began palming his cock, feeling it stiffen just under your touch. “Can I please take it out, Mr. Kang?” You asked in an airless and sultry voice which no doubt made Yeosang feel weak.

Yeosang gripped the leather armrests and nodded. “Go on.”

With glee, you unbuttoned his pants and fished out his throbbing cock, his skin feeling warm and tender as you gave it a few lazy strokes. You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his blushing tip, the sudden touch making him hiss from his seat.

You giggled softly at his reaction, continuing to leave a trail of kisses on the sides of his cock, your hand gripping at the base. He felt so hot and heavy in your hand, and you were growing impatient for a taste.

“Put it in your mouth.”

You eagerly fed him into your mouth, the weight on your tongue already making you dizzy. You salivated around his length, a few dribbles of drool rolling down his shaft. Yeosang could feel himself twitching inside you. The sight of his uptight boss with her mouth so full of his cock made his head spin, all the hesitations and apprehensions he had in the beginning now dissipating while a hunger took over him.

“Now suck it.”

You began sucking at his head, the thickness of his hard cock proving to be a challenge, so much so that you could only really take the tip in your mouth. You grabbed onto the base with both hands, bobbing and slurping him as his breathing grew more unsteady. When you looked back up at him with your big, puppy-dog eyes, you were delighted to see that same Yeosang from earlier—the one with fire in his eyes, with furrowed brows and a sharp tongue, throwing demands and names at you without hesitation. Gone was the quiet, obedient assistant who trailed behind you like a shadow. In his place sat a man who, for the first time, wasn’t afraid to take up space. And you liked it.

“Fuck,” He moaned, “That’s it, that’s a good puppy…take all of me in that dumb little mouth, yeah, just like that.”

You loved hearing him coach you, loved when he called you a dumb little puppy. You could feel your wetness leaking through your stockings, a need aching so strongly between your legs that you had no choice but to grind yourself over Yeosang’s new shoes, your slick wet juices glistening over the rubber soles.

Yeosang was so far gone now, his only purpose left being to chase his high. His hands gripped your strands tightly to hold you in place. Before you knew it, he was thrusting himself into you, his whole length pushing down into your throat with no warning. He set a brutal pace, fucking your mouth with no mercy, reveling in your wet gagging sounds as he makes use of your throat.

“Fuck, I love fucking this little mouth,” He panted, “Good little slut, gonna take my cum? Gonna swallow all my cum down your little throat, huh?”

Tears streamed down your face as he ruthlessly plowed into your mouth. Despite his roughness, your body trembled with need, your hips continuing to grind against his shoes, desperate for release. Your muffled moans vibrate around his shaft, spurring Yeosang on as he chases his pleasure.

Yeosang gripped your hair tightly, thrusting and plunging his hard cock deeper into your eager mouth. For years, he dealt with your nonstop nagging and bitching, and he had to admit it was nice to finally get you to shut up, with a mouth full of his cock no less. “This is what you like, huh? You like being put in your place? Like being a little fuck doll for me?”

He punctuated his words with harsh snaps of his hips. The term fuck doll was enough to send you over the edge. Your hips stilled, your core tightening as you came, your moans muffled by his hard cock. A devilish grin spread across his face as he playfully tapped the tip of his shoe against your swollen clit, the jolt of overstimulation sending shivers cascading through you. He relished in the sight of you laid bare in vulnerability, a stark contrast to the composed persona you typically wore. “Such a mess for me” He sighed, satisfied with your mascara-stained cheeks and reddened, slobbery lips. “So, so pretty…”

You grunted with each thrust, the tight clutch of your throat milking his cock deliciously. You looked up at him with pleading eyes, silently begging for his cum as you took everything he gave you. Your tongue danced along his shaft, massaging the sensitive underside as he fucked your face with wild abandon. You swallowed around him greedily, your throat convulsing along his length as you strived to please him.

With a final hard thrust, Yeosang buried himself deep into your warm mouth and let go, flooding your throat with ropes of his hot cum. His breath hitched, a deep, guttural sound of pleasure escaping him as his seed spilled and trickled from the corners of your lips. With firm hands, he held your head snugly against him, grinding against your face as he emptied himself, savoring the sight of you taking every fervent drop.

Your eyes brimmed with tears as you took him deeper, the bittersweet taste of his seed offering a strange satisfaction on your tongue. As you pulled away with a soft pop, Yeosang gently traced your lips with the tip of his cock, leaving a glistening trail of his pearly essence. You couldn't help but lick your lips in delight, a soft moan escaping you as you savored his flavor.

Yeosang felt like he could cum again from watching you grind your cum-drenched face on his cock. You were so desperate, so depraved, he almost couldn’t believe this was you. The same career-driven CEO he had dutifully served, the woman who made decisions with razor-sharp precision, who commanded everyone’s attention with a snap of her fingers—this was what you secretly craved? To be stripped of control? To be the one taking orders instead of giving them? Who knew that the woman he had once feared, the one who dictated his every move, secretly longed to be a mindless servant, void of responsibility, bound by nothing but the will of someone else?

You gazed up at him adoringly, drinking at the sight of his ruffled hair, his heaving chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. The rawness of him, unfiltered and unrestrained, filled you with a thrill you hadn’t felt in so long.

To serve someone else for once.

To be the one waiting, watching, hoping for approval.

To do so well for someone that it left them utterly speechless.

It was nearly midnight now, and you had a meeting at 7 AM. You should have stopped, should have called it a night, and sent him home. But how could you now? Not when your body was buzzing with anticipation, not when you craved more—more of his voice, more of his praise, more of him.

You wanted to keep going. To do more for him. To hear him call you his good little puppy again.

Slowly, you pushed back onto your heels, your wide, eager eyes locking with his.

“What would you like me to do now, Mr. Kang?”

I would greatly appreciate reblogs with comments and replies. please consider giving feedback if you enjoyed this.

#kang yeosang fanfic #kang yeosang smut #yeosang smut #yeosang fanfic #kang yeosang x reader #yeosang x reader #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #my works: she’s my collar

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occamstfs · 4 months ago

Text

Perfect Teeth

Josh is not at all concerned with his appearance, save one minor detail. Presented with the ability to get a new set of chompers, one wonders how far he will go in pursuit of a truly perfect smile.

I did it everyone, an actual shorter story than usual! Hope you enjoy this quest for whiter teeth, a brighter smile and, of course, the growing body to match! -Occam

He just wanted perfect teeth. His smile was not too unsightly or anything, his incisors had a small gap, canines were a tad asymmetrical, they weren’t stained but didn’t shine milky white. All in all they looked normal, human. But much like Hawthorne’s Birth-Mark, the pursuit of perfection is not at all rational. It’s not something that can be achieved, at least it cannot be achieved while maintaining one’s sense of self.

Still, when this impossible technology was put before him, there was nothing on Josh’s mind besides sating this anxiety. The acquaintance who told him of this strange, seemingly inhuman technology hiding in a back-alley advised that he keep something small in mind. Though he refused to say what he ended up using it for himself. Josh doesn’t care too much, he’s confident in his appearance otherwise, it’s just his smile. What could be smaller than teeth right?

Entering the cold mechanical room he’s greeted by a shining screen on which there are six words flashing: What Can We Do For You? Easy, putting his hands on the keyboard he suspiciously looks over his shoulder and hopes this isn’t some stupid Sci-Fi prank show. It’s not like he knows the man who sent him here all that well. Putting aside hesitancies that his greatest anxiety will be mocked, Josh types his response. “I would like Perfect Teeth.” Pausing for a moment he tacks on a “Please.” assuming pleasantries couldn’t hurt.

Then there’s whirring and some flashes from the machine he’s typing on. If his eyes were focused on anything but the screen perhaps he would see something small fly from it towards himself, perhaps he would feel it prick him and enter. Instead he stares at a newly appeared loading bar, slowly filling up. And then he feels his teeth changing.

His hands go to his face and his eyes widen with fear as he realizes this is the real deal. Trying to steady himself when he feels the bone of his jaw rearranging, itchy and uncomfortable. Josh worries his teeth are going to fall out entirely to be replaced with newer stock. And yet he can’t help but look. Angling to see inside his mouth on some polished metal he gasps as he sees his instead of that horror, his individual teeth are changing, growing, whitening. He gags as he watches them shift and move, their roots jutting out awkwardly under his gums as they realign.

And then whatever’s happening is done. Shifting his expression he feels his cheeks wet the new polished teeth. They feel too large in his mouth, but when he smiles he can see their pristine shine in the dark monitor, “I can’t believe it fucking worked.” He moves over them with his tongue, feeling it smoothly glide over new enamel. Gnashing them against each-other to feel how they perfectly sit together. He’ll get used to how they push against his lips, his cheeks, how his tongue seems to have less space. Little price to pay for perfection.

Josh laughs to himself and pumps a fist into the air before he looks down to see the loading bar stalled out at 99%. As soon as he takes notice another prompt appears, Further Pursuit Of Perfection Will Require Reality Alteration. Do You Consent Joshua Graham. Perhaps he should wonder how it got his name, but given what it just did to his molars and canines that’s of little concern. Nor, as he stares at the bar one digit away from true perfection, is he concerned about whatever reality alteration means.

“I consent.” Not a thought flows through his mind as he types the two words. Worry does begin to tinge his thoughts when there is a much louder whirring from the machine surrounding him. The room seemingly heats up from whatever processes are going on and unlike the previous slightly numbed changes in his mouth, Josh begins to feel pain. He grunts as he feels his jaw crack and clenches at it, in his grasp he feels it widen. His chin pointing further as his mandible hardens and squares. He tries to protest but is unable to speak as his mouth reforms.

Lips grow thicker and form into a smile that he is absolutely not choosing to emote. Then he notices the hand that touched his jaw beginning to craft and shift as well, fingers lengthening while his palm expands. Its pale skin darkening and already seeping into his wrist. Almost instinctively he goes to touch it, to push it away with his unchanged hand before thinking better of it and instead grabbing for his phone. Perhaps one would call for help, but as he sees his forearm growing the veins of his hand trailing across it before they begin their work on his bicep, he needs to see his face.

And so he opens his front facing camera to see a face changed. Teeth bleached white, a smile wider than comfortable, clearly at home on a face that continues to change. Looking in his own eyes he can’t help but wonder if they’ve always been that color? But for the life of him he couldn’t say what color they should be. He stares as his hair begins to restyle itself, retracting and sticking up in a carefully constructed cowlick, framing his strong face and even stronger jaw as his neck begins to thicken. The pencil thin stick grows into a perfect pillar before it’s graced by bulky traps that will only elevate his handsome face while highlighting his strength, always bulging above his soon-to-be massive chest.

Staring at his smiling face he can’t help but wonder why he was worried for a second! Did he not wish to look, to be perfect? His lopsided, now longer, arm falls to his side and his smile twitches as the changes spread to his torso. His spine lengthens as he stands there gawking at himself. His heavy hand tears off his top so he can observe the new muscle beginning to pack onto his chest.

Moving from right to left he sees individual cells of strength beginning to bulk and bulge, following the tan seeping across him as his skin darkens to a uniform, clearly manicured brown. Freckles and moles fade into the alluring brown as his small nipples grow to perfectly point from pecs that hang heavy above tightly packed abs. The few hairs around them and in the center of his chest don’t so much recede as they instead simply disappear. It would be unbecoming for a man such as himself to have such a blemish as body hair.

The cracking of bones and rubbery sound of stretching skin continues to echo through the room as his lats jut larger as his other arm finally catches up to the changes. Below his bulging abs his lower body begins to shift as well, almost as if it were an after thought. Quickly do his hips widen enough to send the tight belt flying, allowing his pants to fall to his feet as they too expand to hold a man of his prodigious stature.

Glistening with sweat and oil, Josh’s thighs bulk larger with every second. Calves bulge with muscle larger than baseballs as his legs rapidly form to be the perfect trunk for an upper body of such size and mass. Individual chunks of muscle flex and twitch with the strength of a stallion as he delights in the feeling of growth.

His briefs seem to look much more like a posing strap than underwear as they fall in between the crack of ass cheeks amassing to an ungodly size. On the opposite end his cock similarly strains the pouch at the front, but when Josh’s ever-smiling face looks down the bulky balls and hardening cock do little to affect him, as if sexual gratification held no place in his new mind. Instead he feels compelled to further strengthen his perfect form. He’s filled with a desire to empower others, help everyone discover how they too can be perfect.

The still growing titan steps out of his discarded pants, freeing feet from tattered shoes he didn't even notice shredding. Standing on metal warmed from whatever intense effort the machine enacted on him, Josh takes notice of the bar finally ticking over to 100%. His smile inches ever so slightly wider as the monitor plays a kitschy confetti animation. Filled with excess energy and excitement Josh begins posing like the lifelong bodybuilder he apparently is.

With each movement the flexing of his new muscles feels more familiar, memories of modelling and contests fill his head as instincts to do anything but hone his form and maintain his perfection are simply erased. Seeing his smiling face in the screen he can’t help but hone in on how well his teeth fit on his face. Truly perfect. His eyes are too focused on consuming his own appearance to read the text hiding behind his reflection, Thank You For Visiting With Us Today. We Hope You Enjoy Your Perfect Teeth. Please Spread The Word So That We May Help Anyone In Need.

Though he doesn’t consciously read the words, his body promptly turns and begins to head out of the room. His mission is clear, and what better use of his new perfect form than ensuring that everyone knows the path towards joining him. And after seeing one look of his smiling face, who could resist.

#male tf #mental change #corruption #muscle tf #reality change #male transformation #personality change

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heliosunny · 4 months ago

Note

Hi hi, I read your lucky egg yuan x reader and thought a bond system was super creative!! So I have a request!!

Can I request a streamer/general Jing yuan playing an otome game where you/the reader are one of the love interests? And he was absolutely obsessed with character!reader that he’d literally drop so much money on the game, but one day, after maybe a poisoning incident, he ends up isekai’d into said otome game. Reader has a favoribility bar and everything and he does all the quests to raise your bar 🤭🤭. And and! If a love interest hits 100% favoribility in the game, they go yandere so maybe a bit of soft yan y/n?

It would also be super interesting to see yuan scheme everything cuz of his big brain 😌😌

I hope you have a good day and stay hydrated!!!

𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠… 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫.

[𝙇𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙤𝙣] Chat: — "Jing Yuan, you’re literally broke because of this game." — "BRO JUST DATE A REAL PERSON." — "He’s already too far gone… let him be." — "Who’s your bias again? (Not that we don’t know lol)." — "Watch him go straight to Y/N and ignore all the others."

The chat scrolled at breakneck speed, but Jing Yuan barely paid attention, his fingers already navigating past the main menu. His voice was smooth, teasing, as he leaned closer to the mic.

“Come now, you all know the answer to that” his lips curling into a smirk. His stream setup was pristine—dual monitors casting a cool glow over his silver hair, the dim lighting making his golden eyes gleam.

The title screen of Astral Regnum shimmered before him, revealing the stunning artwork of the heroes of the kingdom. But his gaze, as always, honed in on the one he cared about most. You.

Chat: — "Damn, he didn’t even LOOK at them LMAO." — "He’s speedrunning a 2D romance with Y/N." — "NPCs crying in the corner."

Jing Yuan chuckled, skipping past the banners of the other love interests like they were mere background noise. “Why waste time?” His voice dipped lower, fond. “Y/N is the only one that matters.”

A swordmaster. A warrior feared on the battlefield, but with a heart that only opened to those they deemed worthy. In the game’s lore, [Y/N] was the blade of the Astral Regnum heroes—a relentless force of nature, cutting down enemies with precision. And yet, their favorability system was notoriously difficult.

That only made it more satisfying when he raised it.

He knew what you liked. What you hated. Every hidden event, every dialogue choice that made your heart skip.

And he had spent—How much money again? He didn’t care.

Tonight, he was going to hit the final 100%.

With a flick of his wrist, he loaded his save file—the one where his favorability with you was already in the high 90s.

The screen faded to black.

…A sharp knock at the door.

Jing Yuan blinked, momentarily snapping out of his immersion. Who the hell—?

His chat reacted instantly.

Chat: — "Uh oh, debt collectors?" — "Jing Yuan’s about to get isekai’d, watch." — "Bet it’s his manager coming to stop his spending spree."

With a lazy sigh, he muted the mic and pushed his chair back. He had just reached for the door when a strange, sharp scent flooded his senses.

His vision blurred.

The last thing he saw was the game screen still glowing on his monitor, your character’s sprite standing there, waiting.

𝐋𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝…

The first thing he felt was the cold, the way it bit into his skin—so vivid, so unlike the temperature-controlled room he had been in just moments ago. His ears rang with the echo of distant battle cries, the clash of steel, the unmistakable scent of blood.

Jing Yuan opened his eyes. His smirk returned instantly.

He knew exactly where he was.

Above him, the skies of Astral Regnum stretched endlessly, clouds tinged red by the fires of war.

“…I really hit the jackpot, didn’t I?”

A shadow moved in his peripheral vision. He turned just in time to see you- covered in blood, battle-worn eyes feral with focus. Your sword pointed straight at him.

Jing Yuan had always admired you— your presence, your unwavering strength. But seeing you in the flesh, drenched in blood with the weight of battle in your stance?

It was exhilarating.

The tip of your sword hovered just inches from his throat, gleaming under the eerie glow of magic-infused flames.

“Identify yourself.”

Jing Yuan barely resisted the urge to grin. Even in the game, you never trusted strangers easily—it was one of the many things that had made raising your favorability so difficult.

But unlike his first playthrough, he didn’t need to fumble through dialogue choices or waste time figuring out what worked.

He already knew exactly what to do.

He lifted his hands in mock surrender, keeping his posture relaxed despite the threat at his throat. “Ah, forgive me. I seem to have found myself in the middle of a battlefield, and I’d rather not lose my head before I’ve even introduced myself.”

Your eyes narrowed, scanning him like a predator sizing up prey. He knew you were analyzing everything—his stance, his expression, any hint of deception.

Chat would’ve gone wild seeing this. Too bad they weren’t here.

“…You’re not dressed like a soldier” you noted, your grip on the hilt still firm.

He wasn’t. The clothes he wore were a mix of modern and fantasy—game mechanics at work, likely adjusting his form to fit the world. He still had his signature robes, but now they looked more battle-worn, reforged in Astral Regnum’s style.

“Observant, as expected” he mused. “I’m not part of any faction. Just a traveler who seems to have ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Your expression remained unreadable, but the fact that you hadn’t killed him on the spot meant he had already passed the first test.

“Captain!” A voice called from the distance. A scout.

Jing Yuan watched as your gaze flickered between him and the approaching soldier. You had a decision to make—cut him down now, or deal with him later?

The game’s mechanics dictated that you wouldn’t kill someone outright if they weren’t confirmed as a threat. That much, he remembered.

“Tie him up” you ordered.

Jing Yuan barely bit back a chuckle as rough hands grabbed his arms, binding his wrists.

Oh we're doing this route? How fun.

“Smart choice” he murmured as your men hauled him up. “But I do wonder… how long will you be able to keep me restrained?”

You didn’t answer. You only turned your back on him, leading the way toward your war camp.

He didn’t mind starting as a prisoner.

After all— He was still going to reach 100%.

----

Jing Yuan sat calmly, bound at the wrists, as the flickering glow of firelight cast shifting shadows across the war tent. Soldiers bustled outside, sharpening blades, murmuring strategies, unaware that the man they had just captured knew more about their war than they did.

It was strange watching everything unfold in real-time.

Even stranger was seeing you like this—not through a screen, but right in front of him. The real you, expression unreadable as you stood by a large map, analyzing war strategies.

A part of him wanted to watch forever.

But that wasn’t the plan.

You finally turned your gaze to him, those sharp eyes glinting under the lantern light. “You don’t seem particularly concerned about your situation.”

Jing Yuan gave a lazy smile. “Should I be?”

Your soldiers shifted uncomfortably, but you merely crossed your arms. “You’re suspicious. You’re too well-groomed for a lost traveler, and you don’t have the look of a mercenary. Are you a spy?”

“No,... But I might be useful to you.”

One of your officers scoffed. “You expect us to believe that?”

“I expect your Captain to consider it.” His gaze remained on you. “You wouldn’t have kept me alive if you didn’t at least think there was value in hearing me out.”

You didn’t deny it. You're still the same, that calculative and careful one. And yet strangely soft toward those who prove their worth.

He could work with that.

“…Fine” you finally said, tone measured. “You’ll stay here under guard. Prove your worth, or you’ll regret it.”

Jing Yuan chuckled, flexing his fingers slightly. “I thought you weren't the type to threat-”

“Don't test me.”

The chains around Jing Yuan’s wrists weren’t tight enough to hurt, but they were a firm reminder—he was not trusted.

But that was fine.

Because trust could be built.

He watched as you dismissed your soldiers one by one, your fingers ghosting over the map on the table. The battlefield was shifting, and you were at the center of it.

Jing Yuan had watched countless cutscenes of you strategizing like this, studying every small movement, every sharp-eyed decision. But seeing it in person was entirely different.

“You’re staring” you muttered without looking up.

Jing Yuan chuckled. “Nothing, I was just thinking.”

Finally, you glanced at him, arms crossed. “About what?”

“That I can help you win.”

“Oh? And why would a ‘lost traveler’ know anything about war?”

Jing Yuan leaned forward slightly, “Because I know your enemies better than they know themselves.”

That caught your attention.

“Go on”

“Your next battle is in three days. Your enemies will try to flank from the west, but their supplies are running thin. If you push them into a defensive position before they can regroup, you’ll win with minimal casualties.”

“And how exactly would you know that?”

Jing Yuan’s smile didn’t waver. “Does it matter?”

“Fine, I'll test your theory.”

If you followed his strategy, he’d prove his worth.

And when you won?

You’d start to trust him.

The war camp was quieter than usual. Outside, soldiers murmured in low voices, preparing for the upcoming battle.

Jing Yuan stood a few feet away, his hands still bound, watching you with a patient smile.

Just as he was about to speak, the tent flap rustled.

"You're still awake?"

Jing Yuan's smile faltered for the briefest second as another figure stepped inside—one of your close friends. They walked in casually, eyes flickering to Jing Yuan before turning back to you.

Jing Yuan had seen them before, an important side character, someone who frequently appeared in your storyline. But now that he was here, living in this world, they felt like a nuisance.

"I'm reviewing the battle plans again" you replied, rubbing your temples. Your friend sighed, stepping beside you.

"You should rest. You've been at this all day."

Jing Yuan watched as they reached forward, lightly flicking your forehead in a playful manner.

He had never liked this character, even when he played the game. They always lingered too close, always made you smile in ways that should have been reserved for him.

But now?

Now, he was right here, watching them steal your attention.

He could see the way you relaxed around them, how comfortable you were. He knew it was natural—you had a long history together in the game. But that didn’t stop the quiet frustration from simmering beneath his skin.

That should be him.

Jing Yuan let out a soft chuckle, stepping forward slightly, just enough to make his presence known.

“You know,” he mused, tilting his head, “for someone so concerned about their commander’s well-being, you don’t seem too worried about distracting them.”

Your friend raised an eyebrow. “And you are?”

Jing Yuan’s smile didn’t waver. “An observer.” He let his gaze linger on your friend a little too long before shifting back to you. “Besides, I don’t think they need to be reminded to rest. They know their limits.”

You let out an amused exhale. “You talk as if you’ve known me for a long time.”

“I just have good instincts.”

Your friend didn’t seem convinced, but they let it slide, instead turning back to you.

Jing Yuan barely heard what they said next. His focus was elsewhere—on the small details.

The way they leaned in when they spoke. The way you didn’t pull away. The way your voice softened, just slightly, in response.

He didn't like it.

But he wouldn’t show it.

----

Jing Yuan was a strategist. Whether in the real world or in this one, he always played to win. Now, you were real. And he would ensure that he was the only one who mattered to you.

The game had always emphasized that actions mattered more than words.

So he made sure every move he made left an impression.

He cooked for you when you were too exhausted after training.

He tended to the wounded, proving he wasn’t just a fighter but someone who cared.

He trained with your soldiers, earning their respect.

He always stayed one step behind you, never overstepping—but never too far away.

And every time you hesitated, every time you looked at him as more than just an outsider, his favorability bar climbed.

[ +15 Favorability ] [ +5 Favorability ] [ +20 Favorability ]

It was slow, steady, but inevitable.

Sure he had made mistakes. Like that one moment where he didn't take your concerns seriously.

"Something’s off about this place" you had murmured, scanning the area. "Maybe, but worrying too much causes wrinkles."

You shot him a look. "Remind me why I even talk to you?"

He laughed. "Because you like me."

At that moment? Not so much. [-15 Favorability]

Or that other time when he was overconfident.

"You should fall back. I’ll handle the rest."

You had scoffed, annoyed. "I don’t need you to protect me."

He shrugged. "Still, wouldn’t want you to get hurt—"

You ignored him and struck the final blow yourself. [-20 Favorability]

Still, everything was carefully choreographed—down to the smallest details. And every time you acknowledged him, every time your gaze lingered just a second longer than before, he knew—

Your favorability bar ticked up.

[ +5 Favorability ] [ +10 Favorability ]

Jing Yuan was patient. But patience had its limits.

When another comrade slung an arm over your shoulder, laughing too freely—his grip on his sword tightened.

When someone dared to flirt with you, his golden eyes flickered with an emotion no one caught.

When you smiled at someone else with the same warmth you gave him, a quiet hum left his lips.

For now, he could hold back.

Because soon, it wouldn’t matter.

Because soon, you wouldn’t even look at anyone else.

----

Jing Yuan never gambled. Because every move has its purpose.

And right now—

Your favorability stood at 75%

It was a beautiful number. But it wasn’t enough.

So, he prepared.

𝐒𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞: 𝐀𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠...

The system had always been a passive observer. A tool meant to track your feelings, your reactions, your downfall into love.

But today, it would be more than that.

Today, it would be his weapon.

—— Favorability Shop Opened. Current Balance: [Unlimited] Recommended Purchases:

1️⃣ [Memory Trigger Perfume] – A fragrance designed to evoke past emotions and subconscious attachments. [50,000 pts] 2️⃣ [Heroic Crisis Event] – An orchestrated situation where the player can prove their devotion to the target. [100,000 pts] 3️⃣ [Lingerie Set??? ] – Also a valid strategy.... [25,000 pts] ——

Jing Yuan exhaled slowly, amusement flickering in his gaze as he scrolled past the last item.

I'll save that for later.

For now—he bought the first two.

The memory trigger

The next time you saw him, the scent was already on him.

It wasn’t overwhelming. Just a faint trace. Familiar.

You frowned slightly. “What is that smell?”

Jing Yuan feigned confusion. “Does it bother you?”

“No, it’s just…” You hesitated. Something nagged at you. Something you couldn’t quite grasp.

It reminded you of safety. A feeling you had lost.

And deep down, your heart tightened.

“Maybe you’ve smelled it before” he mused, watching you struggle. “Maybe… it’s something important to you.”

You didn’t respond.

But later that night—long after he had left—you found yourself missing it.

And just like that, your favorability rose to 80%

The Heroic Crisis

Jing Yuan knew you were strong. You didn’t need a savior. You could protect yourself. But even strong people had moments of weakness.

And he was going to be there when it happened.

So, when the system triggered the attack, everything was perfect.

Your instincts kicked in immediately. You dodged, countered, struck back.

But the moment you faltered—

Jing Yuan was there.

His blade met theirs. His body shielded yours.

Blood dripped from his arm, but he barely noticed. His eyes stayed on you.

And then, as if in a trance, your lips parted.

“Jing Yuan…”

Your favorability skyrocketed.

90%.

95%.

----

The fire crackled softly, flickering between the two of you. It wasn’t often that you got quiet moments like this. No battles. Just peace.

And strangely—you didn’t mind his presence.

Jing Yuan sat across from you, his white hair slightly tousled from the night breeze.

“Is there something on my face?”

“N-No..Nothing”

“Then why are you staring?”

“I'm not!”

He chuckled. “Not that I mind.”

You scoffed and looked away, but you didn’t deny it. Truth was.. this felt nice.

Jing Yuan stretched his arms behind his head, letting out a content sigh. “You know, this is rare.”

You glanced at him. “What is?”

He smiled lazily. “Seeing you relaxed.”

“I like it.” His voice was quieter this time. “I like seeing you like this.”

Jing Yuan had always been playful, unpredictable. But tonight—his gaze was softer.

And something inside you stirred.

You cleared your throat, shifting slightly. “It’s... nice.”

“Then let’s have more nights like this.”

Your heart skipped. That's not a bad idea.

----

Jing Yuan knew, step by step, you were falling.

Not yet—not completely. But you were softening.

And tonight, he was going to make sure you fell just a little bit more.

The town was lively even in the late hours. Lanterns swayed overhead, casting warm golden hues over the bustling streets. You walked beside Jing Yuan, carrying a small pouch of supplies for your next journey.

It had been his idea to take a detour here. A little break from the usual battles, something about “enjoying the little things.”

But just as you passed by a fruit stall—

“Hey—!”

You barely registered the blur of motion before your pouch was yanked from your grasp.

A small, ragged figure darted through the crowd, slipping between merchants and customers like a shadow.

Jing Yuan reacted immediately.

“Stay close.”

Then he moved.

You both weaved through the market, dodging carts and startled pedestrians. The thief was fast, but you were faster.

“Persistent little one, aren’t they?”

You didn’t waste breath responding—just focused on cutting off the escape.

And then—a dead end.

The thief skidded to a stop in a dimly lit alleyway, chest heaving.

A boy, no older than ten. Grimy, thin and desperate.

Your pouch dangled from his shaking grip.

Behind him, three younger kids peeked out from behind broken crates, their eyes wide with fear.

He wasn’t stealing for himself. He was trying to feed them.

You felt something in your chest tighten.

Jing Yuan stepped forward—not in anger, but with a sigh.

“Stealing is a bad habit, you know?” His voice was light, almost teasing. “But... I suppose sometimes, there’s no other choice.”

The boy flinched, hugging the pouch close.

“Please...” he whispered. “I—It’s for them.”

Then, to your surprise, he pulled out his own pouch and tossed it to the ground. The coins inside jingled.

“Go buy food” he said simply. “Real food. Not stolen.”

The boy’s eyes darted between the pouch and Jing Yuan, as if expecting some cruel trick.

“You... you mean it?”

Jing Yuan chuckled, ruffling his own hair. “I’m not heartless, you know.”

You stared at him.

The boy hesitated before dropping your pouch and taking Jing Yuan’s instead. Then, with a quick bow, he grabbed the younger kids’ hands and ran.

Silence stretched between you two as you picked up your pouch.

Jing Yuan smiled, tucking his hands behind his head. “Well, that was fun.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

He grinned. “Handsome too, right?”

You rolled your eyes—but your heart wasn’t in it.

Because for all his teasing and laziness—Jing Yuan was... kind.

And when he turned to you, golden eyes glinting under the lantern lights—

98%

Almost there.

100%

A quiet chime echoed in the back of Jing Yuan’s mind.

It's done.

You belong to me now.

The favorability bar had maxed out, but he wasn’t foolish enough to expect an immediate, dramatic change. No, your obsession was something that would seep in—gentle, like ink bleeding through parchment.

And oh... he couldn’t wait to see it unfold.

----

The battlefield was long behind you. The mission had gone well, leaving only exhaustion and the quiet hum of victory. Now, beneath the vast night sky, a small fire flickered between you and Jing Yuan.

For once, the silence between you was... comfortable.

He leaned back, arms folded behind his head, watching you.

Watching you watch him.

There was a difference in the way you looked at him now. Before, your gaze was wary—guarded, even when amused.

But now?

Now, your eyes lingered.

His lips curved. “Something on your mind?”

You blinked, but instead of denying it, you simply tilted your head. “You’re... a good person.”

His amusement deepened as he sat up slightly, propping his chin on his hand. “Is that so?”

You hummed in response, shifting closer—not much, just enough that the warmth of the fire wasn’t the only heat between you.

And then—you touched him.

Your fingers brushed against his wrist, tracing the faint scars that lined his skin.

“Y/N...”

Your fingers paused, but your gaze didn’t waver. “I was just thinking.”

“How long do you plan to stay with me?”

His smirk faltered for a brief second.

Then—he chuckled.

“Forever.”

He expected a laugh. A scoff. A shake of the head at his dramatic words.

But instead— You smiled.

“I like that answer” you murmured. “You’d better keep it.”

Something in your tone sent a shiver down his spine.

I like that.

I like that a lot.

He had reached 100%. And he couldn't wait to see how far you both would go.

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #jing yuan x y/n #jing yuan x you #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan

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lost-in-thoughts03 · 8 days ago

Text

EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE || FRONTMAN

Part l

" Oh, can't you see, you belong to me?"

Summary: After the fifth game, the Frontman leaves you under The Officer's surveillance, but it appears that he is not amused to see you with his own worker.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, DARK, heavy smut, heavy angst, explicit content, coercion, choking, using of vibrating collar, erotic, power imbalance, manipulation, threats, violence, jealousy, heavy tension, major character death, betrayal, stockholm syndrome, toxic relationship, matured language, mentioned of VIPs, obsession, possessive, ownership, older man x younger woman (legal), yandere behavior, soft-dom! In-ho, submissive! Reader, praising, worshipping, oral (F receiving), hard and rough sex, PiV, unprotected, overstimulation, riding, and markings

Words: 6.4k

The weight of the onyx mask pressed against your face like a second skin—cool, suffocating, final.

Your steps felt hollow as you followed him back through the dim corridors lit only by flickering red panels.

His presence was silent now, just a tall shadow moving ahead of you, once known as Young-il…now a stranger cloaked in secrets and the blood of your past.

The distant sounds of the VIP lounge grew louder—laughter, clinking glasses, animalistic grunts of excitement as the next game played out on massive screens.

It was as if nothing had happened.

No one had died.

No one had betrayed.

No one had been used.

When you both reentered the lounge, the heat of the room and the stench of cigar smoke wrapped around you like a foul welcome. The other VIPs barely turned their heads—too absorbed in the carnage flashing across the monitors to notice your absence.

“ Ah, finally.” One of them drawled lazily.

“ We thought you ran off with your little plaything for good.”

The Frontman gave a slight nod, voice calm, composed again. “ She was attending to errands, as instructed.”

A lie.

Clean.

Undisputed.

You stood still beside him, mask hiding the storm inside your eyes as your heart pounded beneath your robe. You were once again the doll they thought you were—silent, pretty, disposable.

But you knew.

You knew who he really was.

And he knew that now, you were dangerous.

He leaned in close, so quietly only you could hear, his voice a ghost under the mask:

“ Don’t try to turn them against me. They’ll believe me before they believe you.”

You didn’t answer.

Not because you agreed—but because every fiber of your being was now at war. Part of you still remembered the calm Young-il in the bunk beds beside you, who once whispered survival strategies through the bars when the guards were asleep.

Another part of you was still reeling from the way he had touched you just minutes ago—how he made you beg for him even while hiding behind a thousand lies.

And another—darker—part of you burned with something cold and sharp.

You weren’t going to forgive this.

“ Next round begins in five minutes.” Another VIP barked, raising a glass.

“ Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen.”

The screens shifted—new players, new horror. You watched as the camera panned across Gi-hun’s face on the feed.

He looked older now. Angrier. And painfully unaware that the man orchestrating the whole thing was someone he had once called comrade.

You clenched your fists beneath the folds of your robe. The Frontman took a step forward.

“ Come.” He ordered, just loud enough for you to hear.

“ Stand beside me. Don’t forget your place.”

But you had remembered your place.

And it wasn’t at his side anymore.

It was at his throat.

And when the time came…

You would be the one holding the real mask.

...

The fifth game ended in a flood of screams and silence. Another body. Another life erased under the roar of applause and the shifting weight of money.

You didn’t move.

You stood beside the Frontman like a perfect, polished shadow—silent, masked, untouched on the outside. But your muscles ache beneath the layers of silk and shame, and the dull throb between your thighs was a cruel reminder of what had happened behind those locked doors.

The room swirled with noise.

The VIPs clinked glasses again.

Some laughed. Others groaned over lost bets.

And some were too busy ogling the footage on replay.

You? You felt…disconnected.

Not broken.

But watching yourself from outside your body.

Your fingers were curled gently at your sides, posture graceful, controlled. You weren’t allowed to fidget. He’d taught you that well. Obedience wasn’t just for the bedroom.

It was for survival.

The Frontman turned toward you briefly. His gaze—hidden behind that expressionless, angular mask—lingered just long enough.

“ Be good.” He said, tone calm but unmistakably laced with a command.

“ I have to attend to our guests.”

You didn’t reply. You didn’t have to. The silence between you had grown into its own language.

He nodded toward one of the guards standing nearby. Not just any guard. The officer.

Dressed in black, the square symbol stamped on his mask—a rank that answered directly to the Frontman.

Quiet.

Watchful.

Always too still.

“ She stays here.” The Frontman ordered.

“ You’ll make sure she does.”

The officer gave a short nod, stepping closer.

“ Understood, sir.”

You caught the faint tension in the way his hand hovered near his sidearm—not threatening, but a reminder. You weren’t alone. You weren’t free.

You gave a small nod of acknowledgment, still silent.

The Frontman turned without another word, walking back toward the cluster of velvet seats and swirling smoke where the VIPs lounged like bored gods.

And you…

You sat down slowly, perching on the edge of a chaise lounge near the back of the room.

The officer didn’t speak. He just stood a few steps away, arms behind his back, unmoving.

Time crawled.

The voices of the VIPs were distant now—like a murmur behind glass. You stared at the monitor, watching the blood-soaked remnants of the fifth game being cleared. Gi-hun’s face flashed across the screen again.

His eyes…

They were starting to look like yours.

Tired.

Haunted.

Angry.

You wondered if he would even recognize you now. Masked. Owned. Used. A far cry from the girl who once laughed with him during stolen moments in the dorms. The one Jun-bae had once shielded during the first vote.

Jun-bae.

Your stomach turned. His face flickered like a broken slide in your memory, warm and teasing one moment, lifeless the next.

Killed.

By the same man who kissed your trembling lips just an hour ago.

Your hands clenched.

You didn’t cry.

You wouldn’t—not here, not while being watched. But something inside you was hardening. You weren’t planning on staying with his obedient girl for long. And soon, when the final game ended and the masks began to fall—

One of you wouldn’t walk away.

You didn’t know if it would be you.

But it wouldn’t be him without blood on his hands.

And next time…it just might be his.

The room had settled into a quiet lull, the kind that comes before a final act. The VIPs had retreated into their luxuries, sipping their drinks and placing their final bets in hushed tones while the footage of the last remaining players looped endlessly on screen.

You remained seated, arms folded delicately across your lap, the mask hiding the fatigue in your eyes—but not the weight in your chest.

And then…he spoke.

“ You’re quieter than I expected.”

The officer’s voice cut through the haze—low, smooth, calculated. You turned your head slightly to find him stepping forward, his figure blocking out the overhead light as he stood above you.

A shadow in crimson.

“ I saw what happened.” He added, not bothering to lower his voice.

“ In the private chamber.”

You froze.

His tone wasn’t mocking. If anything…it was curious. Amused.

“ Loud little thing, aren’t you?” He said with a hint of a grin beneath the mask.

“ No wonder he’s obsessed.” He tilted his head, studying you like you were an exposed nerve.

“ You’re off-limits. That much is obvious. Marked. Owned. But that doesn’t mean I’m not curious.”

“ You taste as sweet as you sound?”

Your breath hitched, eyes narrowing behind your mask. But before you could respond, he leaned in slowly—his breath grazing the edge of your face as he whispered something into your ear.

Something filthy.

Something bold.

Something that made your heart skip—not from arousal, but from shock.

Your eyes widened beneath the mask.

He laughed quietly.

“ I’d take you out of here.” He murmured.

“ If you asked me to. But you’d have to pay the price, sweetheart. One I think you’re too afraid to name.”

You didn’t move, didn’t flinch—only watched him.

“ I’ve served that bastard long enough to know what he hides.” He continued, his fingers suddenly under your chin.

He tilted your head up toward him. “ And I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

His voice dropped to a murmur. “ You’re his weakness.”

That word rang in your ears like a gunshot.

“ He wasn’t always the Frontman. He was something else before…someone. And you?” He said.

“ You’re the only one left who could make him fall.”

Then, footsteps.

Fast. Heavy. Purposeful.

The air shifted.

Before either of you could turn, a hand snatched your wrist and yanked you to your feet—away from the officer, away from that hushed threat wrapped in temptation.

“ That’s far enough.”

The Frontman.

His voice was ice, absolute, and his revolver was already raised—pointed straight at the officer’s chest.

The room fell dead silent.

You felt his grip tighten around your wrist—not rough, but possessive. His masked face never left the officer, but you could sense the fury radiating off him like heat.

The officer raised his hands slowly. “ Just keeping her company.” He said coolly.

“ She looked a little...untended.”

The Frontman didn’t move.

“ Leave.” He growled.

A pause.

Then the officer slowly nodded, stepping back without another word. But before he disappeared through the lounge door, he glanced at you one last time and said:

“ When you’re ready to break him…you know where to find me.”

The doors shut behind him.

Silence returned.

The Frontman finally turned to you, his body tense beneath the tailored black. Still gripping your wrist, he pulled you in close—not gently, not violently…but like he needed to feel you again. To make sure you were still his.

“ Did he touch you?”

You didn’t answer. Because you knew the question wasn’t really about the officer.

It was about control.

And for the first time…

It wasn’t entirely his anymore.

The silence between you and the Frontman stretched like wire—tight, strained, dangerously thin. His hand was still wrapped around your wrist, his grip unforgiving.

Not enough to hurt…but enough to remind you who you belonged to.

Or rather…who he thought you did.

His masked face tilted toward yours, and though you couldn’t see his expression beneath the geometric edges, you felt his eyes—burning into you.

“ You’re quiet again.” He said lowly.

“ Still dazed from earlier?”

You didn’t answer.

Not yet.

He took a step closer. “ Or are you trying to forget what happened in the chamber?” His voice dropped an octave—silk laced with threat.

“ Do you need me to remind you?”

You tried to shift back, but he pulled you closer, his gloved fingers ghosting down your side, just enough to make your breath catch.

“ No one else touches you like I do.” He whispered against the edge of your mask.

“ No one else breaks you the way I do.”

Your stomach twisted—not from fear, but from the chaos of your own emotions. Shame. Confusion. Hunger. Rage.

You were his.

But you weren’t.

Not fully.

Not anymore.

“ Maybe.” He said, fingers grazing your waist.

“ I should show you again. Make sure that mouth only moans my name.”

You clenched your jaw beneath the mask.

Then his tone shifted. Still sharp—but colder.

“ What did he say to you?”

You looked up at him.

His body was rigid, controlled, but barely. You could feel it in the way his fingers tightened. He didn’t like what he didn’t know. The idea that someone else had whispered in your ear and made your eyes widen like that.

“ Tell me…” He ordered.

“ Now.”

You hesitated.

And that hesitation said everything.

His grip tightened just slightly, and you felt his breath near your cheek again—hot, angry, possessive.

“ He touched your chin. Get close to your mouth.”

“ Did he offer you freedom?” He said with a humorless chuckle.

“ Did he promise to save you from me?”

You didn’t speak. And that silence struck him harder than any answer.

“ I should’ve killed him when I had the chance.” He muttered.

Then, quieter…darker:

“ You are mine. Every sound, every breath, every bruise I leave—mine. He thinks he knows me?” A scoff.

“ Then he should know what happens when someone touches what’s already claimed.”

He stepped back just enough to look you up and down—slowly.

“ He saw you…but I’m the one who owns you.” Then he leaned in again, brushing his masked mouth against the side of your jaw.

“ So tell me…” He whispered.

“ Do you want me to remind you of what you really are?” His gloved hand skimmed down your thigh.

“ Or would you rather go running to him…just to see if he fucks you as well as I do?”

A line had been drawn.

And now…

He was daring you to cross it.

...

The moment the lounge doors shut behind you, the world went silent.

You didn’t even have time to speak before his grip on your wrist tightened and he dragged you down the corridor.

Each step echoed with authority, boots striking the concrete like a war drum, his long coat trailing behind him. His pace was unforgiving—like he was walking off fury before it spilled into something worse.

You knew where you were going.

Back to the private chamber.

Back to the lion’s den, but this time—not for seduction.

This was punishment.

A test.

A reminder.

The heavy door slammed shut behind you, and he locked it with a sharp click. He turned to you slowly, mask still on. That cold, obsidian thing staring down at you like a god ready to strike.

“ You hesitated.” He said simply. No rage in his tone—just cool disappointment.

“ When I asked what he said. When I asked what you felt.” He stepped forward. You instinctively stepped back—your spine brushing the cold edge of the wall.

“ You think silence protects you?” He asked.

“ No. Silence tempts me.”

He reached into a drawer beneath the shelf and pulled out something gleaming—metal.

A sleek black remote.

Connected to a collar.

Leather.

Clean.

Sharp-edged.

“ Let’s play a game.” He said, voice low and sharp.

“ One question. One answer. You hesitate or lie—” He raised the collar and clicked the control. A soft buzz responded.

“ You wear this. And I make you beg for forgiveness until you forget who tempted you in the first place.”

Your breath caught.

He crossed the room with slow purpose, grabbed the back of your neck gently—but firmly—and slid the collar around your throat. He didn’t buckle it yet. Just held it there, his eyes watching your face for any sign of resistance.

“ Take off the mask.” He whispered.

“ I want to see your face when you answer me.”

With trembling fingers, you removed it. Your lips parted with shallow breath, your gaze meeting the dark void behind his mask.

“ Good girl.”

He fastened the collar—tight, but not choking. Just enough to remind you. Then, the first question.

“ Did you want him to kiss you?”

You hesitated. He clicked the remote—buzz. The vibration against your throat made you gasp, your knees wobbling.

“ Wrong answer.” He murmured, stepping in behind you, crowding you against the wall.

His gloved hand slid around your waist, down between your legs, cupping you roughly over the fabric. “ Your body says otherwise.”

“ Again…” He whispered, pressing harder.

“ Did. You. Want. Him?”

“ No.” You gasped.

He paused. Silent. Then slowly dragged his fingers up your inner thigh.

“ Good.” He growled.

“ Because if you did—I’d make you scream so loud the whole floor would hear who really owns this mouth.”

Without warning, he spun you around and pushed you against the wall—hands braced high, chest heaving.

“ Now the real game begins.” He said.

He clicked the remote again—this time, a deep vibration that pulsed through your throat and straight between your legs. The collar was wired in ways you hadn’t imagined. Your body buckled as heat bloomed instantly, dizzying and involuntary.

“ You want a taste of what he doesn’t get to have?” He whispered darkly, dragging his masked face down your neck, over the collar.

“ Then earn it.”

He pulled your hips back against him, already hard beneath the layers. His hand moved to your front again—slow, calculated, as the vibration deepened with each second.

“ No lies.” He warned.

“ No hesitation.”

And then—he slid two fingers inside you, rough, making you cry out.

“ Answer every question I ask.” He growled.

“ Or I ruin you without letting you finish.”

And with the remote in one hand, his fingers inside you, and your voice already faltering—

You knew this wasn’t just about lust anymore.

It was a war.

A twisted, hungry war between punishment and possession. And you were caught in the center—bare, trembling, and burning.

Exactly where he wanted you. And exactly where you hated to need to be.

Your breath stuttered against the wall, palms splayed flat on the cold surface as the Frontman pressed against your back—his presence a storm wrapped in tailored black and authority.

Every inch of your body was on fire, not just from the harsh vibrations rippling from the collar down your spine, but from him. From the game.

You were soaked.

Trembling.

But still standing.

“ You’re already shaking.” He murmured, fingers pumping slow and deep inside you.

“ And we’ve only just started.”

He curled his fingers and you cried out, your knees nearly giving way—caught only by his other hand braced at your waist.

Then, the vibrations stopped.

Silence.

Stillness.

You gasped at the loss, blinking hard, heart pounding in your ears.

“ Do you want more?” He asked coolly.

You swallowed hard, teeth clenching as your body twitched from the denial.

“ Y-Yes…”

A click. The collar buzzed sharply again, just long enough to make you flinch.

“ Wrong answer.” He said, lips against your ear.

“ Say it properly.”

You bit your lip, but the ache was spreading. Desire, humiliation, tension all wrapped into one unbearable coil.

“ P-Please…I want more.” You whispered.

“ Please…”

His fingers moved again, rougher this time—faster. The sudden pace left you gasping.

“ That’s better.” He murmured.

“ But not good enough.”

He yanked your hips back and shoved your chest forward, arching your body into a perfect line for him—forcing you to take it deeper. His fingers scissored inside you, soaked with the mess he’d already drawn from you earlier.

“ Do you think I didn’t notice how you looked at him?” He hissed.

“ Like you forgot whose name made you scream first?”

“ I didn’t—” You tried, but the vibration buzzed again, punishing and sharp. You sobbed.

“ Another lie.” He said, voice like ice.

“ You don’t speak unless it’s truth. Or moaning.”

He pulled his fingers out and shoved them into your mouth without warning.

“ Taste what he’ll never have.”

You gagged slightly, eyes watering as you obeyed, tongue swirling around his gloved digits. He pulled them out slowly, watching your lips part for more.

“ You’re going to ride me again.” He said then, stepping back and dragging you to the center of the room.

“ But you won’t come. Not until I say.”

You barely had time to find balance before he was lowering himself into the velvet armchair, legs spread, cock already out and throbbing, dripping at the tip.

“ Now.” He said, tapping his thigh.

“ On my lap. Face me. Let me watch how desperate you look when you disobey.”

You climbed on, your body still trembling, still soaked, your thighs shaking as you sank down slowly onto him—every inch stretching you open again.

You both groaned.

He gripped your hips, holding you still.

“ Don’t move yet.” He warned.

“ I ask. You answer.”

You nodded quickly, barely able to breathe.

“ Do you want to be mine?” He asked.

Your mouth opened.

Click.

The vibration sparked again. You cried out.

“ Answer.”

“ Yes! Yes, I’m yours—”

“ Then prove it.” He growled, pulling you down harder, his hips thrusting up once, sharply.

“ Ride me like you’d never let another man touch you. Not even in your dreams.”

And you did.

You rode him with everything—desire, guilt, rage, and submission bleeding together. Your moans filled the chamber again, raw and unrestrained.

His hands roamed your body with punishing precision. The collar buzzed when you slowed, or when you hesitated—forcing you to obey, to earn every second of pleasure.

“ You’re mine.” He said again, one hand gripping your throat just above the collar.

“ And I’ll break you again and again until even the thought of someone else makes you burn with shame.”

And as your body clenched around him, right on the edge, right where he wanted you—

He leaned in close and whispered:

“ Now beg me to let you come.”

And you did.

Because you had to.

Because you were his.

And because deep down…

Part of you wanted to be ruined all over again.

Your entire body trembled as you straddled him—legs quivering from exertion, soaked from being edged and commanded and teased into desperate need.

The vibrations in your collar had become unbearable, lighting every nerve in your body with want, and the way he filled you—deep, unforgiving, perfect—made it impossible to think, let alone breathe.

He sat below you like a throne you were chained to—hands gripping your waist as you rode him, every bounce, every grind a test of how far he could push you before you shattered.

“ Please…” You gasped, tears threatening to spill.

“ Please—let me come—”

His hand snapped up to your throat, just above the collar, holding you still as your hips stuttered and your lips trembled.

“ No.”

You whimpered.

“ Not yet.” He said darkly, eyes locked on your face.

“ You want to cum? Then you earn it.”

He leaned in, his masked face just inches from yours. The low flicker of light gleamed across the geometric edges like a blade in the dark.

“ Say my name.”

Your breath hitched.

“ Y-Your name…?”

He was silent. The chamber, the world, the game paused in that moment.

Then, a whisper:

“ In-ho.”

The name.

A real name.

His name.

It struck you harder than any command.

Your lips parted, breath faltering. You stared at him, not the mask—through it. Because now, something cracked. You weren’t just his plaything. Not just his good girl in silk and ruin. You were the only one he gave truth to. The only one who now held something real.

“ Say it.” He growled, his voice unsteady, almost desperate.

“ Say it like you mean it.”

Your lips trembled. Tears gathered in your lashes—not just from pleasure, not just from pain, but from the storm of everything he'd done and everything you still felt.

“ In-ho…” You whispered, your voice breaking.

He sucked in a sharp breath. Your hips moved again, this time not for obedience—but need.

“ Again.”

“ In-ho…” You gasped louder, riding him harder now.

“ Please, In-ho, I need—please—”

“ That’s it.” He hissed, thrusting up into you, matching your rhythm.

“ Only you get to say that name. Only you.”

You were unraveling.

The vibration kicked again.

His grip tightened.

And your orgasm hit like a violent wave—pulling a scream from your throat, your nails digging into his chest, your entire body breaking as you moaned his name again and again, like it was the only thing anchoring you to this world.

“ In-ho—!”

He groaned your name back, his mask pressing to your neck as he buried himself deep one final time—spilling into you as your body shook in his arms.

He didn’t move.

Not for a long moment.

Just held you. Inside and out. Breathing like a man who had just confessed something far more dangerous than a name.

And as the silence wrapped around you once again, he whispered near your ear—this time without a command, or cruelty.

Only the truth.

“ Now you know who I am.”

And somehow, that made everything far more terrifying. Because now…you couldn’t forget him even if you tried.

Your body was still trembling, collapsed against his chest, your breath ragged and shallow, skin damp with sweat and the ghost of everything he’d just drawn out of you. The collar still pulsed faintly against your throat—like it, too, refused to let go of you.

But none of that compared to the heaviness of the name you’d spoken.

The name he gave you.

In-ho.

Not the Frontman.

Not the mask.

Not the myth.

Just In-ho—raw, unguarded, and his.

You laid your head against his shoulder, lips parted, silent now as reality slowly crept back in. His arms were still wrapped around you, tight and steady, as if your body grounded him.

As if your voice—saying his name—had undone something he wasn’t ready to confront.

“ You said I’m the only one who gets to say it.” You murmured softly, your voice scratchy.

“ Why?”

There was a long pause. He didn’t answer right away. His gloved hand slowly moved up your spine, dragging across your skin with quiet care.

Not lust.

Not power.

Something different.

“ Because the others don’t matter.” He said finally, voice rough, low.

“ They only see the mask. You see what’s beneath it.”

You raised your head slowly, your mask still resting beside the chair, forgotten.

“ Is this still a game to you?” You asked, your tone no longer obedient—just…tired.

“ Am I just another player you can control?”

He didn’t flinch. But he also didn’t answer. Instead, he lifted one hand and reached for the edge of his own mask.

And for the first time…he removed it.

You blinked, stunned.

No shadows.

No pretense.

Just a man—exhausted, older than he once was, but still him. Eyes dark, searching. The same eyes that once met yours across the barracks of the dorms when you were both just trying to survive.

His name had changed.

His role had evolved.

But his guilt had never left.

“ I didn’t plan for this.” In-ho said, voice quieter now.

“ I didn’t plan for you.”

You stared at him, heart pounding—not from fear anymore, but confusion. Emotion. Danger.

“ Then what is this?” You asked.

He reached out and took your chin between his fingers—not rough, not demanding.

Just real.

“ Something I can’t afford.” He whispered.

“ But something I’ll destroy anyone else for trying to take.”

And just like that… the Frontman was gone.

There was only In-ho.

And you weren’t sure if that made him more terrifying—

Or more human.

The air was thick with something unnamed—no longer lust, no longer just power. As you straddled him in the velvet chair, the weight of In-ho’s gaze without the mask pierced deeper than any command he’d ever given you.

He wasn’t hiding now.

Not behind titles.

Not behind threats.

Not behind that cold, jagged mask.

Just him.

And that was more dangerous than any gun he’d ever held to someone else’s head.

You didn’t move—afraid that if you did, whatever moment this was would shatter under your fingertips. Your hand moved on its own, brushing a strand of damp hair from his forehead. He didn’t stop you.

“ So much blood.” You whispered, searching his face.

“ So many lives…”

His jaw clenched.

“ Don’t.” He said lowly.

“ Not when I finally let you see me.”

But you needed to say it. You had to.

“ You killed Jun-bae.”

He flinched. It was subtle, but it was there. You felt it ripple through him like a crack in stone. His hands fell from your hips. His eyes dropped for the first time.

“ He was going to talk.” He muttered, as if trying to convince himself all over again.

“ I warned him.”

“ He trusted you.” You replied.

“ We all did.”

Silence.

And then—

“ I didn’t want you to become part of this.” He said, voice tight.

“ I thought if I stayed distant, if I left you alone after the first round…you’d be eliminated. You’d be safe.”

You almost laughed. Bitter. Quiet.

“ So your plan was to let me die?”

“ No!” He snapped.

Then softer: “ It was to keep you from becoming something I couldn’t control.”

That stopped you cold. He looked back up at you, and this time, there was no wall in his eyes.

Only fear.

Not of you hurting him.

But of you leaving.

“ You’re the only part of this world that I didn’t build.” He confessed.

“ The only thing that slipped through the cracks.”

“ Then why use me?” You whispered.

“ Why fuck me like a possession? Why break me just to glue me back together again?”

His hand reached up again, thumb grazing the underside of your jaw.

“ Because I don’t know how to love anymore.” He said.

“ Only how to keep.”

The words hit harder than any moan, any order.

And for the first time, it didn’t feel like a game.

It felt like two broken people—both survivors of the same hell—staring at each other in the aftermath, holding shards of who they used to be.

He leaned forward slowly, this time not hungry, not demanding. Just…tentative.

And when his lips met yours, there was no mask between you.

Only the truth.

Only silence.

And the terrifying possibility that whatever this was… wasn’t over. But maybe—just maybe—it was becoming something real.

...

The silence after chaos was always the most deafening. Your body was limp, boneless against him, your forehead resting on his bare shoulder as the last echoes of what just happened still pulsed faintly in your skin.

Your thighs trembled from exertion, your breath ragged, your heartbeat slowly settling—though the emotional storm inside you had only just begun.

And then…he moved.

Gently.

Without a word, In-ho reached behind your neck and unclasped the collar. The soft buzz that had long since blurred into background heat finally ceased. You let out a faint breath as he slid it away, placing it down carefully as if it were fragile glass.

“ Too much?” He asked quietly.

You blinked, surprised at the softness in his voice.

You nodded faintly.

Then paused.

Then nodded again.

He didn’t scold you for your answer.

Instead, he leaned in and placed a single kiss at your temple—barely a touch—and then gathered you carefully into his arms.

No commands.

No harsh grip.

Just care.

His strength was effortless as he lifted you from the chair, cradling you against his chest. You buried your face against his skin—warm, real, unfamiliar now in this vulnerable stillness.

He carried you across the room to the bed tucked behind a curtain of dark velvet. You hadn’t even noticed it before.

He laid you down gently, and the mattress welcomed you like a cloud. The softest thing you’d felt in weeks.

“ Don’t move.” He said.

“ Just rest.”

You watched him disappear into the adjoining washroom. Moments later, he returned with a basin of warm water, a towel, and the same care he once reserved only for manipulation.

This time…it was different.

He sat at the edge of the bed and began to clean you—starting with your thighs, slow, deliberate strokes, never too firm, never too cold. His gloved hands were gone now.

Skin on skin.

Real.

Human.

You flinched once, but he immediately paused.

“ Sorry…” He said.

“ I didn’t mean to…”

You reached out, lightly touching his wrist. A silent reassurance.

He resumed, gentler now. And when he was done, he cleaned himself quickly, then returned and slipped into the bed beside you.

For a while, neither of you said anything. Just the steady rhythm of your breathing, the weight of the dark silk sheets, and the warmth of his body pressed lightly against your back as he spooned you from behind.

One arm wrapped around your waist—tight enough to hold, loose enough to let you go if you shifted. But you didn’t. Because even if you should hate him for everything—

Right now, in this quiet moment, he was no longer the Frontman.

Just In-ho.

And he was holding you like he’d feared losing you all along.

His lips brushed your shoulder as he whispered, “ You’re still here.”

A statement.

A question.

A quiet kind of hope.

And you—half-asleep, sore, emotionally frayed—murmured the only answer that made sense.

“ For now.”

And for the first time…

That was enough.

You lay still beneath the soft silk sheets, your sore body curled against his. For the first time since entering this nightmare, you felt warmth not tied to power or pain—but presence.

His. The one person you never expected to find again…and certainly not like this.

In-ho’s breath was steady behind you, chest rising and falling with a quiet rhythm that almost lulled you to sleep.

Until he spoke.

“ No matter what happens…in the final game.” He said, voice low and unguarded.

“ I want you to know—I'm glad I found you in this hell.”

You blinked, eyes adjusting to the dim room. He was still holding your hand, fingers lightly tracing the lines in your palm as if memorizing the path back to you.

“ I never expected anyone to slip past the walls I built.” He murmured, voice bitter with memory.

“ Those walls were made to survive. To protect what was left of me. But then…you wrecked them.”

He smiled faintly, you could feel it in the way his lips grazed your shoulder. But his tone wavered, soft and hollow—filled with something deeper than guilt.

It was longing.

“ Somehow, in all of this blood and silence, you made me remember I’m still a man. That I still feel. That maybe…”

“ Maybe I still believe there's hope. Even if I’ve shown it the wrong way.”

You turned to face him slightly, enough to meet his eyes. There was no mask now. No armor. Just In-ho—raw, tired, and human.

“ I didn’t think there’d be anything left after this storm.” He continued, brushing your hair away from your face.

“ But then you…you were like a rainbow after the downpour. Unannounced. Unexplainable.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he gently shook his head and reached for your hand again.

“ Listen to me…” He said, his voice suddenly steadier. Urgent.

“ In the next hour…things may fall apart. This game—it’s not just a show anymore. It’s a fuse about to burn out. I might not make it.”

Your stomach twisted.

A lump formed in your throat.

“ But you…” He said, tightening his hold.

“ You will. I’ll make sure of it. You’re getting out of here, alive. You have to.”

His gaze burned into you—pleading, commanding, loving.

“ Promise me you’ll stay alive. No matter what. Live. Because you deserve that.”

You nodded, the tears already brimming.

“ You’ll find Gi-hun.” He added.

“ If he’s still standing—help him. Finish what he started. Take it all down, piece by piece. For Jun-bae. For everyone who died thinking this place was their only option.”

You wanted to break, but he held you together with those words, like they were bricks and he was building something new.

“ If I make it out…” His voice cracked slightly.

“ I’ll find you. I swear. Wherever you are in this fucked-up world—I’ll come.”

He pulled your joined hands to his lips and pressed a long, lingering kiss to the top of yours.

“ And if I don’t…”

“ I’ll wait on the other side.”

“ Until the day you come to me.”

You looked at him through the blur of tears. His face. His real face. His trembling smile that tried to hide fear. His fingers tangled in yours like a lifeline he refused to let go.

“ In-ho…” You whispered.

“ Promise me...” He said again.

“ You’ll live.”

You nodded, voice cracking.

“ I promise.”

And for a moment, there was no game.

No blood.

No masks.

No chains.

Only two souls, clutching each other in the eye of a storm—hoping to find one another again if the winds ever stopped.

...

The heat of the flames reached even across the water. You sat beside Gi-hun in the small, weathered boat, drifting slowly away from the hell that had consumed so many.

Behind you, the island burned—red and gold, like the eye of some forgotten god finally closing.

The sound of distant explosions and collapsing structures echoed across the ocean like the final gasps of something ancient dying.

Your eyes never left it.

Neither did your heart.

He had kept his promise.

You had kept yours.

But he—In-ho—was gone.

At least…as far as you knew.

Your fists clenched tighter on your lap as the wind whipped past, tasting of salt, smoke, and unfinished business.

“ I thought you died.” Gi-hun’s voice broke through, quiet, haunted.

“ Back in the rebellion…I saw those bastards drag your body.”

You didn’t look at him, but you gave him a faint nod. You weren’t ready to speak. Not about what really happened. Not about the nights.

The truth.

The name you spoke was like a prayer and a curse.

Gi-hun was staring ahead at the burning island, his jaw tight. His hair was wind-tossed, face pale but alive—barely. He’d won. But like you, he didn’t feel like a survivor.

Just…left behind.

“ Only two of our team made it.” He murmured.

“ You...”

“ You and me.”

You glanced at him. He tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. And then—he looked to the man sitting across the small boat, silent, isolated by choice.

Jun-ho.

His face was cold and unreadable, eyes locked on the island as if trying to see through the fire for someone who never returned.

“ That’s Jun-ho.” Gi-hun said bitterly, lowering his voice.

“ He’s the detective who helped get me back here. He’s the one who leaked everything to the authorities.”

You finally turned toward Jun-ho fully. He didn’t react. Didn’t blink. Just watched the island burn like a man watching a piece of his soul go with it.

“ He’s also…” Gi-hun scoffed, bitterness creeping in.

“ The Frontman’s brother.”

Your breath caught.

You already knew.

But hearing it from Gi-hun’s mouth, so casually, so wounded—it carved a new bruise into your chest.

“ Or Young-il. Or whatever name he lied to us with.” Gi-hun muttered, fists clenched on his knees.

“ He knew. He knew all along. And said nothing.”

You didn’t answer.

Because you couldn’t.

Not yet.

Jun-ho finally looked at you. His eyes were sharp, deep, mourning. Maybe not for you—but for the man behind the mask.

His brother.

His blood.

You met his gaze—and in the brief silence between the three of you, something unspoken passed. A shared grief. A guilt none of you could outrun.

“ You knew, didn’t you?” Jun-ho asked softly.

You said nothing.

You didn’t deny it either.

The island behind you groaned one last time—another explosion rippling through the smoke and embers. What was left of the facility crumbled into itself, vanishing beneath the flame-lit sky.

The Games were over.

But your war wasn’t.

You weren’t done.

Not yet.

“ There’s still more…” You whispered finally, voice low but steady.

“ This doesn’t end with fire.”

Gi-hun looked at you, brows furrowed. “ What do you mean?”

You didn’t look back at him. You kept your eyes forward—on the sea. On the smoke. On the memory of In-ho’s hands in yours, and the promise that still echoed in your chest like a bell:

“ If I survive, I’ll find you. If I don’t…I’ll wait.”

Somehow, in the depths of your soul, you knew—

This wasn’t the end.

Not for him.

Not for you.

And not for the ghosts still hiding behind the masks of the world.

Author's Note:

Here's the continuation of Or Nah, which some of you requested—so here it is. This would be the final part. You can consider the previous chapter to be an ending, but this chapter can also be considered an ending—it all depends on your preferences or what makes you happy.

It's a little heartbreaking, but Squid Game doesn't have a happy ending either, so why should this story deserve one? Just kidding.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading. Don't forget the warnings I mentioned previously.

Read with responsibility.

284 notes · View notes

cutehoons02 · 4 months ago

Text

Do you want to kiss my face?

*pairing: hot loser Sunghoon x tiktoker Girl

*trope: grumpy x sunshine

*synopsis: What would happen if for almost a year you had fallen into a situanship with the boy of your dreams as well as Sunghoon and that day you had thought to play with him, Try to make it fall at your feet with a simple trend seen on tik tok where you had to fill all the face of kissing your boyfriend but maybe you did not realize that maybe it was not you who won but him!

*tags: Trending Tik Tok, a lot of fluffy moments but at the same time they tease each other, Sunghoon is really an underdog for her but is afraid of his feelings, fake innocent girl, a lot of kisses, sucking, nipple games, masturbation (f. receives) unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) jealousy, groveling, possessiveness, pet names (angel,baby) (hoon,hoonie)

5.1k (💋)

(English is not my native language)

A situationship is that ambiguous territory where you find yourself with someone you like but without clear labels. You are not officially a couple, but you act as if you were: spend time together, share intimate moments, and care for each other, but without the "serious" that often accompanies a relationship. It is like living in limbo, where you are both aware of feelings but avoid facing them openly.

With Sunghoon, you were stuck in this situation for almost a year. You loved it, but he always seemed a little distant, a little cynical, and every time you tried to clarify your situation, he avoided the subject. But that day, something had changed. While you were scrolling on TikTok, you came across a funny and affectionate trend: a video where you had to kiss his face, from side to side, then take it back and finally show it covered in kisses.

A cunning smile spread across your face as you pictured yourself doing it with Sunghoon. Maybe this would break the ice, you thought. And so, with a renewed determination, you decided to go into his dorm room and try to drive him crazy like you usually do.

When Heeseung one of Sunghoon’s roommates opened for you, the apartment had the usual chaos experienced: jackets thrown on a chair, a pair of sneakers forgotten in the corridor, glasses left on the coffee table, bowls full of ramen and in the living room there was a huge amount of cables connected to the TV to play those nerd games on the TV.

With a nod, you took off your shoes and headed without hesitation to Sunghoon’s room and knocked twice before opening it without even hearing "an forward" from the master of the room.

He was lying on the bed, illuminated only by the cold light of the monitor. On the screen, a scene from a horror film: screams, blood, disturbing shadows. He had one hand under his head, the other on the keyboard, ready to pause. When he saw you, he lifted himself slightly on his elbows, looking at you with a mixture of surprise and mistrust.

«What are you doing here?» he said suspiciously.

You leaned against the doorknob of his door with a cunning smile and a grin that brought no good.

"Wow, what a warm welcome," you said crossing your arms

«You didn’t answer the question.» said the half-lying boy on the bed while not taking his eyes off you

"And you didn’t say 'hi'. You said with a grin.

Sunghoon sighed and ran his hand through his hair, had seen you countless times in the university halls, at sorority parties, and at the bar of the university but every time he saw you his heart was always beating more than it should and this thing made him crazy because he was the one who hated to show his feelings to people or even worse his emotions that felt.

«Hi. Now answer my question» You stepped forward, looked at the screen, and raised your eyes.

"Are you spending the evening watching horror alone?"

«Better than going to those parties you love so much.» he sighed

"Or maybe you would have preferred to be with me," you insinuated, leaning slightly forward and Sunghoon stared at you for a moment, then looked away, suspicious.

«Wait a minute... why are you here, exactly? You didn’t have to be in some club having fun with your friends...»

You sat on the edge of the bed, deliberately ignoring his scrutinizing gaze.

"Can’t I just want to spend some time with you?» you said, lightly touching the tufts of his tuft that were growing ever.

«No, because when you make that face, you have something in mind.» a small smile complicit curled your lips. Sunghoon knew you better than yourself sometimes and this thing scared you because he was the only one who could put you in your place and not let you behave like a spoiled girl.

"Maybe so," you said in a funny whisper

Sunghoon leaned against the back of his bed, crossing his arms.

«I knew something was up. Tell me what you want right now before I get more scared than the movie.»

"Oh, Hoonie, trust me, what I have in mind is much scarier than any horror!"

He looked at you, unsure whether to worry or give up immediately.

«I don’t like the way it sounds.»

"But I’m sure you’ll like it."

Sunghoon gasped, but the blush on his ears betrayed him.

«I have a terrible suspicion that I will regret it.»

You laugh, reaching out to grab the mouse and pause the movie.

"Come on, you’ll only find out if you listen to me." Sunghoon stared at you for a moment, then sighed theatrically.

«This is a terrible idea and I don’t even know what you’re going to do to me.»

"Bad ideas always become the best if you make them with the right people!" And as he sat down reluctantly, he already knew that he would have no escape.

You took out your phone and got closer to Sunghoon, with a little smirk on your lips.

"Okay, Hoon, I want to try this trend with you." Sunghoon didn’t even bother to look at you with his eyes still fixed on the screen.

«No,» he said without hesitation

You snorted, showing the video you had saved on TikTok with enthusiasm

"But look what it is!" you said with a frown while you teased his biceps

«I don’t care,» he said as he tried not to listen

"Come on! All my friends are doing it with their boyfriends!"

At those words, Sunghoon slowly turned to you, looking at you with a suspicious expression.

«So what?»

" I want to do it too!" you said with a smile full of hope but he blinked, then raised an eyebrow.

«Little problem: I’m not your boyfriend.»

You stood for a moment in silence, surprised by his answer, God could not stand when he behaved like this, All the people when they saw you thought you were engaged but he had never dared to ask and well you were stubborn and did not want to give in and so crossed your arms with a frown visible in the eyes of Sunghoon.

"What a nice way to tell me no." Sunghoon sighed and went back to watch the movie as if the conversation was already over but you, you just snapped out of bed.

"All right then, I’ll go find someone else," you said as you walked out of his door

«What?!» Sunghoon snapped at you with the film completely forgotten.

"If you don’t want to do it, I’ll find someone else. Maybe Heeseung is available," you said with a smirk, and Sunghoon’s expression darkened instantly.

«You will not do it with Heeseung,» he told you so coldly and you stared at him with a smirk.

"Why not?" you said innocently and he clenched his jaw, visibly annoyed by your spoiled child behavior

«Because it’s ridiculous.»

"Oh, so if I do it with someone other than you is ridiculous, but if I do it with you isn’t ridiculous anymore?" Sunghoon snorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

«It’s a problem if you do it with Heeseung or any other guy who isn’t me,» he said, touching my hair in frustration.

"So are you jealous?" you asked with a clever smile.

«No,» he replied too quickly and you looked at him, amusing yourself.

"If you say so... then I’m going, eh."

You tried to turn around, but in a moment Sunghoon reached out and grabbed you by the wrist, holding you.

«Wait.» you turned, holding back barely a victorious smile.

"Yes?"

He avoided your visibly battered look, then puffed.

«Take the lipstick. But don’t abuse it.»

"So you do it?"

Sunghoon glanced at you, cheeks slightly flushed.

«... Better me than Heeseung.» You laughed, taking out the lipstick from the bag.

"Good one, Hoon. I knew you’d give in." He sighed, taking a last look at the film.

«I’ll regret it, won’t I?»

"Nah," You answered, approaching you with lipstick in hand. Sunghoon put the computer away with a sigh and settled more comfortably on the bed, crossing his arms over his chest.

«Okay, let me see this ridiculous trend."

You sat down beside him with enthusiasm and showed him the video on your phone screen. Sunghoon watched in silence as the girl in the video gave a single kiss on the boy’s cheek, then the video cut him completely covered with lipstick prints all over his face and neck.

He stood still for a couple of seconds, then turned to you with his eyebrow raised.

«You do realize this is an assault, right?» you laugh, shaking the lipstick between your fingers. "Oh, stop it. That’s cute!"

«For whom? For you, that you enjoy torturing me?»

"Exactly." Sunghoon puffed, but the look he gave you was more amused than irritated.

«All right, let’s get it over with». You smiled triumphantly and approached, riding on his legs without thinking too much.

Sunghoon stiffened at once, his eyes wide open in shock.

«What-what the hell are you doing?»

"I make things easier for both of us," You replied with a natural response as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He remained petrified for a few seconds, the look glued to you, then slowly laid his hands on your hips, the big fingers closing with a slight hesitation.

«You’re dangerous,» he murmured, trying to seem impassive, but the blush on his ears betrayed him and you laughed because he was adorable.

"And you’re adorable when you pretend to be indifferent." Sunghoon sighed, trying to relax.

«Let’s move on before I change my mind.»

You picked up the phone and started recording, came closer and gave him a light kiss on the cheek, then walked away with a satisfied smile.

"See? Easy." Sunghoon nodded in a feigned professional tone.

«If it ended here, I would say that it was even pleasant.»

"But that’s not the end of it," You said, laughing

Before he could protest, you reapplied lipstick with a diabolical air and started the second part.

The first kiss was on the jaw. The second is near the corner of the mouth. The third is on the cheekbone. Sunghoon had started with a cynical expression, but as you continued, his breath became slightly deeper, his hands on his hips clenched instinctively.

«That’s an abuse,» he muttered, but his voice was strangely lower than usual and you smiled at his skin.

"Oh, stop it. You like it."

Sunghoon didn’t answer immediately, but when you came down with kisses along the neck, you felt his fingers clench even more in your hips.

«Wait a second»

"Shhh." You left him a kiss right under his ear, and you heard Sunghoon hold his breath for a second.

«...You are the devil.» he finally said in a slightly more husky voice.

"And you’re my favorite loser," You replied, chuckling as you walked away to admire his masterpiece. Sunghoon leaned against the headboard of the bed, eyes closed for a second as if he was to recover. Then he looked at you with an amused expression.

«Finished?» You checked the phone and smiled satisfied, the video had come out great and it also looked very funny but the thing that made your heart warm was how Sunghoon was looking at you and you couldn’t hold it anymore.

"Finished. You’re beautiful." Sunghoon snorted, but the smile on his lips betrayed him.

«If anyone sees this, I will move to another country.»

"Too late, I post it on TikTok."

«You don’t- wait, you won’t really post it!»

You laughed while he tried to rip the phone out of your hands but you were faster and you had just published it and there were already likes on the video. Sunghoon speed took your phone and watched the video there was a video of himself, completely covered in kisses, with the caption: "With my fav loser bf ❤️💋"

He was petrified for a few seconds. Then, slowly, he turned his head toward her. «Tell me you didn’t post it."

You just laughed, rocking slightly while still sitting on his lap.

"Come on, it’s so cute! Look at the comments, people love us."

«We are not a couple,» he replied immediately.

You shook your shoulders carelessly, pretending that his words did not hurt.

"BF stands for best friend." When Sunghoon heard those words you stuck, best friend. Did you just consider him a simple best friend?

His brain instantly jammed. They had never been friends. Not in the true sense of the word. Not when he spent his evenings watching you laugh, wondering if it was legal for someone to be so bright. Not when his heart made a small leap every time you got too close and certainly not when he imagined you in much less innocent contexts, like with that damn lipstick smudged because of him.

Best friend?

The cock.

Without thinking too much, his hands on your hips squeezed slightly and, with a smooth movement, he pulled up a little, getting closer to you even more and you looked at him surprised.

"Sunghooon?" He did not answer. The dark eyes fixed on yours, the fingers pressing lightly on your skin, the breath heavier than usual.

And then, without a moment’s hesitation, he pressed his lips against yours.

The kiss was not sweet, it was a direct hit, a statement, a warning. His lips moved on you with an almost frustrated intensity, his hands held you in your hips, as if he was afraid that you would run away from him, and when he came off, your breaths were entangled. You looked at him with your eyes wide open, completely speechless and Sunghoon ran his tongue over his lips, tasting the taste of lipstick again. Then, with a low and confident voice, he said: «I’m not your best friend.»

You stared at him, the heart that beat a thousand, and a funny smile formed in your lips again savoring the sweet taste of his lips that had kissed you a few seconds before.

"Oh,." He tilted his head slightly.

Oh?» he repeated, raising an eyebrow. «Is that all you have to say?»

You opened and closed your mouth a few times, the brain desperately trying to recover. Then, finally, you let slip a clever little smile.

"So... if you’re not my best friend, then what are you?"

Sunghoon looked at you for a long moment, then slowly ran his hands down your hips, getting closer still but you saw that he didn’t really know what to say and you were tired of seeing him so confused, this time it was you who kissed him. Your lips melted to hers in a deep kiss, initially sweet, but that soon turned into something more intense. Your hands went up his neck, fingers intertwined in his soft hair. Hoon hesitated for a moment, surprised, but then his arms stretched around you with possessive force.

The kiss continued, the beating of your heart accelerated, and your breathing intertwined. When you finally came off, his look was uncertain, but his lips were slightly closed, red and shiny for your lipstick. It made you smile to see him so vulnerable and beautiful. With your thumbs trembling, you brushed the contour of her lips, spreading the lipstick slightly out from the edges.

"You’re beautiful," you whispered, as your breath touched her skin.

Hoon swallowed, Adam’s apple moved visibly, and you noticed the redness on his cheeks. But before he could say anything, you tilted your face and began to kiss his neck but this time no longer sweetly but you wanted them to know that he was yours. You felt his body stretch under your touch, and a low moan escaped from his lips as he uttered your name.

«Angel, you have no idea what you are doing to me,» he said in a roaring voice, and you felt the heat rising in your body.

Without thinking about it, you pulled off the sweatshirt and wow,

His biceps looked even more sculpted than the last time you saw him. You did not resist the temptation to run your fingers over it, your red nails left a slight shiver on her skin. " With these biceps, you could make another TikTok trend, the one with the bow..." you laughed.

He puffed, but the smile that bent his lips betrayed the fun. «You can do what you want with it, Angel.»

You lit up with a cunning smile and began to kiss him on the chest, going down slowly to his navel. You felt his breath become irregular as if he was holding something. But you wanted him to go crazy, you wanted him to completely lose control. So, with the same gentle slowness, you continued, leaving a kiss just below the navel.

His reaction was immediate: his breath became heavier and you felt its length grow under the suit. You looked up at him, biting your lip with a mischievous smirk. "Is anyone excited?" You provoked, rubbing lightly against him.

Hoon blinked, as if he was trying to maintain his lucidity, then grabbed you firmly by the hips, pulling you closer. «I shouldn’t call you Angel, but hell,» she whispered with a grin, before catching your lips again in a deeper, more desperate kiss.

Hoon was fucked by you. In that moment, but also others, you were the one who had control, and seeing how you rubbed over him made him lose his mind. He felt his cock getting harder and bigger in contact with your center as you swung slightly and with his arms took you by the hips and laid you down in bed. He climbed up on you and with a satisfied smirk said:

"Let’s see who laughs now.» You still laughed, but the sound of your laughter soon turned into a thrill when he took off your shirt with a single gesture. His eyes darkened at the sight of your red bra, and he noticed how your tender buds were already turgid. He did not waste time, took it away from you without asking and when he saw your breasts slightly bouncing in plain sight, he lost all control. His big hands grabbed your breasts, squeezing them slightly, causing a shiver down your back.

«Damnation, angel...» he muttered before bending down and kissing your breast, licking your nipples with exasperating slowness, nibbling them just to tease you; Your breasts were perfect for his big hands and he saw how sensitive your buds were when they touched his cold fingers or contact with his tongue as he sucked you and tickled them and felt how hard they were.

You rolled up your back, his attentions were driving you crazy, and you felt his length getting harder and harder, rubbing against you through the clothes.

«My sweet and innocent angel is so needy of my attentions?» he provoked you with a roaring voice and amused, continuing to torment your body.

You gave him a defiant look, biting your lower lip. "I’m not as innocent as you think."

He laughed but stopped abruptly to leave a kiss on your navel. Then, without warning, he lowered his hand and touched your center still covered by panties, making you shudder.

«So wet and needy for me,» he whispered, with a voice charged with desire and malice.

His dark gaze, burning with desire, rested upon you and his mischievous smile made you hold your breath.

«All for me," he whispered, with that low, husky voice that drove you crazy as she took off your panties and his fingers brushed your clitoris with a delicacy that made you tremble. And then, without warning, he pushed a finger into you, ripping off a choked-out groan.

"Hoonie..." his name slipped from your lips without you being able to stop, and it was your ruin.

His eyes darkened, his lips bent in a satisfied smile, and he immediately added another finger, moving them with studied precision, as if he wanted to carve you into pleasure. You felt trapped, but at the same time, you didn’t want to run away. Because you knew he would keep on begging you.

«Look how responsive your body is to me,» he whispered, leaning over you as his fingers did not begin to stop. «You like it when I take control, don’t you?»

A groan, louder than expected, confirmed his answer.

«I knew it...» he laughed softly, his mouth hot against your skin. «Always so stubborn, but look how you melt for me.»

With his other hand, he moved on your breast, stroking and teasing your sensitive buds until another whimper was torn from you. Then, as he kept moving his fingers inside you, her thumb found the clitoris again, brushing it with perfect pressure, which made you completely lose control.

Sunghoon kept pumping his fingers inside you and they were full of your excitement and he thought he could come in that exact instant while you moaned his name, took his fingers well, and diminished yourself to get more and more from him.

«You’re so tight around my fingers... who knows what it will be like when there’s my dick in their place»

You felt overwhelmed by a wave of pleasure that shattered you, your body trembled and your breath was broken. Hoon stopped only when he heard you relax under him and come between his fingers, then pulled back his fingers and brought them to his lips, tasting you with a smug smirk.

«So, good» he muttered, keeping his gaze fixed on you as his tongue touched his fingers. «But I want much more, Angel.»

Your fingers trembled slightly as you undressed his boxers, and your breath slid down your throat. Gosh. It was long, full, tense with desire for you, with a drop of clear liquid shining on the tip. Instinctively, you licked your lips, eyes chained to its length.

Hoon laughed softly, his voice low and husky. «You’re so impatient, angel...» he whispered as he sucked his cock slightly. «Tell me how much you want it.»

You looked at it, your face lit up, the desire that clouded your mind. "I want it," you murmured. "I want it as much as you want me."

A dark flash crossed his gaze, his lips curled into an arrogant smile. He grabbed the base of his erection and, without warning, passed it slowly over your bright, excited entrance, touching your swollen clitoris, and making you shudder beneath him.

"Hoonie..." your impatient whining made him laugh again, but there was a tension in his gaze as if he was about to lose control.

«Don’t be capricious, little one," he murmured against your mouth, the tip of her member pressed right where you wanted it most. «You like to be teased, don’t you?»

"You’re an asshole..." moans, nails sinking into his shoulders as he kept torturing you with those slow and provocative movements.

«Mm, yet...» He pushed himself in with a single, fluid thud, filling you completely, and a high moan escaped from your lips. «... You are so tight around me, angel.»

A choked scream escaped you, but he was quick to cover your mouth with one hand, his eyes shining with pure lust. «Do you want the whole dorm to know that I’m fucking you so well?»

You shook your head frantically, but when he came out almost completely and then went back in, deeper, stronger, your body betrayed your voice and another harsh moan escaped you.

Hoon licked his lower lip, smug. «Baby, it seems like you want everyone to know that you’re all mine.»

Hoon had always made you crazy, but never as in that moment.

Hoon had always made you crazy, but never as in that moment. His hands held your hips with a firm grip as if he wanted to mark you, hold you still beneath him as he sank deep inside you with a slow, deep thrust, making you feel every inch of his excitement and his cock filled you so deeply that you never had enough.

His dark eyes were pointed at yours, full of desire and pure dominion. He licked his lips, watching you writhing beneath him, your groans choked by his fingers playing with your swollen and pulsating clitoris.

«Tell me, angel... who is winning between me and you?» whispered with a perverse smile, her voice husky and low as the thumb began to massage your swollen clitoris more firmly.

You were hungry, the pleasure that ate you made it impossible to talk, but Hoon was not the kind to wait. His big hand slid up your throat, squeezing it slightly as his gaze grew even more intense.

«Answer, baby,» he ordered, sinking deeper into you, making you moan loudly. «You feel so good below me, but I want to hear you say it."

"Y-Yes... you’re winning. I’m coming," you panicked, your body trembling at the intensity of the pleasure he was giving you mercilessly.

A satisfied grin appeared on his lips. «Good girl,» he murmured, bowing down to bite your ear lobe, while with one last push your body gave in completely to pleasure, making you scream her name.

To hear you hold him so tight made him crazy. «Fucking perfect...» He growled against your skin, increased the rhythm with powerful and fast movements, the bed that slammed against the wall at every stroke. «God, you are mine... Only mine.»

"H-Hoon... I want you inside me," he groaned, his body still in the throes of orgasm spasms while he wouldn’t slow down.

«You know what I want, angel?»

growled against your neck, giving you a small bite while with two last, violent pushes she let go inside of you, filling you completely. «I want you to remember who made you feel this way.»

He remained within you for a few seconds, gasping, as his gaze burned against yours. Then, with a smug smile, he bowed down to kiss you on the lips softly, with a sweetness in contrast to the intensity just before.

He looked down to the point where they were still joined and caressed your inner thigh, watching her seed slowly dripping out of you and the various strands of semen coming from your pussy. His grin became even more mischievous as he ran his tongue over his lips.

«You are so beautiful,» he murmured, with a husky and satisfied voice. «All full of me...»

He looked up to meet yours, dark eyes full of desire and possession. «And now don’t even try to run away, because I’m going to fill you up again.»

And with another slow and deep push, he made you realize that that night was still long.

Hoon was still lying on the bed, his breathing heavy and steady as a hand caressed your bare back. You were leaning against his chest, but your mind was far away, full of doubts and insecurities that you didn’t even want to admit to yourself.

Yet, the more time passed, the more a strange feeling gripped your stomach.

What if it was just a game to him? The thought tormented you. You didn’t want that night to be just a passing moment, an impulse he would forget the next day. Sunghoon had always been important to you. He was never just a friend, never just a crush.

You realized that you were torturing the nails of his nervous hand, while with the other you played with Sunghoon’s fingers, drawing little circles on the back of his hand.

«Why are you so serious?» he asked suddenly, his voice slightly hoarse. «It’s strange to see you so silent.» You shook your head, avoiding his gaze.

"Nothing, it’s just that..." You took a deep breath, then you pulled yourself up slightly. "Maybe I should go home." Sunghoon immediately rose on his elbows, confused.

«Wait, what? Why do you want to leave suddenly?»

Bite your lip, fight. You didn’t know how to tell her without looking stupid, without looking too much.

"I don’t know," You said finally, angry with yourself for not being able to find the right words.

Sunghoon stared at you for a long moment, his face slightly frowning. Then, with a more sweet and chattering tone, he asked:

«Did I do something wrong?» That question made you explode.

"No! That’s the problem!" you slammed, clenching your fists on the blankets. " Me, you did nothing wrong is just that for me it wasn’t just..." you interrupted, narrowing your eyes as if to find the courage to continue. "For me, it wasn’t just sex, it wasn’t a game. I really want you, Sunghoon."

He stood still.

"I want something serious." You kept your voice lower, more vulnerable. "And I’m afraid it was just... a moment for you."

The silence that followed was almost deafening.

You felt ridiculous. Maybe you shouldn’t have told him. Maybe you ruined everything.

But before you could add anything else, Sunghoon moved.

He approached and with an unexpected delicacy took your face in his hands, forcing you to look into his eyes.

You deglutites.

"I... I don’t know." Sunghoon sighed, then ran his hand through his hair, frustrated.

«I’m terrible at these things,» he admitted, looking down for a moment. «I don’t know how to say it right, but-fuck, do you think I’d let anyone kiss me like you did if I didn’t really care? Do you think I could want any girls like I want you, how this evening?»

You looked at him surprised, and he continued, the hands that came to clasp around his.

«I want you. Always. I never wanted to be just your friend, but I didn’t know how to tell you, and you are always so bright, so damn out of my reach... » he interrupted, squeezing his lips in a thin line, then sighed. «But if you really want me, then I am yours with my strengths and weaknesses»

You felt the heart skip a beat.

"Really?" You asked quietly. Sunghoon nodded, a slightly embarrassed smile on his lips.

«Seriously. But on one condition.»

"Which one?"

He gently pulled you towards himself, making you lie on his chest again, and whispered in her ear:

«That TikTok we do it again, but this time the caption will be right and you’ll write that I’m your boyfriend, not your BEST FRIEND!»

You laughed, and the knot in your stomach disappeared completely and maybe that tiktok trend had formed a new pair.

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Comments and rebblog are appreciated:)

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sirfrogsworth · 23 days ago

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Let's talk about screens and eye comfort.

@krakenartificer wrote this in response to my motivated lighting post.

Maximum-visibility lighting is also accessible lighting. I cannot turn the brightness on my screen up any more than it is -- even a few seconds of a light-mode app at 75% brightness will give me a migraine. I believe you when you say that the train-light photos are legible to you. But with my screen at ~50% brightness in a medium-dim room, that second one, with the bright-white light, is already painful to look at. And since my pupils have constricted to protect me, I can't see almost anything else going on there.

I already mentioned that if people are having issues seeing dark elements in their content, their room may be too bright. That is a strategy to get the highest quality viewing experience, but it may not be the most comfortable for people with various eye sensitivities.

So I'm going to address eye comfort over image quality in this post.

I think many people have a misconception about the brightness setting on their display. Often people will turn it up and down depending on the content they are viewing. If something has a really bright element, they may turn it down. If something is too dark, they may turn it up.

That isn't really how display brightness is meant to work. This setting is meant to maintain picture quality and contrast as much as possible while raising and lowering the overall intensity of the display. And the intensity is meant to be adjusted according to the viewer's environment, not what is on the screen from moment to moment.

You want the intensity of light in the room to match the brightness of your screen.

Some people prefer to adjust their screen a little brighter than ambient so it is a little more legible. But that is a personal preference.

So if you are in a dark room, you'd turn the brightness down.

If you are out in bright sun, you'd turn your brightness up.

If your screen is displaying near white or pure white and it hurts your eyes, that usually means your room is too dark. A brighter ambient environment can help make "light mode" more comfortable. Try turning on some lights or going to a brighter space and see if it helps.

However, some people do not feel comfortable in brighter rooms. This is when you might consider "bias lighting." This is a soft light source behind your screen that you can adjust to the maximum tolerable brightness to keep your eyes from going into night vision mode or max dilation.

It's better if the bias lighting is spread out rather than using a small light source like a night light. Small light sources feel much more intense and can add to eye strain. You want the light to cover a large surface area.

String lights across a wall work well.

Or you can bounce a light off a wall or ceiling to diffuse and spread it out. Many people just put a light behind their TV and light up the wall behind it.

The idea is to make the room *feel* dark while still having enough light to keep your pupils from opening up and feeling like any sudden bright light source is blasting you in the eyeballs. Your pupils prefer gradual adjustments to light and dark. If you go straight from a dark scene to a bright scene without any bias lighting, your eyes might feel a bit melty.

If you are *still* uncomfortable with white on your screen and have a particularly strong eye sensitivity, then you might consider sacrificing picture quality for comfort.

Turning down your brightness is not a great solution because it makes *everything* darker. Again, the brightness of your screen should be close to the room lighting.

Typically, to get the highest quality image you want to adjust your screen so the blacks are as black as possible and the whites are as white as possible without losing any detail.

Rtings has a guide for monitors and TVs for this.

They have two patterns for black and white point adjustment.

They look like this.

You want to see bars all the way up until the reference point.

The white point is most commonly called "contrast" in display settings. Sometimes there will be a contrast adjustment AND a white point adjustment. In that case, the white point only deals with the brightest highlights and the contrast will affect all whites.

But if you have really sensitive eyes... forget the charts. Forget peak image quality.

Instead, try lowering your contrast and reducing the intensity of *only* the white elements rather than darkening everything.

The picture might look a little gray and dull, but you won't lose as much legibility in the shadow areas. You are just turning down the brightest stuff to make your eyes more comfy.

Max white point...

Lowered white point...

And if you still need to turn down your screen brightness, you can raise the black point to keep more detail in the shadows.

Again, that might not look great, but it will keep your eyes comfortable and you will be able to make out all the details you need to see.

You might also consider adjusting the color temperature of your screen to be warmer. Blue light is higher frequency and more energetic. Which means it can pierce and glare more than warmer light. So shifting things to the orange could also bring some comfort to sensitive eyes. Search for a “Warm” mode, “Eye Comfort” mode, or Night Shift settings.

Most TVs and monitors have these adjustments. Sometimes they call them different things, so you may have to do some googling. (God forbid tech companies ever agree on a standard.)

And if you are on a phone or laptop, you may need a special app to adjust these specific things. I would research "how to reduce white point" for whatever device you are using.

To review...

Adjust your ambient room lighting first. Brighter ambient room lighting can make bright white elements on your display more comfortable.

Display "brightness" should be adjusted to your lighting environment, not the content on screen.

If you don't like bright rooms, bias lighting behind your display can keep your eyes from going into night vision mode. This can prevent bright screen elements from being too intense or glaring.

If you have eye sensitivity issues, try all of the above first, and then consider lowering your contrast or white point setting. This will dim only the brightest elements on screen without making everything else too dark.

If you need to lower the screen brightness AND white point/contrast, you may lose detail in the shadows as well. You can try raising the black point to compensate. This is a worst case scenario and will probably not look great.

Consider warmer color temperature settings to reduce glare from high-frequency blue light.

#long post

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milfsloverblog · 9 days ago

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Delayed (NSFW)

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: Larissa Weems, you, an airport lounge. The rest is history! Enjoy <3

VIP Lounge, Terminal B Somewhere between cities, between hours

The rain had been falling in thick, unrelenting sheets for hours. It beat against the glass with the low, sullen rhythm of a heartbeat, steady and heavy, too familiar now to notice unless you let your mind drift toward it. The sky had bruised into a deep blue-black, clouded over entirely. Somewhere out there were lightning forks cracking open the night, but inside, the airport lounge was muted, cocooned in sterile quiet and artificial warmth.

You’d claimed your place in the corner hours ago. Half a glass of flat tonic water sat abandoned on the small side table beside you, your phone long dead, your book forgotten somewhere in the bottom of your carry-on. The air held a low hum—whispers, an occasional clink of cutlery, the soft sigh of a tired receptionist fielding questions about standby lists. You had stopped checking the monitor when the third flight delay came through. There would be no flying out tonight.

And yet, you stayed.

The lounge was a space designed to dull inconvenience with velvet upholstery and dim, expensive lighting. No one looked anyone else in the eye here. Everyone was floating. Between cities, between obligations, between versions of themselves. You were no exception.

That was when you saw her.

She wasn’t there, and then she was. Like someone had written her into the room just slightly out of time. Seated at the lounge bar, one elegant arm stretched along the marble counter, her posture the picture of composure. Hair pinned back in that old-fashioned twist, every pale strand immaculate. Her profile was sharp under the warm overhead light—cheekbone catching it just so, the sweep of dark lashes veiling a glance you couldn't yet see.

She was alone.

You looked once, casually. Then again, slower.

Her suit was a shade of ivory too rich to be mistaken for white, tailored to fit like a whisper. She raised her glass—something gold-toned, neat, deliberate. You watched her sip. The lipstick she wore was a kind of red that should’ve felt loud in a place like this, but somehow didn’t. Everything about her was too intentional for accident. Too perfect to be tired, delayed, or adrift like the rest of you.

Still, there was something beneath the surface. You couldn’t name it. A quiet intensity. A suggestion of waiting.

You stared too long. Caught yourself. Looked away.

Then back.

This time, she was looking directly at you.

It wasn’t a dramatic thing. Her gaze didn’t snap or linger or invite. It just found you—settled on you like gravity, calm and assessing, and held you in place. Your breath caught somewhere under your ribs. Her lips curved faintly at one corner, more acknowledgment than smile. Then, as if nothing had passed between you, she turned her head, lifted her glass again, and resumed whatever internal rhythm she had been keeping before.

Your fingertips tingled.

You weren’t brave. Not yet.

You tried not to look again.

You tried, but the space between you hummed with the awareness of that brief, searing glance. Like an invisible thread had pulled taut between your corner chair and the polished curve of the bar. Every time you shifted in your seat, her presence whispered at the edge of your senses. Not imposing. Not loud. Just there.

You watched her reflection in the chrome of a coffee machine, in the black glass of the television screen no one was watching. Once, you saw her cross one long leg over the other, the hem of her trousers sliding just enough to show the sharp line of her ankle. Another time, she touched her glass to her mouth and lingered there, eyes fixed distantly ahead—though you could’ve sworn her lashes flicked up toward the mirror.

You thought she might be watching you back.

Or maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she’d already forgotten you. A glance meant nothing. A look could be a thousand things. But your hands were sweating.

You waited for something to give. For the staff to announce another flight. For her to gather her coat and disappear into some silent hallway without ever meeting your eyes again.

Instead, she tilted her head slightly—and looked at you once more.

This time, there was no room for ambiguity.

She held your gaze for three full seconds. Not a smile, not quite—but something softened her expression. Interest. Confidence. Permission.

You stood before you could think better of it.

Your legs felt unsteady, like you hadn’t walked in hours. You crossed the lounge, heart hammering in a slow, deliberate rhythm, the kind you felt in your throat more than your chest. As you neared her, she turned slightly on her stool, body angled toward you now, open in a way that felt rehearsed. Regal. Welcoming.

But she said nothing.

Neither did you, at first.

Up close, she was... impossible. A sculpted thing, lacquered and real, scent clinging faintly to her—something floral but cold, expensive. Her gaze was sharp even in stillness, made of glass and intellect and something untouchable.

“Mind if I join you?” you asked, voice quieter than intended.

A pause. The corner of her mouth curved. Not kindly, not unkindly. Almost like she was amused by the idea that you thought you needed to ask.

“I would’ve been disappointed if you hadn’t,” she said.

Her voice was low and deliberate, velvet over ice. Polished vowels. The kind of voice you only ever imagined hearing in dreams or in old films. She gestured faintly to the empty seat beside her.

You slid onto the barstool, pulse ticking in your throat. She lifted a hand and caught the bartender’s eye without looking. A moment later, he was in front of you both.

“I’ll have another,” she said, holding up her glass—nearly empty now, but not quite.

The man nodded. “And for you?”

You hesitated.

“She’ll have the same,” she said simply, gaze not leaving yours.

That made you smile. A quiet, startled little thing.

“Don’t like giving people choices?” you asked.

“I find most people don’t know what they want until it’s offered.”

There it was again—that hum, that low thrum of something dark and thrilling beneath the surface. You weren’t sure if she was talking about drinks anymore. You weren’t sure you cared.

You accepted the glass when it came, letting the burn of the alcohol settle something nervous in your chest. For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence between you was oddly comfortable, though your mind raced with every breath she took. Her posture was perfect even in rest. One fingertip drew slow circles along the rim of her glass. She wore a ring on her right hand—a single pearl, perfectly set.

“What brings you here?” you asked eventually, just to hear her speak again.

She tilted her head, a cool, unreadable glint in her eye.

“A delay,” she said. “Same as everyone else.”

“But you don’t look... stranded.”

She looked at you then. Properly.

“And you don’t look nearly as discreet as you think you are.”

Heat rushed to your face. You laughed under your breath, shaking your head. “Fair.”

Another sip. Another moment. Then she leaned in just slightly.

“You’ve been watching me for a long time.”

“I know.”

“I don’t mind.”

You swallowed. “I wasn’t sure if I was imagining the... return attention.”

Her smile, this time, was undeniable.

“I don’t return attention I don’t want.”

That pulled the air right out of your lungs. You reached for your drink again, hands a little unsteady. She watched you calmly, with the air of someone who had never once been nervous in her life.

“I’m not usually like this,” you said, not sure why.

“I would hope not,” she murmured. “It’s much more interesting if I’m the exception.”

You sipped your drink again. It burned less now.

The silence between you had shifted. Still comfortable, but heavier, like a room with the door shut. The clink of cutlery and low hum of televisions faded to a distant buzz. You weren’t sure when you’d last looked at the clock. Maybe time had stopped mattering.

She looked forward again, not at you, but not far—eyes fixed on something beyond the glass walls, where the night swelled with storm and shadow.

“What do you see out there?” you asked.

A pause. “Nothing I haven’t already lived through.”

You let that settle. It didn’t feel dramatic when she said it. Just tired. Or honest.

“That bad?”

She turned her head slightly, meeting your gaze without flinching. “No,” she said. “Just long.”

You nodded, unsure if that made her older than she looked or just more tired. The kind of tired you recognized. Not the bone-deep exhaustion of lack of sleep, but the quieter kind. The kind that comes from holding yourself upright too long.

“I always thought airports were a little liminal,” you said. “Like you could be anyone, and it wouldn’t matter. No one really sees you.”

“They look at you,” she said. “They don’t see you.”

You glanced at her.

“Do you?” you asked. “See people?”

Her lips curved, almost fond. “Only when I want to.”

You let out a small breath of laughter, shook your head. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m aware.”

Her fingers lingered against the rim of her drink. You watched the way her shoulders moved when she turned toward you, slow and deliberate, like she was never in a rush to be anywhere.

“There’s a comfort in being unmoored,” she said quietly. “In drifting. No past to explain, no future to plan for. Just... now. Just this.”

You swallowed. “You speak like someone who’s been doing that a while.”

Something flickered in her eyes. “Too long.”

You leaned forward a little, elbows on the bar, drink cradled between your hands.

“I don’t usually talk like this,” you said. “Not to strangers. Not to...” You glanced at her. “Beautiful women who look like they’ve stepped out of a novel.”

She smiled, indulgent, almost a purr of amusement. “You should do it more often. It suits you.”

You hesitated, then said it.

“I left someone. A few months ago. Three-year relationship. Comfortable. Safe. But I was disappearing.”

She didn’t look surprised. She didn’t say sorry. Just waited.

“I thought travel would help. I needed to remember who I was before... I tried so hard to be who he needed me to be, I forgot what I actually wanted.”

“And what is it you want?”

Your eyes met. Her gaze didn’t press—it invited.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I think I’m still trying things on.”

“Then try this,” she said, voice low, silk sliding beneath the words. “This night. This conversation. No name, no past, no future. Just... this.”

You felt it again—that gravity. That quiet but undeniable draw to her. She wasn’t promising anything. She wasn’t offering safety. But she was real in a way that felt impossible. Like something plucked from an older world, or a dream you didn’t remember having.

“You?” you asked. “Are you trying something on, too?”

She looked at you, and her expression softened—not the way someone softens when they care, but the way someone softens when they decide to share something real. Risk something.

“Once,” she said, “I believed I had to be everything for everyone. The poised one. The perfect one. I thought if I held it all together long enough, someone might finally see me.”

Your chest ached. “Did they?”

“No,” she said. “But I stopped waiting.”

You let the silence fall again.

It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was full.

“I don’t want to forget this,” you said, almost without meaning to. “Even if we never speak again. Even if we never...”

She looked at you, calm and unwavering. “You won’t forget. That’s the thing about moments like these. They root themselves quietly. You’ll think about it when you least expect it. The next time you’re stuck somewhere. Or lonely. Or trying on someone else’s version of you again.”

You reached for your drink. She reached for hers.

Only yours was empty.

Her gaze slid to your hands—steady, but no longer hiding how tightly you were holding on.

She slid her glass towards you and when her fingertips brushed yours, it wasn’t an accident.

It was an invitation.

You didn’t pull your hand away when she touched you.

Her fingers were cool—slim and deliberate, like they were meant to hold crystal or tilt chins. She didn’t linger, but the impression stayed. Your skin hummed. You swallowed around the ache rising in your throat.

You brought her glass to your lips, purposefully placing your mouth on the lipstick marks that stained the rim.

She watched you steadily, lips parted just slightly, as though deciding something. Then—

“Truth for truth?” she asked.

You nodded.

She turned toward you fully then, crossing one long leg over the other. The hem of her trousers shifted, revealing the sharp line of her ankle again, elegant even in the smallest of movements. The lounge lights caught the pearl on her finger as she lifted her glass, though her eyes never left you.

“I’ll go first,” she said, voice soft but assured. “I haven’t had someone look at me the way you have in a very long time.”

You blinked. “What way is that?”

“Like I might still surprise you.”

Your breath caught. She didn’t say it for effect—it wasn’t flirtation, or self-pity. Just the simple, naked truth of it.

“My turn,” you said, quieter. “I think I wanted to talk to you before I even saw you. Does that make sense?”

She considered the question, then nodded slowly. “Yes.”

Her fingers brushed the rim of her glass.

“Your question.”

You hesitated, then asked, “When’s the last time you did something just because you wanted to?”

She huffed out a low, amused sound—more breath than laugh. “You don’t start small.”

“I don’t think you’d enjoy it if I did.”

“I wouldn’t.” Her voice dropped slightly. “The answer is... right now.”

Your pulse thudded low and hard.

Your turn. You curled your fingers around your glass. “Ask me something hard.”

She didn’t even blink. “When was the last time you felt desirable?”

You looked down at your hands, then back up at her.

“I don’t remember,” you said. “Until now.”

Her expression shifted—just slightly, but it did. Something softened at the edges. Approval, maybe. Or heat.

She leaned in a little then, close enough for her perfume to catch in your throat. “Then let’s make sure you do.”

Your stomach dropped. Your breath quickened.

“Come with me,” she said.

You rose without asking where.

She didn’t wait to see if you would follow. She simply stood, gathering her coat—not to put on, just to sling carelessly over one arm—and walked with unhurried grace toward the far end of the lounge. Past the empty concierge desk. Past the hushed hallway with the restrooms marked in gold lettering. Her heels clicked against the marble only when she allowed them to.

You followed.

Of course you followed.

And every step you took felt like shedding something.

The lounge restroom was designed for elegance, not necessity.

Muted lighting glowed from behind golden mirrors. Marble counters, pale and gleaming. Velvet chairs against one wall, absurdly comfortable for a space meant to be transitory. The scent of eucalyptus and wood polish hung faintly in the air. Not a sound but the hush of your own breath and the soft click of your shoes on tile.

The moment the door clicked shut, she turned to you.

Not in a rush. Just with that quiet, unshakable certainty.

Her hand found your wrist, her fingers wrapping there like they’d always meant to. She pulled you closer—until your hips met the counter, until your breath mingled with hers, until her eyes, steady and blue as storms, pinned you there.

You thought she might kiss you.

But she didn’t.

“You’re trembling,” she murmured, voice low and indulgent.

“I’m not used to being wanted like this.”

She tilted her head, studying you. “Then let me show you what it’s like.”

Her hand traced the curve of your waist, down your hip, until her fingers dipped just beneath the hem of your shirt, touching skin—barely. You inhaled sharply. She watched your face as she slipped that hand lower, slid beneath your waistband, unbuttoned you without breaking eye contact. Her mouth curved, like she liked how breathless you were getting just from the anticipation.

Her fingers slid between your thighs, and—

Oh.

Warm. Sure. She stroked you through your underwear first, a teasing glide that made your breath catch. Then she slipped beneath the fabric and touched you properly, slick and wanting and already so ready for her.

You let your head fall back against the mirror, knees trembling.

“That’s it,” she whispered. “Let me.”

One long finger slipped inside, then two. No fumbling. No hesitation. She took you slowly, deliberately, her palm brushing just right as she curled her fingers inside you. Her other hand braced at your lower back, holding you up when your thighs began to shake.

She watched every flicker of your expression. Every stuttered breath. Her eyes were on your mouth when you moaned, on your chest when you arched, on your throat when you whimpered in a voice you barely recognized as your own.

It felt like being unraveled one touch at a time.

“You’ve been watching me all night,” she said softly.

“Yes,” you gasped.

“Imagining this?”

You managed a nod, though your body felt molten.

“Good,” she said. “I want you to remember me when you fly away.”

You came with a quiet cry, body clenching around her hand, hips grinding down into her palm. She held you through it, whispering soft encouragements—that’s it, just like that, you’re doing so well—until your pulse stopped hammering and your breath came back ragged.

When her fingers slipped free, they dragged slowly along your thigh. She reached for a towel, cleaned you gently—too gently for someone who hadn’t asked your name—and then kissed the corner of your lips. Not possessive. Not romantic.

Just a moment.

Just a mark.

You both returned to the lounge without speaking.

The storm had quieted outside. The lightning was gone, the thunder a fading echo somewhere in the distance. Through the tall, soundproof windows, the tarmac gleamed wet and silver under the pale light of early morning.

The air was different now. Less charged. Less heavy. But something still hung between you, thread-thin, invisible, and impossibly strong.

She took a seat at the bar again, legs crossed, posture impeccable. You slid into the seat beside her. Close, but not quite touching.

The bartender reappeared like magic. She ordered a whiskey, neat. You asked for water, suddenly parched.

For a while, neither of you said anything. You just sat in the afterglow, the quiet hum of music and low conversation filling the space around you. You glanced at her hands, remembering the way they’d felt between your legs, and had to look away again.

And then—

A chime rang through the lounge.

“Now boarding: Gate A19, Flight 704 to London Heathrow.”

She turned her glass slowly in her hand.

“That’s me,” she said softly.

Something in you faltered.

You weren’t surprised. You’d known this couldn’t last—hadn’t been meant to—but the finality of it still hit sharp.

She stood and gathered her coat, draped it over her arm again. She didn’t rush. She didn’t linger. She was exactly what she had been through the evening: composed, graceful, impossible to hold onto.

You rose with her, suddenly unsteady. “Wait—”

She looked at you. And God, her eyes were soft. Not sorry. Not cruel.

Just real.

You swallowed. “Your name.”

A beat. She studied you like she might refuse, like keeping it sacred would make it easier.

But she didn’t.

She stepped a little closer. Lowered her voice.

“Larissa.”

It landed in your chest like the softest impact. A name. A tether.

You nodded, almost to yourself. “Thank you.”

Her smile was small. Almost sad.

“Don’t lose sleep over me,” she said.

“I won’t,” you lied.

And then she turned.

You watched her walk away—tall and calm, heels quiet against the floor, disappearing into the soft blur of travelers and announcements and time.

And even though you knew you’d never see her again, you would remember.

The storm. The glances. Her hands. Her name. Larissa.

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